A Spy For a Spy

by Diane Henders

  I shut.

  Many silent minutes later, I wondered if his hands were getting tired. He was leaning comfortably against my car, gun and phone still at the ready. No sign of fatigue.

  For the first time, I realized his usual roll of soft belly fat was gone. It must have been fake all along. His body looked hard and fit and his movements were smooth and confident, his former jerky awkwardness gone without a trace.

  Bastard. Fooled us all.

  And idiot me, underestimating him even after I knew his background.

  The sound of the doorbell yanked me out of my useless recriminations.

  Doytchevsky straightened. “Go. Same instructions as last time.”

  This time when I approached the door, surprise made my step falter. The man on the other side of the glass was definitely Terry Sherman. No mistaking the shock of thick white hair I’d seen in his dossier. But the rest of him was startlingly small and frail. Somehow in Tammy’s mind he was bigger and stronger.

  I shook my head and reached for the lock. Tammy’s memories, not mine. She must be a much smaller woman than I.

  When the door swung open, a chime sounded in the back. Sherman shot a nervous glance around the shop. “Where’s Sam?”

  I held my voice level. “He’s in the back. Go on through. I’ll just lock up behind you.” I waved in the direction of the back door and turned to reach for the lock.

  “No, you first.”

  Something in his voice made me turn slowly, cold fear slithering down my spine. A gun trembled wildly in his hands, his finger quivering on the trigger.

  My heart kicked my chest. Great, just fucking great. After all this, I was going get shot accidentally by some little old fart who couldn’t handle a gun.

  “Okay, Terry, you don’t need to point that at me. I’m going.”

  I spoke a little louder than necessary. At least Doytchevsky’s spy skills might do me some good.

  No such luck. The shithead didn’t make an appearance.

  Gulping at the large hairy lump apparently lodged in my throat, I moved in the direction of the door.

  Who would get me first? Shot in the back by Sherman or in the face by Doytchevsky?

  I opened the door slowly. No sign of Doytchevsky by my car.

  As I stepped forward, a whisper of movement alerted me to his presence right beside the door, inches away.

  Maybe if I had been Kane, I could have done some spectacular martial arts move. Disarmed Doytchevsky and thrown him into the path of Sherman’s bullet or something.

  I wasn’t Kane. Not even close.

  Staring straight ahead, I walked farther into the bay, my back prickling with the expectation of a bullet.

  A quick shuffle of motion behind me; a cry of pain and a thud.

  “Restrain him.” Doytchevsky didn’t even sound out of breath. “Use the ties on the shelf beside him.”

  When I turned, Sherman lay on the floor, his wrist bent at an unnatural angle. His face was white with shock and pain, his breathing quick and shallow. Doytchevsky stood several feet away looking unperturbed, his trank gun and phone steady in his hands. A surreptitious glance revealed Sherman’s gun lying on the floor beside the shelves, at least fifteen feet away.

  Dammit, I should have done something. He would have had to put both the phone and the gun down in order to disarm Sherman.

  Common sense asserted itself.

  If I had tried, he probably could have dealt with me just as easily as Sherman. And he might have pressed the button in the process. Not an option.

  I turned back to make my way to the shelf, eyeing Sherman’s gun. Only fifteen feet away. I glanced at Doytchevsky, who shook his head slowly, smiling his vicious smile. I eased out a sigh. That gun might as well be fifteen miles away.

  Nylon ties in hand, I pulled Sherman’s arm around behind him. He let out a cry, sweat glistening on his face. His hand flopped horribly on his obviously broken wrist, already mottled and swelling. I shot a glance at Doytchevsky.

  “I said tie him.” He made a threatening gesture with the phone, and I hurried to obey despite the sickness that squirmed in my belly while I tightened the tie around the puffy flesh.

  Don’t listen to his whimpers. Don’t look at his injuries.

  Don’t feel.

  I clamped down on control.

  “Good.” Doytchevsky jerked his chin in the direction of the desk. “Bring that case over and put the leads on his forehead.”

  The small case he indicated sent a shock of recognition through me. Jack’s lie detector.

  Doytchevsky smiled at my expression. “On temporary loan. Since Dr. Travers wasn’t using it this afternoon.” His smile vanished. “Hurry up.”

  I had seen Jack use it often enough. A few moments later, the crown of electrodes was fastened around Sherman’s sweaty forehead, the ready light glowing.

  As I leaned over him he met my gaze, tears puddling in his white-rimmed eyes. “Please,” he quavered. “My wrist... Can you-”

  “No, she can’t. Now you’re going to tell me where your wireless network generator is.” Doytchevsky cut across Sherman’s plea.

  Sherman tensed. “No.”

  “Break his fingers.” Doytchevsky’s voice cracked like a whip. “One at a time, until he feels more cooperative.”

  “No!” I recoiled instinctively, guts clenching.

  “What did you say?” Doytchevsky’s finger moved slowly toward the phone button.

