Mint Cookie Murder Read online

  "Fine," she agreed. The fight was out of her. She was exhausted and done.

  I slipped into the loading dock area and found Riley standing by the entrance to the store, not far from where we'd been hiding. He was looking at a puddle of blood. There was no trail.

  "Where is he?" I asked, looking around.

  "Not here," Riley said. "And we shouldn't be either. Let's go." He grabbed my arm and guided me outside to Kelly's car. We got in and drove slowly around to the front lot. The crowd was still there, but the sedan wasn't. That bastard had gotten away.

  I climbed into Riley's SUV, and we followed Kelly home, making sure she got into the garage without being followed. Then we drove to the yarn shop. Suzanne was waiting, even though the shop was closed. She let us in and left.

  Philby came over and sniffed us. Once he realized the smell was dog food, he glared at us and walked away. We were covered in brown, dry dust that itched and stank.

  "I know we need to talk about this, but can I take a shower first?" I asked.

  Riley nodded. I rummaged through the bag he'd brought, grabbing what I needed, and once in the bathroom, locked the door behind me. It was small—just a stand-up shower stall, a sink, and a toilet. I didn't care.

  The hot water felt incredible as it streamed down my face. I lingered a little longer than I should have, but it felt so good. I was exhausted. This day had been a lot longer than I thought. I was too tired to think of Rex and Angela or of Kelly and Riley. My brain was a little fuzzy as I brushed my teeth and climbed into a T-shirt and sweatpants that Riley must've liberated from my room.

  "Your turn," I said as I tossed him the shampoo. He already was holding a towel. It was kind of thoughtful of him to think of everything, right down to my deodorant. Most men would probably just bring their stuff and expect you to use it—which I would—but he didn't.

  I stretched out on the bed as I heard the shower turn on. Philby came over and sat next to me. His eyes focused on mine like he was trying to tell me something. But my brain was too fuzzy to focus. Besides, he was probably just trying to tell me how much he hated me. I could figure that out on my own.

  Exhaustion started in a wave from my legs and arms to my eyelids. The sound of the shower was hypnotic. I reached over to the cat and started scratching under his chin. His eyes bulged, and some weird, inner lid started to close up. As his eyes went crossed, he started to purr. Loudly. The vibrations were making the bed shake.

  Huh. Maybe he didn't hate me so much. I continued scratching, and he stretched his neck out until I was supporting his whole body just by his chin. The purring grew louder, and the bed vibrated. It was very soothing. I don't remember passing out. But somewhere along the line, I did.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I was having this weird dream that an elephant was standing on my chest, crushing my lungs. I woke up gasping to find not a pachyderm but an obese Hitler cat lying on me.

  Riley was sitting at the desk, typing on the computer. He was wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue pajama bottoms. His blond hair was damp and wavy. His tanned back was nicely muscled and flexed a little as he worked. The room smelled of clean linen. Must've been his aftershave or something. It was nice.

  I remembered the last time he'd kissed me back at my house a few months ago. That had been nice too. I remembered thinking he was interested in me. But then, he'd disappeared for three months and didn't respond to my messages until a dead nerd spy was found on my doorstep.

  Damn, he was a good-looking man. From his slightly long, blond waves to his gorgeous tan and brilliant white teeth, that man could have any woman he wanted. It bothered me a little that I'd thought at one time he wanted me.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hate him. Or even dislike him. The man was here, once again, trying to bail me out of trouble. I'd had it all wrong. He wasn't bossing me around because he'd missed me working for him. He was here looking after me when he didn't have to anymore.

  Ugh. My thoughts were so convoluted. It was more important right now to figure out what was going on. Whoever was trying to kill me had involved my best friend, and I didn't like that.

  "Hey." Riley was standing next to the bed, holding out a cup of tea. I sat up and took it, taking a sip.

  "Oolong! Where'd you get it?" I asked. I hadn't had oolong tea since he and I had been in Malaysia a few years back.

