Never Say Spy by Diane Henders

somebody.  Hard.
    I drew another breath, steadying my voice.  “I checked out the parking lot, but I didn’t see you, so I decided to wait.”  I nodded toward the biker, who had regained his feet to limp back and forth as if trying to get his knee working again.  “He was waiting, too, I guess.  I sat down behind those vending machines.”  I stabbed a finger in the direction of the machines on the boulevard.  “He ran me off from there.”
    “Ran you off?” Kane interjected.
    “Shoved me down the street and offered to kick my ass to hell.”
    Kane glowered at the biker.
    “Ya said there might be some bad shit goin’ down,” Hellhound protested.  “I saw this kid hangin’ out, an’ I didn’t wanna take a chance on civilian casualties, so I ran him off.”
    Kane gave him an incredulous look.  “Him?  What part of this looks like a boy to you?” he asked, gesturing toward my tangled hair.
    “She had her hood up, an’ she never showed her face,” Hellhound explained.  “I see this skinny kid in the middle of the fuckin’ night in a parkin’ lot, what was I s’posed to think?”
    Kane sighed.  “Go on,” he said to me.
    “He’s right, I kept my hood up,” I said.  “I didn’t want to be too visible, and I was purposely trying to disguise myself.  So I gave him some teenage attitude, and then went down the street and turned the corner.  I sneaked up the back of the mall and went over the fence.  Lucky it was stucco.  I think.”  I surveyed my abraded fingertips ruefully.
    “I was trying to get a view of the coffee shop and the parking lot,” I continued.  “I peeked out, and I didn’t think he’d seen me, but I guess he did.”
    I shot a questioning look at the biker and he nodded.  “So I was hanging out in the shadows waiting for you when he grabbed me from behind and just about punched my lights out.”
    Kane frowned at Hellhound.
    “Well, shit,” Hellhound justified himself.  “I saw this dude scopin’ out the lot, an’ when I went to check it out, it was the same fuckin’ kid I just ran off.  So I figured it ain’t just some kid.  Thought I’d see if he felt like tellin’ me who he really was.”
    “And what part of ‘Do not engage under any circumstances’ was unclear to you?” Kane grated.  There was an edge to his voice that instantly made me think ‘Drill Sergeant’.
    Hellhound must have felt the same, because he straightened, feet coming together and chin going up in a classic ‘Attention’ position.  It should have looked ludicrous, the grizzled, leather-clad biker standing at attention in his faded AC/DC T-shirt, but the tension between them negated any humour.
    “Sorry, Cap,” he said, looking unrepentant.  “But what was I gonna do, let some fuckin’ dirtbag grab this pretty lady here, an’ maybe blow ya away, too?  I don’t need another fuckin’ phone call like the one I got two years ago.”
    “Go on, Aydan,” Kane said to me, his voice still harsh but controlled.
    “Well, he slammed me up against the wall and started to throw a punch, but my hood fell down,” I explained.  “And then, instead of saying something useful like, ‘Hi, Officer Kane sent me’, he cuddles up, calls me ‘pretty lady’, and then phones somebody and says ‘got her’!  What the hell was I supposed to think?”
    I glared at Hellhound, who was still standing rigid and expressionless.  “So I tried to get away.  And he grabbed me.  You saw the rest.”  I was mad all over again.  “So is he another member of your team, or what?”
    Kane’s face was unreadable.  “No,” he said quietly, seemingly more to Hellhound than to me.  “Mr. Helmand is a civilian.  According to what you have told me, he has committed assault tonight, and if you want to press charges, I will arrest him.”  Hellhound’s chin lifted a little higher, but he made no protest.
    “Also,” Kane continued, “Involving him in this situation was a serious lapse of