  “Wait!” My gaze bounced between Doytchevsky’s deadly face and Sherman’s pallor. My stomach twisted into a sick knot.

  He was just a skinny, helpless old man. The thought of breaking his fingers sent hot bile surging into my throat.

  “Do it.” The phone described an ominous arc.

  My quivering knees dropped me beside Sherman. “Just tell him. He tortured Rex Rimmel until he told everything. You’ll end up telling him anyway. Please, just tell him!”

  Sherman must have seen the truth in my face. His shoulders slumped. “It’s in my pocket.”

  Doytchevsky barked out a laugh. “Stupid old man. That was too easy. I didn’t even need the lie detector.” His gaze snapped to me. “Take it.”

  I groped through Sherman’s pockets and extracted a small USB device. Doytchevsky jerked his chin toward the shelves. “Put it there.”

  I had only taken a couple of steps when the sound of the trank gun made me whirl to see Sherman go limp.

  “Hurry up. Put it on the shelf. Then lie face down on the floor.”

  Adrenaline stinging my veins, I froze. Take my chances and jump him now? He was too damn far away. He’d shoot me before I could take a step.

  Doytchevsky snorted. “Don’t be stupid. Do it.”

  I watched my hand rise to place the USB stick on the shelf. He was right. Getting tranked would be stupid. I lowered myself to the floor.

  “Put your hands on your head. If you move, I’ll detonate the bomb. Clear?”

  “Clear,” I mumbled into the dirty concrete. The chemical smell burned my nose and my eyes began to water.

  A few moments later, I heard movement in the corner and the forklift started. What the hell was he doing?

  The sound of the engine approached and I swallowed hard, my hands trembling on my head, overworked muscles screaming. How could Tammy bear blindness? It was torture not to be able to see what was coming.

  The forklift stopped. Close. A roll of canvas hit the floor beside me, making me jerk involuntarily.

  “Get up.”

  I hauled myself upright, trying to hide my shivering. Cold concrete, low blood sugar, too much adrenaline. My mind drifted lightly in a sea of fear.

  “Take off the electrodes. Unroll the sling and get him in it.”

  I stood staring stupidly at Doytchevsky in the driver’s seat of the forklift, one hand on the controls, one hand on the phone. Shit, if he’d just put the phone down for an instant…

  “Hurry up!” Doytchevsky’s command was accompanied by another threat
ening wave of the phone, and I bent stiffly to remove the lie detector. The canvas unrolled into a smallish square with webbing loops at the corners. I laid it out beside Sherman and bent to heave at his limp form.

  Clenching my teeth, I managed not to groan while I rolled and dragged him into the middle of the canvas. Thank God he was small and skinny. Knives of pain stabbed my chest and sweat soaked my shirt. I knelt for a moment, panting and trembling while Doytchevsky manoeuvred the forklift’s extension over the sling with one hand on the controls, the other still holding the phone.

  “Loop it over the extension and tuck his arms in.”

  I obeyed and the extension whined upward, raising the corners of the sling to roll Sherman into an uncomfortable-looking semi-fetal position inside the hammock of canvas.

  Doytchevsky picked up a small control box from the floor of the forklift and a moment later, a blast of fierce heat rolled from the kiln as its lid opened.

  Sudden horrible comprehension paralyzed me, my sweat freezing in the heat. “You… you can’t…” My voice came out as an unrecognizable croak, my hands clenching on the canvas.

  “Watch me.” He brandished the phone. “Let go.” He reached for the forklift controls. “Or keep holding on, and I’ll put you in the kiln along with him. That might actually be a better-”

  The sound of the door chime made us both tense. Not the doorbell. The chime that sounded when the door opened. A moment later, the crash of breaking pottery shattered the air.

  “Go!” Doytchevsky hissed, the phone slashing between us. “Deal with it.”

  As I turned away, I heard the forklift moving.

  The whine of hydraulics.

  I was almost at the door.

  A sizzling roar and the stench of burning.

  My knees went weak, my stomach heaving. I clung to the shelves for support. More pottery smashed in the store.

  Another mechanical whine and the roaring was muffled. The reek pervaded the entire bay, burning my nose, searing my mind.

  Another crash from the front of the shop brought me back to my senses. Too late to help Sherman now. Protect Lola.

  I stumbled through the door.

  Kane’s gun swung up to point at me, his finger already tightening on the trigger.

  Chapter 36

  It happened too fast. Kane’s eyes widened and he jerked his chin in a ‘get-out-of-the-way’ gesture, the muzzle of his gun searching for a target. Gaping in shock, I stood stupidly.

  An instant later, Kane dove sideways as Doytchevsky’s weight smashed into my back, his forearm crushing my throat, his gun hand swinging out beside me. The trank gun spat its small, venomous report.

  Kane crumpled, his body sprawling into the broken pottery.

  “Idiot.” Doytchevsky shoved me away, his voice barely penetrating the cocoon of horror that held me motionless. “Bring him.”

