Part 37 (2/2)

Bob looked at her. ”You're really a spy, aren't you?” he accused. ”Or some international police or something ?” He snapped his fingers. ”I've got it; are you a DEA agent?”*221 ”No.” Kerry sighed. ”I'm a nerd,” she told him, causing Bud to m.u.f.fle a smirk. ”Really.”

”Oh.” Bob still looked very confused. ”Like a hacker?”

Kerry was about at the end of her patience. ”No. Dar's the hacker; I'm just a nerd.”

”You really a hacker?” Bud asked Dar with interest.

Dar started chuckling. ”Sometimes, yeah,” she confirmed. ”A very, very expensive one.” Her hands drifted over the laptop keyboard. ”Okay, I think that's enough intrigue for one night.

Kerry needs to get some rest.” She glanced up at Bud. ”You let us know tomorrow how Charlie's doing?”

Bud nodded. ”Yeah.” He fiddled with the room key. ”He about chewed that doctor's arm off when he said he couldn't come outta there tonight.”

”Know how he feels,” Dar said. ”I'll give you a call in the morning after I call Wharton.”

”What about me?” Bob whined.

”We'll call you, too,” Kerry told him, trying to ignore the low growl behind her. ”Dar's right. We should all get some rest. I'm sure tomorrow's going to be busy.” She gently herded them out and shut the door, then she turned and faced Dar, who had taken a seat in one of the armchairs. ”Why do I feel like I'm trapped in a bizarro Agatha Christie mystery novel?”

Dar held out a hand and Kerry crossed over to the chair and sat on an arm. ”I figure, we get rid of DeSalliers, dig up whatever stuff we can here and give it to Bob and get rid of him, and then we can get back to having fun.”

Kerry leaned over and kissed Dar on the head. ”Sounds like a plan, boss.” She only hoped it would work.

Chapter.

Twenty-one.

KERRY STRETCHED OUT her legs, and then propped them up on the railing of the porch outside their room. The day had dawned bright and sunny, and she had decided to spend the time waiting for breakfast by attempting a little poetry. Dar was off picking up something at the hotel's sundry shop, and she had a few minutes to simply look out over the harbor and revel in the gorgeous view.

And it was truly gorgeous. High up on the slope as they were, the harbor stretched out below her and curved to either side, cupping a crystal aqua circle of water with just the lightest visible chop on it. Around her, she could hear the rustle of trees, the cry of gulls, sounds from the harbor, but very little traffic or bustle. The air mostly bore the scent of foliage and salt air, and Kerry felt a sense of peaceful well-being as she relaxed in the warm sunlight.

With a smile, she returned her attention to the book balanced on her lap and the heavy, injected-ink writing pen Dar had given her. The pen was hardwood, and warm from her hand, and it balanced well in her grip as she flexed her fingers around it.

Thoughtfully, she regarded the page and then added two more lines to the several already there. A knock on the door, however, interrupted her.

With a resigned sigh, Kerry put down her book and went inside, going to the door and peeking through the eyehole. ”Oh, c.r.a.p.” Seeing the female half of DeSalliers' gumshoe team outside, she considered not answering it. Then she figured she was likely to get more info from the woman than the woman was going to get from her, so she opened the door. ”Yes?” Her tone made no pretense of being friendly, and the woman took a half step back.

”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Kerry,” the woman recovered. ”I was hoping to talk to you.”

”Why?” Kerry asked bluntly.

”Just because I think we can help each other.”

Kerry had to wonder briefly if stupidity was contagious.

Perhaps Christen had spent a little too much time with Bob. ”Help each other do what?” she inquired. ”So far, all you people have*223 done is help me get a migraine.”

Christen sighed. ”Look, can I just come in and talk?”

”No,” Kerry replied. ”I'm not sure what it's going to take to get across the fact that we don't want anything to do with you, your boss, your stupid mission, or the people you represent. I'm out of options. Should I hire a flying banner plane?”

”The fact is, honey, you are involved.” Christen's att.i.tude changed, became harder. ”So either you let me in and give me what I want, or-”

”Or what?” Kerry found it almost funny. ”Are you going to pull a gun on me?”

”No.”

”Are you going to make like Jackie Chan and start yowling j.a.panese haiku while striking kung fu poses?”

Christen didn't answer.

”Are you going to try to hit me?” Kerry's nose crinkled up in amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Threaten me with a lawsuit? What?”

”You think this is a game, don't you?”

”Hey, you're the one making the threats.” Kerry laughed, and then got serious herself, jabbing the air in Christen's direction.

”You listen to me, you half-baked excuse for a high-priced, snoopy lackey. You'd better just back off and go back where you came from. Stop messing with us.”

”Or?” Christen threw the comment back at her.

”Or I'll call the president of your agency and file a complaint of hara.s.sment without cause,” Kerry replied.

Christen laughed. ”You think he'll care?”

”When he gets a call from the executive VP of the company where he gets all his data? Yeah.” Kerry smiled. ”He'll care,” she a.s.sured the now not-smiling Christen. ”And if he doesn't listen to me, he'll listen to Dar.” She watched Christen's face. ”Tch... didn't do your homework, did you?”

”Your inquiry came back totally negative.”

”Not surprising.” Kerry smiled. ”Try it with a last name of Stuart.” She started to close the door. ”You, on the other hand, provided us with a lot of information. You and your little partner really should work a little harder, you know? That last job of yours was a real disaster.”

Christen had turned brick red.

”So don't you mess with me, lady,” Kerry warned her seriously. ”You're an amateur. It offends me that you actually get paid to be an amateur. My Labrador Retriever would do better as a detective, and as far as I'm concerned, you're just a flashy poser.

Scoot.”

She slammed the door with a sense of guilty satisfaction.

”Jerk.” She turned and started to walk away, then stopped as a 224*

knock came at the door again. With a growl, she whirled and yanked open the door, a further stream of invective ready and waiting. Which she swallowed when she found herself facing a doe- eyed, uniformed, room service waitress. ”Oh.” She stepped back.

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