  "I picked it up in China last month." He pulled up a chair and sat down.

  So that's where he'd been when he was avoiding me. The scent of the tea wrapped itself around my head and relaxed me. No point in getting into a fight now.

  "Who did you see last night?" I asked, sitting up straighter on the bed.

  Riley frowned. "A guy in a hoodie. I couldn't see him too well at all. Just enough to know where to aim."

  "But you hit him?" I asked, untangling myself from the sheets and getting to my feet. I felt a little vulnerable, sitting in bed with him half-naked and sitting so close. I moved to the other chair and sat down, tucking one leg up under myself, my fingers curling around the steaming, hot mug.

  He nodded. "I did. But he got away when we ran out." Riley frowned.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "I should've stayed and finished him off," he said.

  I shook my head. "I'm glad you helped me get Kelly out of there. She should never have been involved."

  "Doesn't matter," Riley said. "The bastard got away." He was taking this pretty hard.

  "Well, we know what his car looks like, and we know he can't shoot with any accuracy, so I think we're okay for now," I responded. "And he doesn't know where we are."

  Riley sighed, running a tanned hand through his gold locks. "I guess that's something. Still, I would've preferred finding a body instead of a puddle of blood."

  "Why did he miss?" I asked. "How many assassins do you know of who miss? I mean, maybe once. Possibly twice—but even that's extremely rare."

  "It doesn't make a lot of sense," Riley agreed. "Bobb's never missed a hit as far as I know."

  Philby hissed loudly from the bed.

  "So maybe it isn't him?" I asked.

  "Maybe," Riley said. "I thought it was weird he made contact with you instead of killing you outright. That also goes against his M.O."

  "How have I never heard of…" I looked at Philby, who was struggling to get his bulk into his litter box. "…this assassin before? I thought I knew all the players?"

  Riley spotted the cat and got the point. He grinned. "He's fairly new. He was starting to make a name for himself right about the time you were handed your walking papers by the agency."

  "So what is his modus operandi? How does he usually take out targets, and who does he work for?"

  Riley got up and pulled an undershirt from the duffle bag, pulling it on over his nice, lean muscles. I was sad to see him clothed.

  "He started to show up on our radar with the Freitag hit in Munich a year and a half ago. Our sources indicated a new player on the scene. We didn't know much about him until he took out Wollan in Oslo a month later."

  I nodded—I'd heard of both assassinations. Freitag had been a German politician—a Socialist noted for reform. Wollan was a Norwegian arms dealer with ties to Somali warlords.

  "But how did you link those two murders?" I asked. "Neither one was tied to the other."

  "It was the way he did it. Always with a rifle at close range. And he left a calling card at both scenes. He cut off their right index fingers in both cases. And he stuffed them into the left nostril of the victims."

  "Seriously? This is a grown up? Not a cartoon character? Why did he do that?"

  Riley shrugged. "He's never explained it. Over the next year, there were five more hits. All men who had no ties to the other victims. Same index finger picking the same nostril."

  "That's how you connected him?" I asked. "From a juvenile gesture?"

  "No, we started picking up buzz about him. He's a free agent. Works for the highest bidder. Always goes by the name B
obb."

  Philby walked over to Riley and hissed furiously at him. It was almost like the cat couldn't help complaining when he heard the name, and he wanted us to stop saying it.

  "Always spelled with two Bs," Riley continued as he patted the cat on the head. Philby seemed to grudgingly accept this apology and trotted away.

  "Anyway, we've never had an eyewitness until now."

  I pointed at my chest. "Me. I'm the only one who's ever seen him. Great."

  Riley nodded. "You're the only one who's ever seen him and lived to talk about it."

  "That seems like a rather odd loose end. Why would he do that?" I wondered. Assassins almost never broke with their M.O. They were creatures of habit. It made no sense that this one would behave differently. I studied my index finger for a moment. I'd like to keep it.

  "Have you talked to Langley about this?" I asked.

