Tell Me No Spies (43 page)

Probably
Inappropriate

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Totally
Inappropriate

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About Me

By profession, I’m a
technical writer, computer geek, and ex-interior designer. I’m good
at two out of three of these things. I had the sense to quit the
one I sucked at.

To deal with my
mid-life crisis, I also write adventure novels featuring a
middle-aged female protagonist. And I kickbox.

This seemed more
productive than indulging in more typical mid-life crisis
activities like getting a divorce, buying a Harley Crossbones, and
cruising across the country picking up men in sleazy bars.
Especially since it’s winter most of the months of the year
here.

It’s much more
comfortable to sit at my computer. And hell, Harleys are expensive.
Come to think of it, so are beer and gasoline.

Oh, and I still love
my husband. There’s that. So I’ll stick with the writing.

Diane Henders

People frequently ask
if my protagonist, Aydan Kelly, is really me.

Yeah, you got me.
These novels are an autobiography of my secret life as a government
agent, working with highly-classified computer technology… Oh,
wait, what’s that? You want the
truth
? Um, you do realize
fiction writers get paid to lie, don’t you?

…well, shit, that’s
not nearly as much fun. It’s also a long story.

I swore I’d never
write fiction. “Too personal,” I said. “People read novels and
automatically assume the author is talking about him/herself.”

Well, apparently I
lied about the fiction-writing part. One day a story sprang into my
head and wouldn’t leave. The only way to get it out was to write it
down. So I did.

But when I wrote that
first book, I never intended to show it to anyone, so I created a
character that looked like me just to thumb my nose at the
stereotype. I’ve always had a defective sense of humour, and this
time it turned around and bit me in the ass.

Because after I’d
written the third novel, I realized I actually wanted other people
to read my books. And when I went back to change my main character
to
not
look like me, my beta readers wouldn’t let me. They
rose up against me and said, “No! Aydan is a tall woman with long
red hair and brown eyes. End of discussion!”

Jeez, no wonder
readers get the idea that authors write about themselves. So no,
I’m not Aydan Kelly. I just look like her.

Here’s an excerpt from
Book 5: How Spy I Am

“We need to do damage
control.”

I suppressed an
exhausted yawn along with my urge to say, ‘No shit, Sherlock’, and
eyed the civilian director of clandestine operations with
distaste.

Charles Stemp returned
his usual impassive stare from across the table, and I let my gaze
slide off his reptilian features to the much more rewarding sight
of John Kane beside him.

Stemp’s flat voice
continued, “Fuzzy Bunny came too close to capturing you this week.
That would have been disastrous to our national security, not to
mention to you personally.”

“Wouldn’t have been
much worse than being captured by you,” I snapped before I could
stop myself.

Stemp met my eyes
levelly. “We needed you to believe you were in enemy hands. And I
don’t need to remind you that Fuzzy Bunny will not stop at a small
burn to force your cooperation if they capture you.”

I swallowed the sudden
dryness in my throat and willed myself not to hug my bandaged arm.
Hell, no, he didn’t need to remind me. The only thing cuddly about
Fuzzy Bunny was their name.

God, what if they were
hunting me again? My gaze flicked toward the doorway despite the
knowledge that we were in a secured building.

Jeez, woman,
relax.

I drew a deep breath
and attempted to follow my own advice. I was safe. Kane was
probably Canada’s most lethal weapon, and after our conversation
yesterday, I was pretty sure he’d protect me with his life. My mind
sidled away from the memory of his lips framing the words ‘I love
you’. I’d spent half the night worrying about that.

Deal with it
later.

Stemp’s voice dragged
my tired brain back from its rambling. “We need to convince them
you are dead. And Kane informs me your cover here in Silverside is
not as,” he hesitated. “…Robust,” he said finally, “…as we would
prefer.”

I met Kane’s steady
grey eyes, wondering exactly what he’d reported. My gaze strayed
lower without my permission to admire the massive chest and bulging
biceps straining his black T-shirt. Lethal and unbelievably hot,
goddammit…

“Aydan?”

“Ms. Kelly?”

Kane and Stemp both
spoke my name, and I herded my mind back to the meeting table yet
again. “Sorry, what?” I asked, massaging the ache in my
forehead.

“Do you have any ideas
to contribute regarding your cover identity?” Stemp repeated.

I forced myself to
appreciate his attempt to include me in the process. “Not at the
moment, I’m sorry.” I didn’t bother to add, ‘I’ve been a little
busy trying to stay alive lately’.

“It’s all right,” Kane
said. “We can work on it today.”

I shot him a grateful
look.

Stemp rose. “Very
well. Have a proposal ready by end of day.” He fixed me with his
expressionless gaze. “Please check the network first thing for any
chatter regarding yourself. Our analysts haven’t picked anything up
from the public channels, so you’ll need to breach Fuzzy Bunny’s
firewalls and check their systems directly.”

He strode out, and I
sighed and sank my forehead onto the table, cushioned by my crossed
forearms. I grunted and quickly repositioned my arms at the jab of
pain.

“Are you all right?”
Kane’s velvet baritone was quick with concern.

“Fine. I just bumped
that burn,” I mumbled into the table. I hadn’t even heard him
stand, and his touch startled me. “It’s fine,” I repeated, but he
was already lifting the dressing away from my arm, his powerful
hands deft and gentle.

