Weakest Lynx (5 page)

“Do you think it’s a coincidence this one starts ‘My monkey-wrench girl?’” he asked.

“Could be someone I know—someone from my past, maybe from Dad’s garage.” My mind scanned for other possibilities. “Or someone who was watching me at the motel. Angel’s truck didn’t pass inspection. He and I were working on it out in the parking lot.” I sighed, twisting my wedding rings back and forth. The rings held Angel-juju; I needed some of that right now. “There’s always the possibility it’s a random poem the nutter picked, and it happened to have significance to me.”

Dave nodded. “So, what’s the plan?”

“First, I’ll mooch dinner off you. Then, I’m going to ask for your help getting the furniture inside my house. I’ll stay at a motel again tonight. Tomorrow, I need to go get my puppies at the kennel, put new locks everywhere, and call for an emergency alarm system to go in.” I ticked these off on my fingers. “Other than that, what would you suggest?”

“In general? Those are good plans. About the alarm system? I know a guy. I’ll give him a call and get you hooked up.”

Of course, Dave knew a guy. “Please don’t tell him what’s going on. I want this to stay between us, okay?”

“You’re probably right about keeping this quiet. Go on back and get yourself a plate fixed up, and I’ll get in touch with Boomer.”

I took a step toward the kitchen then turned back to find Dave’s focus honed laser sharp on me. “Do you think you can get hold of the tapes from the Walmart surveillance cameras?” I asked. “I’d like to have something concrete to work with. Maybe this guy isn’t even a guy. Maybe we could get a vehicle, or better a plate, to trace.”

“I’ll make a call.” Dave tipped his head back, making his chin jut forward. “You scared?”

I wiped sweaty palms down the sides of my jeans. “Out of my freaking mind.”

“Good—then you’ll be careful. Have you considered this might have something to do with your work?”

“Past work. Spyder’s gone.”

“Still …” Dave pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger.

“Of course it has,” I said. “I’ve been chewing over every possible scenario. I can’t figure out what to do with that one.” Exasperation made my voice scale upward as I spoke.

Dave thrust a staccato finger at me. “Talk to Iniquus Command.”

“No. Let it go.” I didn’t want to fight this fight with Dave. No one at Iniquus had a clue about me. Spyder and I had been so careful. Even our targets … I never went into the field as “Lexi.” I was always in disguise. No one should have been able to recognize me or make a connection. And if they had … Why would they be sending me these fucked-up poems?

At the motel, I sat down with my laptop and a copy of the letter. Running a search on the poem line by line was scraping at my already-raw nerves. Apparently, the stalker changed enough of the words that even Google was confused. Entering “Love Song for Alexis” didn’t give me anything useful. But when I put in “A Song for Alex,” I found an original poem written by Maggie Waller.
Alex
. Coincidence? Or did this person know Dad called me Alex? Spyder did, too. I chewed on the end of my pen, staring out the window into darkness. Was I wrong not to go talk to Iniquus?

After logging out, I took a shower to try to wash away the miasma clinging to my thoughts. Weird how I was getting an ESP impression through a putrid scent this time. I didn’t ever remember that happening before. Visuals, yes. And auditory. Occasionally something sensate like the oozing, oily crap I felt when I got the first envelope. I searched back in my memory. Maybe I had picked up a scent before, and I just didn’t notice because it smelled normal and not like the bottom of a swamp.

I wished I’d have another “knowing.” A better one than the nursery rhyme in New York. Ha! Wouldn’t it be great if I woke up one morning with an address in my head? I could send the police to Stalker’s door to tell him—or her—to
cut it the
hell
out!
Obscenities—the lowest form of communication, according to Mom. But they felt so good right now. My thoughts were like one long stream of expletives. Dropping my terrycloth robe to the floor, I slid under the covers and into a restless sleep.

