I was rank with sweat and shivering again in my damp clothes. All my muscles ached even more fiercely than before, and my bruised butt throbbed in time with the gash on my leg. The frightening sight that confronted me in the bathroom mirror convinced me I had to have a shower, no matter how tired I was.
I stripped off my clothes and crept into a hot shower, soaking under the spray until I was warmed through. Dressed again in my last clean clothes, I called the front desk to request a wakeup call before falling into the bed to alternate between restless sleep and panicked jerks into wakefulness.
The ring of the phone convulsed every muscle, making me yelp. Completely disoriented, I floundered across the bed in a blind search for the source of the noise. A cheery wakeup message answered my slurred ‘hello’.
The bedside clock read 9:45, and I blearily registered the presence of daylight behind the heavy drapes as I flopped back onto the bed and lay waiting for my heart to regain its normal rhythm.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I used the facilities and brushed my teeth and my still-damp hair. Sleeping on it wet had emphasized its curls, and I tugged uselessly on the piece in the front that persisted in sticking straight out. Finally I doused it with water, hoping to subdue it. I’m such a fashion model.
On the dot of ten o’clock, there was a tap at the door, and Officer Kane’s soft call came from the hallway. “It’s John, honey. Open up.”
I unlocked the door and stood back. He filled the doorway for a moment, his eyes flicking over the room before he stepped inside.
Yeah, you can fill my doorway any time, big fella.
He was freshly shaved and dressed in a snug black T-shirt that emphasized his broad chest and bulging biceps. I dragged my eyes back up to his face with an effort and gave him a smile.
“’Morning, Officer Kane. Or should I say, Honey?”
Kane grimaced. “Sorry. If you invent a cover story, it’s best to stick with it. If you forget the details, they can come back to bite you later on. And just call me John. ‘Officer Kane’ isn’t completely accurate anyway.”
I waited to see if he would elaborate, but he said nothing further, so I said, “Okay… John,” experimentally.
“Let’s go,” he said.
I put on my shoes and grabbed my backpack, and we headed for the elevator.
He put his arm around me again as we crossed the lobby to the checkout desk, and I felt my body react. Lucky I was wearing a good bra. Hate to flash the high beams at the morning staff.
I bumped against his hip and smiled up at him, playing the good wife. Huh. I’d rather be the naughty girlfriend.
When we got to Kane’s SUV, Clyde Webb looked up from the back seat. “Hey, Aydan,” he greeted me cheerfully.
“’Morning, Spider. How’s the gut?”
“Fine,” he said dismissively, and I let it go.
Kane pulled out into the light Sunday traffic and navigated to a drive-through restaurant, as promised. Spider ordered pancakes and sausage, and I went for my favourite sausage and egg sandwich, along with milk, orange juice, and yogurt. Kane ordered black coffee.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t you ever eat?”
The corner of his mouth crooked up. “I ate breakfast at home.”
Spider spoke from the back seat, his mouth full of pancake. “No, RoboKane never eats. His system is fuelled entirely by black coffee and baby food. He uses the baby food for target practice.”
I got the movie reference immediately. “Didn’t Robocop come out in the eighties?” I asked. “Were you even born yet?”
“1987,” Webb said proudly. “I was three.”
“You watched Robocop when you were three,” I teased him.
“No, when I was sixteen. I told you, I’m a serious movie buff.”
“Does that mean you only watch serious movies, or…” I goaded him.
“Yeah, yeah, you picky grammar types are all the same,” he griped good-naturedly. “What are you, an English major or something?”
“Worse. Bookkeeper.”
We reached the highway and settled in for the long drive. Kane was in silent driving mode. As before, Webb chattered incessantly from the back seat. He had intelligent and refreshingly different views on a wide range of subjects, along with a buoyant personality and an offbeat sense of humour. His conversation was liberally sprinkled with movie references, most of which I found completely obscure. That troubled him not at all, and he blithely described the movies and their plots in detail.
As we approached Drumheller, Spider broke off his flow of talk. “Kane, I need a rest stop and some snacks,” he said.
Kane pulled off at a gas station. “Grab me some beef jerky,” he said as Webb got out of the car.
Spider poked his head back inside. “Aydan, do you want anything?”
“No, I’m fine.” I turned to Kane. “Assuming there’s going to be time to eat when we get to Silverside?”
“Definitely.”
Webb departed, and I sighed and rested my aching head against the headrest, massaging my temples.
Kane eyed me with sympathy. “Sometimes he shuts up if you ignore him.”
I smiled through my pain. “He’s an interesting conversationalist, but a little goes a long way.”
“Don’t let his babble fool you,” Kane advised. “He’s a brilliant analyst. He graduated at the top of his class, and CSIS recruited him right out of university.”
“Oh, I certainly didn’t get the impression he was stupid,” I agreed as I opened the door. “I need to stretch my legs.”
Kane nodded, and we both got out. He paced around the car stretching and flexing his neck and shoulders while I did some leg stretches, trying to persuade my stiffened muscles to relax. When Spider returned a few minutes later with his snacks, we all piled back into the SUV and got back on the road.
Webb struck up another conversation almost immediately. Kane glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“Shut up, Webb,” he said mildly.
Spider smiled and shrugged, unabashed. But he did mercifully shut up. He plugged his earbuds into his ears and turned his attention to his phone, texting at the speed of light.