Free Never Say Spy by Diane Henders Page A

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