The sun shot through the crack in my curtains before I expected it. I felt sluggish and achy, depressed to be waking up in yet another motel. So much for my wonderful plans to crawl out of my own bed this morning, put on a pot of coffee, read the newspaper on the porch …

My cell phone buzzed; an unknown number popped up on the screen. I checked the clock—six fifty. Apprehension prickled my skin, making me hesitate before I put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Baby Girl, I’m over at your house with Boomer.”

Dave. He must be using Boomer’s phone. “This early?”

“He wants to go over the system he drew up for you. He’s putting off his other jobs to get this done. Can you get over here?”

I rubbed my face and threw back my covers. “I’m on my way. Tell him thanks.”

I didn’t bother with a shower, just brushed my teeth, pulled a comb through my tangles, and jerked yesterday’s coral turtleneck over my head. On my way over to the house, I swung into Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through and got a dozen doughnuts and three coffees.

When I pulled up, a massive, burly biker-type guy stood next to Dave on the sidewalk. They smiled when they saw my hands full of breakfast.

Dave reached for the drink carrier. “Not in the truck today?”

“I’m picking up Beetle and Bella. Not enough room in the pickup for such a long drive.” I took a welcome sip from my pumpkin spice latte.

Dave nodded and made the introductions.

“Glad you’re here, Boomer, thanks for bumping my project to the front of the line,” I said.

“Dave said your husband’s in Afghanistan, and you’re afraid to stay alone.” Boomer’s gaze slid down to my feet then back up to my face. “I can understand that—little girly like you.”

I slit my eyes at Dave. He gave me a shrug in return.

“Dave wants you fitted with state of the art,” Boomer said. “But you’re renovating?”

“Right. So I’ll need to move the system as I upgrade my doors and windows.”

“Got it. This is what I come up with.” Boomer tapped his pen on the clipboard.

We moved around the first floor. I tried to focus as Boomer waxed poetic about the alarm system, complete with door and window sensors, motion detectors, and a two-way communication system. I swear, if the alarm were a girl, Boomer would be making out with her right now. Weird.

They’d change my locks on the doors and install peepholes, dead bolts, and window locks. It looked good to me—safe—and safe was the only thing that counted.

“A few questions—Can you put motion-sensor lights on the front and back porch in protective cages? How long until the system is up and running? And what kind of cost are we talking here?”

“No problem with the lights. We’ll put them on timers for you. We can start installation this morning and be done by dinner. You can say bye-bye to the motel.” He gave me a macho smile—yeah, whatever, Boomer.

“This is the price.” He circled the total on his clipboard—the knife-wielding skeleton tattooed on his forearm danced as his hand moved. “Dave here’s calling in a favor, so it’s the system itself you’re paying for. Labor is gratis.”

“Gratis?” I raised my eyebrows in surprise and sent a questioning look over to Dave, who offered up a conspiratorial wink.

After I signed the contract and wrote out a check, Boomer got on the phone to his office to get the parts brought over. Dave walked me to my car where I gave him a hug.

“That was nice of you. I don’t know what favor you called in, but it’s appreciated.”

“Oh, this isn’t an act of kindness, Baby Girl. You owe me big, and I’m planning on collecting, too.” He wore a satisfied grin.

“Yeah? How exactly am I paying off this debt?” I squinted past the early morning sun at him.

“Food. I’m planning on eating lots and lots of your good cooking. Hey, but don’t tell Cathy I said that. If she gets offended, it’s spaghetti for a week.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and sent a sheepish glance toward his house.

With a finger wave, I motored off, heading to the highway exit where I turned north toward Millers’ Kennel. My puppies lived there their whole lives. Actually, they were nearly a year and a half now. I shouldn’t call them puppies anymore. They were beautiful black Doberman pinschers—a gift from Spyder. Hmm, more like a reward for a job well done.

On my eighteenth birthday, Spyder said he had a task he needed help completing. The prize, he said, was pick of the litter when the Millers’ breeding bitch, Dagger, dropped her pups.

“This is a safe job?” I was nervous, chewing on my nails.

He pulled my hand from my mouth. “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I thought you were in danger, Lexicon. But that doesn’t mean be complacent. You must use your brain.”