  "I reported it after you fell asleep last night. The license plate was a dead end, but they believe it's him. They also think you're a target."

  I threw up my hands. "Great. So not only do I still have dead spies springing up around me, now I have an international killer on my heels."

  Riley's cell chimed. He looked at it. "Well, at least we're about to clear you of being at the prison. The video was just emailed to me."

  I felt a small sense of relief as I followed him over to the computer and watched him log in. At least there was some good news. I knew I hadn't been in Colorado a week ago. In fact, I hadn't ever been to Colorado as far as I knew. This would take some heat off of me.

  Riley clicked on the attachment video, and a new screen opened up. The footage was grainy—black and white—which I thought was weird. Surely a supermax prison could use better equipment. Why was this stuff always grainy black and white?

  We could see the back of someone, talking to Lenny, who looked very much alive.

  "How do they think that looks like me?" I asked. "It could be anybody." Seriously. This was beyond lame.

  Riley shook his head. I could smell the scent of his hair. It smelled like the ocean. "Obviously they were just looking for someone to blame, and you were it. You're being framed."

  "Obviously," I grumbled as I focused on the screen.

  The visitor was standing up. Lenny nodded and got up on the other side of the wall, replacing the telephone. The camera zoomed in as the visitor turned around…and my face grinned at the camera before moving out of view.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Well that ain't good," I mumbled as I stared at myself on the screen.

  Riley said nothing. And that wasn't good either.

  "It's not me," I said.

  "It sure looks like you," Riley responded.

  "Yes it does. But it's not me." The fake me had only lingered in the scene for a moment before vanishing. It was dark and grainy and the body type was hard to make out. But the face and hair looked like mine. I couldn't deny that.

  Someone was setting me up on an epic scale. And when I found them, I was going to kill them. Slowly and painfully. With carrots.

  "Now you have to stay out of sight," Riley insisted.

  "How do I know that you didn't doctor this to make me stay underground?" I asked, even though I knew he wouldn't go that far.

  Riley ignored me. "This image will go out to every Fed out there. This town is about to be overrun with agents looking for you."

  "Well, good. Maybe they'll find Bobb then." Philby hissed. In his sleep. I really needed to find out what was up with this.

  "You think he's behind this?" Riley asked. "There's no connection between him and Lenny, only him and you."

  "It's not really a connection," I mumbled. "He just visited and didn't kill me. It's not the same thing."

  Riley wasn't listening. He was getting dressed, so I grabbed the duffel and ran into the bathroom to change before he ditched me. I threw on a pair of jeans, driving moccasins, and a sweater, and ran out to see Riley gone but Suzanne and Kelly sitting in his place.

  "Where's Riley?" I asked. But I already knew the answer. The bastard was gone.

  "He had to go," Kelly said. "I've got the day off so I volunteered to babysit."

  "Babysit?" I asked. "Babysit? I'm a fully trained CIA operative with years of experience in dangerous situations in the field!"

  "Okay." Kelly rolled her eyes. "I'm here to keep you company. How's that?"

  "Worse." I sat down hard, folding my arms over my chest to show her I meant business.

  "Can I get you anything?" Suzanne asked. It was the first time I'd heard her talk. "The shop's opening in half an hour, but I could run and get you something."

  I looked at her with interest. She looked like she'd walked out of The Great Gatsby, with her severe, shiny black bob and her red lips and nails. She was dressed in the most beautiful, hunter green cowl-necked sweater over skinny black jeans and black ballet flats. She could be a model. What was she doing in this town?

  I held out my hand and walked toward her. "We haven't been officially introduced. I'm Merry Wrath."

  Suzanne took my hand and shook it. "Suzanne Aubrey. Nice to meet you." She pulled a business card out of her back pocket and handed it to me. "Here's my number if you need anything."

  "The code to the keypad would be awesome," I said with a smile.

  She shook her head. Every silky strand of hair fell automatically back into place. "Sorry. I'm under orders. But if you need any help with the computer, I'm kind of a whiz at that."