We both contemplated
the angry-looking wound. “I thought Stemp said it was just a small
second-degree burn,” Kane growled.

I shrugged and
retrieved the bandage from him, smoothing it back down onto my
skin. “Richardson panicked. I guess he held the torch on me a
little longer than he meant to. It’ll be fine.”

“Aydan, I’m so sorry
you had to go through that. I know it doesn’t make it any less
traumatic to know it was faked.” His face darkened. “Except for
that burn.”

“You’ve got nothing to
apologize for.” I stood and drifted toward the door. “Stemp, on the
other hand, owes me a buttload of apologies, which I’m highly
unlikely to get. Let’s go.”

Slouched on the small
sofa in my office a few minutes later, I scowled at the tiny piece
of circuitry in my hand. Why the hell did it only work for me? And
why the hell hadn’t its unknown inventors created something that
wouldn’t drive flaming spikes through my brain every time I used
it?

I drew a shallow
breath through my mouth.

“Are you okay?” Clyde
Webb’s voice made me concentrate on putting a more pleasant
expression on my face. It wasn’t difficult when I looked up to see
the concern on his youthful face.

“Fine, Spider,
thanks.” I flicked my eyes in John Smith’s direction, and Spider’s
expression cleared in comprehension.

I had hoped to work
with Kane and Spider as usual today, but apparently Smith had
orders to attend as well. I took another shallow breath, trying not
to inhale his stench. Somebody really should tell him to change his
shirt more than once a month. You’d think he’d get the hint when
its pattern of food stains started to resemble a particularly
creative Jackson Pollock canvas.

I shook off my mood
with a sigh and waited for Kane to pull up a chair before eyeing my
team. “Everybody ready?”

Spider nodded, his
fingers already flying over his laptop keyboard. Smith concentrated
on the desktop computer, and Kane gave me a nod and a smile,
fingering the fob that would give him painless access to the
brainwave-driven simulation network.

Painless. Huh. I
wish.

I banished my
self-pity with another sigh and gripped the network key,
concentrating on stepping into the white void of virtual reality. A
second later, Kane’s avatar popped into existence beside me.

The network was a busy
place. Kane stepped protectively in front of me when a couple of
researchers’ avatars approached in the virtual corridor. They
exchanged wary glances and gave us a wide berth.

I patted Kane’s hard
shoulder. “Don’t scare the locals. I’m pretty sure we’re safe
here.”

“I’m not taking any
chances,” he rumbled.

I smiled up at him.
“Thanks.”

His strong square face
softened into an answering smile, activating the sexy laugh lines
around his eyes, and we made our way to the virtual file repository
in comfortable silence.

Inside, I surveyed the
towering stack of virtual files with dismay. “Shit, they really
piled up.”

Guilt prodded me. If I
hadn’t run off last week…

I tamped it down. Too
late to be sorry, just fix the problem. “Have the analysts flagged
anything in particular?” I asked.

“Nothing that’s a
higher priority than hiding your identity,” Kane said. “You need to
check Fuzzy Bunny’s network first. You can worry about these other
files later.”

“Okay. This will
probably take a while.” I created a virtual chair in the sim and
sank into it, and Kane pulled one out of thin air beside me,
reaching toward me as he sat.

I took his extended
hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Thanks for being my anchor.” I
glimpsed his smile one more time as I faded into invisibility to
seep into the data stream, feeling my consciousness stretch from
his grip like a rubber band.

Hitching a ride on
data packets, I shot through a roller-coaster of connections,
following the delicate tracery of markers I’d left behind in my
earlier surveillance. When I reached Fuzzy Bunny’s first firewall,
I paused for a deep virtual breath before trickling through the
pinhole I’d left open in my previous visit. Their
intrusion-detection software passed harmlessly over me, and I
continued my stealthy progress, nosing around invisibly in their
file system.

If I’d had a stomach
in my current form, it would have clenched at what I discovered. I
willed calm. Search it all out.

I sifted their data
with the finest filter I could create before moving on to the next
server. And the next.

And the next.

By the time my
exhausted consciousness oozed back into the file repository, it was
all I could do to recreate my avatar. When I faded into wavering
existence, Kane reached carefully for my shoulders.

“Stay with me now,” he
encouraged. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“Okay…” I whispered,
concentrating fiercely.

He gathered me up and
guided me to the exit portal, the warm strength of his arm holding
my virtual form together.

My momentary relief at
getting to the portal was erased by the familiar explosion of pain
when I returned my consciousness to my physical body.

“Aaah-God-dammit-sonuva-fucking-
bitch
!” I spat, clutching my
temples.

Kane’s hands gently
pushed mine away to close around my head, and I whimpered gratitude
while his massage eased the worst of the pain.

At last, I slumped
back on the sofa. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

Kane stooped to look
into my face as I sprawled limply. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Thanks.” I
wedged myself into a corner of the couch in an approximately
upright position. “God. Shit.” I ran a hand over my still-aching
face.

“What?” Kane demanded.
“What did you find?”

I blew out a long
sigh. “Lots of chatter about me, unfortunately. They’re not
positive I’m alive, but they’re sure as hell stirred up about
finding me if I am.”

***End of How Spy I Am,
Chapter 1 excerpt***