“Who am I’m doing this job for … ?” I didn’t really expect an answer since Spyder worked classified contracts.

“A branch of the US government,” he replied.  

Spyder wanted me to use my sleight-of-hand skills. The job was to slip a transmitter into the pocket of a mark named Tandesco, one of the executives at Tangelsmeere Corp.
That day,
I dressed in a suit, bumped into the guy on the elevator, and won my prize; Spyder bought Beetle and Bella for me.

My babies stayed at the kennel while they trained as work dogs, well operative-support dogs. Now that I wasn’t going to be an operative any more, I’d just use their skills for sport and for volunteering with the Search and Rescue crew.

I was supposed to have picked them up over a month ago, but with the fire and the motel policies, I had to put it off until there was somewhere to bring them home to.

The trip out into the country took a little over an hour. My frequent visits meant I could drive on autopilot. Thinking stalker thoughts. Thinking. Thinking. Spyder would have tapped me on the head and said, “Come. You must use your brain, Lexicon.” I’m afraid he’d hear a hollow sound when he did. I was empty of ideas.

W
hen I arrived at the training ground, Mr. Miller trudged across the field toward me with my girls at his heels. I climbed out of the car and sucked in a lungful of pine-filled air. Beetle and Bella stayed at Mr. Miller’s side but were squirming and whining with excitement. Mr. Miller chuckled and released them. The girls bounded over, whole bodies wagging. Ah, bliss. I rubbed their onyx fur until they calmed down.

“Hey.” I greeted Mr. Miller with a smile as he ambled up on his long, thin legs.

He pulled me into a hug, “Congratulations, Baby Girl. New home. New husband. Proud of you.” He patted my back. “Come on up to the house. Judy wants to see you. She’s got Spyder’s dogs with her.”

“You hear anything from him?” I asked with as much nonchalance as I could muster.

“I was about to ask you the same. We get a check for his dogs’ care regular, but it’s from an accountant’s office. We’ve got nothing from the man himself.”

Bella pushed her head under my hand, and I scratched her ears. “How are my babies doing? They give you any trouble?”

“They’re running the obstacle courses beautifully—working on flanking out on the shooting range. Good on enemy take-downs. You need to bring them in from time to time, so we can keep their work skills up, especially scent work.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “I can do that.”

“They still got some maturing to do.” Mr. Miller’s hands moved to his pockets. “You’ll notice a big difference in the next six months to a year.”

I paused and shielded my eyes to scan the field toward the agility course. “You have anything planned for this spring?”

Mr. Miller stopped beside me. “We’re doing a paintball war. Iniquus against Omega.”

“Wow. That’ll be spectacular. I want to play.” I squinted up at him.

“I’ll also have some prospective clients coming in for the weekend to watch the obstacle courses.”

“When’s this?” We moved over the uneven ground toward the house, again.

“Last week of May. I need you to do the demo with Spyder’s pair and then with yours. It comes off different when you’re on the circuit. The guys figure if a little piece of fluff can do it, they sure as hell can.”

“Now I’m a little piece of fluff?”

“You’re as fierce as they come, Lexi, but a guy sees you, he’s not got his mind on war games. He’s thinking date night.”

“Hmm.” I stopped.

Mr. Miller glanced back at me. “Now don’t start putting your hand on your hip with me, young lady. I got enough of that from my own house.” He pointed at the figure peering out at us from behind the glass door. “I don’t need you adding to the women’s lib crap. You know I respect the hell out of your talent. But I’m gonna call it the way I see it. The way I see it is their thinking you’re a piece of fluff is always a winning situation for you. And that’s the way Spyder wants it. Right?”

I pursed my lips.

Up at the house, a plump, gray-headed woman swung open the door. Her soft, comfortable body encouraged hugging.

“Oh, Lexi, look at you!” She stretched out her hands to gather me in then pushed me out to arm’s length. “I can’t believe Spyder’s little girl is a woman, and all married.”