  "Why didn't you try out for the virtual intelligence department at Langley? They need people like that. I always seemed to work with idiots there." That was true. Don't get me wrong, most of the staff were geniuses, but I often got the guys who still worked in WordPerfect and thought a loop was the coolest thing you could make.

  Suzanne gave me a tiny, smug smile. "I just don't think it would've worked out. I'm happier here in WT." And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

  Who the hell was happier in Who's There? I was only here because I was in hiding. The only charms this town had were the Big Butter Chautauqua and Pork of July. And even those things were just what you'd think they were. The Chautauqua featured every kind of butter you could eat—including deep fried stick of butter on a stick, and the annual Pork of July festival crowned the Pork Princess and Pork Queen every year next to the ever-popular Jell-O Iowa sculpting contest.

  Kelly produced a box of donuts and a cup of hot tea. I sat down and started eating. Philby came over and sniffed the donuts hopefully. But Kelly pulled a can of cat food out of her bag and opened it, setting it on the floor. The ground seemed to tremble a little when he leaped down. He tore into the shredded meat as if he were killing it himself.

  "So, what's got you locked in?" Kelly asked as I finished off my fourth chocolate donut.

  I filled her in on the video and showed her the image on the computer. She sat quietly for a moment.

  "So, when you said you couldn't go with me to my nephew's birthday party last week, you were really in Colorado?"

  "That's not funny. I wasn't in Colorado, and you know it. And I really was busy. If you must know, I was shopping for curtains."

  Kelly arched an eyebrow. This had been a point of contention for a long time now. Mainly because some people thought it was stupid that I had Dora the Explorer sheets as my drapes.

  "Where?" she asked.

  "You don't really believe I was meeting a criminal at a supermax…?" I asked.

  "Where? Where were you shopping for curtains?"

  "Interiors by Inez," I answered. "I was asking her how to measure windows, and she was showing me some fabrics I thought would match my green couch."

  Kelly smiled. "You know I can check up to see if you're lying."

  I nodded. "I know. But I also can't believe you'd entertain the thought for one second that I was really out of state." I was getting pissed. But then, Kelly knew when I was mad before I did most of the time.

  She started laughing. "You should see your face! I kno
w you weren't there! It's so obvious that the woman on the monitor isn't you!" She collapsed in a fit of giggles that I would've found offensive had I not been so relieved that not only did she believe me, but she could prove somehow that wasn't me on the video.

  "Why isn't it me?" I asked.

  Kelly replayed the video. She paused it as the "me" on film looked at the camera. "Earrings. Her ears are pierced. Yours aren't."

  I squinted at the screen. It was hard to see at first, but the woman on film had double piercings on both earlobes with a large hoop earring in each one.

  "Huh." I traced the hoops with my finger. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  Kelly sighed. "Just how did you get through all those assignments without me, anyway?"

  I shook my head. "I've got no idea. But I can't wait to show this to Riley. I've never had pierced ears—so that should clear that up."

  "What it doesn't clear up is why that woman impersonated you," Kelly said.

  "I don't care about that as much as I care about getting the hell out of here. Do you have your car?" I asked.

  Kelly nodded. "I'm supposed to let Suzanne know when I want to leave. She'll let me out."

  "And you have the day off?" I asked.

  "Yes. But I wasn't completely honest with Riley." She looked a little chagrined. "You see, today's the day we pick up the cookies. And I need your help to get them and store them."

  "We pick up the cookies before turning in orders? That's insane."

  "It is. I don't think the Council has figured that out yet. But we have to pick them up today. I already cleaned out your garage to store them."

  "Wait…what?" I asked. "My garage? Why not yours?"

  "You don't have anything but your car in yours. My husband and I have two cars in our garage."

  I couldn't argue with that. I wanted to though. My biggest fear was that I'd wake up in the middle of the night and eat case after case of Girl Scout Cookies. Maybe I should just pay for the whole shipment outright to save trouble.