Never Say Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

the matching yellow bra, I took myself in hand.  Dammit, I was pushing fifty.  Surely I was past adolescent simpering over my undies.  Kane’s face showed nothing but professional detachment, so I stood a little taller and watched in silence while he completely unpacked my few items from the backpack and checked the pack itself over thoroughly.
    He laid the pack in the trunk before taking a small camera out of his inside pocket to photograph the trunk and its contents.  He made a note in his notebook, then methodically repacked the bag and handed it to me.
    “What’s in these other bags?” he asked.
    “Oh, just my winter survival gear,” I responded, glancing at their familiar lumpy bulk.  “I always take it when I’m driving the highway.  You know how fast the weather can change around here in March.”
    As I eyed the bags, a dark spot on one of them caught my eye.  No, it was a hole.
    “Oh, no,” I said as I reached in before Kane could stop me.  I gazed up at him.  “You killed my sleeping bag.”

Chapter 4  
     
    When we got into the battered Suburban, Webb offered me the front passenger seat while he got in behind.  I’d noticed a couple of bullet holes in the driver’s side of the truck, but apparently nothing vital had been hit.  Kane pulled smoothly into traffic and we headed north.
    I devoured my sandwich while Kane drove in silence and Webb chattered incessantly from the rear seat.  In short order, I discovered he had two older sisters, still lived with his parents, had a computer science degree, and was a fan of World of Warcraft and Star Trek.
    “You like the new Star Trek best, I suppose?” I asked.
    “No, I love them all.  The original ones are the best,” he enthused.  “Besides, you can’t get all the in-jokes in the new movie unless you’ve seen the originals.”
    “I can’t believe you’re into a show that started, what, twenty years before you were born?”
    “I’m a serious movie and TV buff,” he replied proudly.  “I watch everything.”
    We spent the rest of the short drive debating the merits of the latest Star Trek movie.  When we arrived at our destination, Webb grew increasingly subdued while we waited for the medical examiner in the reception area.  When the examiner arrived and we began the walk down the long hallway, silence reigned.
    I swallowed nervousness.  Death didn’t disturb me and I’d never been squeamish, but I hoped I didn’t throw up or pass out.  That would be an embarrassing show of weakness.
    The medical examiner led us into a room containing a drape-covered gurney.  Kane glanced at Webb’s pale face.
    “You stand over here by the door,” he said.  “I’ve already got your puke on my pants; I don’t need any more of it.”
    I glanced reflexively at Kane’s legs, and sure enough, there was a splatter on his right shoe and pant leg.  I averted my eyes.  Didn’t need to see that just now.
    Kane took me gently by the arm and the medical examiner led us to the gurney.  “Ready?” he asked.
    I nodded, and the examiner lifted the sheet away from the dead man’s face.
    Clearly, Kane was an excellent marksman.  There was a neat dark hole in the forehead.  There was very little blood on the face, but I was glad I couldn’t see the back of the head.  I’d seen what a .22 bullet would do to a two-by-four as it went through.  Tiny entry hole, total devastation on exit.  Kane had said his gun was a .40 calibre.  I really didn’t want to see the exit wound.
    Holding onto composure, I concentrated on the face, trying to see it as it would have been in life.  I’d only seen Beefcake for a short time, and I hadn’t been paying much attention to his face.  And death changes even your dearest loved ones into remote strangers.
    “I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy,” I said as I turned away from the table.
    Kane’s hand was still under my elbow.  He came around in front of me without letting go of my arm and looked