  Staring at Kane lying limp on the floor, I stood frozen. How could I have failed him like this? I’d only had to get out of his line of fire. A single side-step...

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Blood etched a shining red thread down his bicep, a scratch from one of the shards. My mind flew irrationally to my waist pouch. I had adhesive bandages in there. I should get one for him…

  A slap to the back of my head jolted me into reality again. “I said, bring him. Hurry up.”

  My trembling knees dropped me beside Kane. “I can’t. He’s too big.” I held out a shaking hand. “I have blood sugar problems. I can barely stand up. I can’t carry him.”

  “Your problem, not mine.” Doytchevsky pushed his toe at the shards. “Damn, that was one of my better pieces.” He stooped to pick up Kane’s gun and straightened, tucking it into his waistband. His phone threatened me again. “Drag him.” His finger moved closer to the phone button. “Now.”

  I grasped Kane’s wrists, my hands slick with sweat. Somehow I managed to heave his body across the floor and through the door into the bay before I collapsed beside him, gasping. My pulse battered my eardrums.

  Another canvas roll dropped onto the floor beside me. “Get him onto it.”

  My heart contracted to a single point of incandescent pain before extinguishing completely.

  If necessary, I would have chosen Lola over Sherman. I couldn’t… wouldn’t… choose between Kane and Lola.

  Think of something. Anything to delay the inevitable.

  “I thought you wanted him to suffer.” My voice spoke from outside myself. “This is too easy. A few minutes of pain.”

  I looked up at the sound of Doytchevsky’s snort. “There’s no pain at all. Unfortunately. That kiln is over two thousand degrees right now. Hotter than a crematorium. Wood combusts spontaneously at only around six hundred degrees. He’ll be dead after his first breath. In less than an hour, there’s nothing left but fine gray ash.”

  I wrestled my terror into submission and stuffed it deep under the remains of my heart. Stall. It was my only hope.

  “So like I said, it’s too easy.” My voice was horribly level. “Let him wake up. I’ve got a bone to pick with him.”

  “Have you, now?” Doytchevsky eyed me narrowly. “And what might that be?”

  The cold voice spoke again from my mouth. “I hate the bastard. He raped me.”

  Doytchevsky’s face lit with an unholy grin. “Well, well. The great and virtuous John Kane has feet of clay after all.”

  He gazed into middle distance for a few moments before returning his attention to me. “How convenient. I’ll get to use that lie detector after all.” He tossed a couple of nylon ties on top of Kane’s body. “Tie him. Then lie on the floor and keep your hands on your head.”

  He moved toward the desk, the phone aimed at me like a weapon while I slid a tie onto Kane’s ankles with shaking hands. I feigned yanking it tight, hoping I was convincing. It had to be tight enough to fool Doytchevsky, but maybe a little slack would be enough to give Kane something to work with.

  Doytchevsky’s watchful gaze never left me while I moved up to Kane’s wrists. I strained at his limp body, dragging his wrists behind him and propping his back against my hip while I fumbled with the tie.

  Maybe, just maybe.

  I hunched lower, letting out a grunt of effort. Under the cover of Kane’s broad back, I fished my knife out of my jeans and tucked it into the waistband of Kane’s. He should feel its hard shape against his back when he woke. With his hands behind him, he might be able to free himself.

  “Hurry up!”

  I twitched at Doytchevsky’s command and let out another pitiful grunt. “He’s too damn heavy… there, got it.”

  I snugged the tie barely closed and let Kane flop onto his back again before lying down beside him, hands on my head. My heart battered the cold concrete under me. If Doytchevsky checked my work…

  But he didn’t seem inclined to approach. After a short interval of silence, his footsteps stopped several feet away. “I’ve set up a webcam. It won’t be the quality of my usual work, but it should suffice.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “When he wakes up, you can force him to admit his transgressions. I’ll signal you when to start and stop.”

  His footsteps receded again, and I lay shivering in silence while my mind skittered wildly. Stall. Draw out the ‘questioning’ to give Kane a chance to realize my knife was there and free himself.

  But if Doytchevsky hooked Kane up to the lie detector, how could I make him admit to something he hadn’t done? Unless…

  Ignoring waves of shivering that ignited fiery pain in my shoulders, I gave myself over to frantic thought.

  Kane stirred beside me only a few short minutes later, groaning. Doytchevsky’s footsteps stopped at a safe distance again.

  “Get up.”

  I wasn’t sure which of us he was addressing, so I moved slowly and carefully. When he didn’t object, I crept to my knees, biting back a whimper of pain as I lowered my arms.

  Still shivering, I hauled myself to my feet. Kane’s eyes opened
, his muscles bulging as he tested his bonds.

  “Don’t bother,” I snapped. “I tied them tight.”

  His unfocused gaze sharpened on me and I blessed his instant comprehension when he stopped struggling. In just a few moments, he’d find the knife.

  I hoped.

  “Put the electrodes on him.”

  Kane’s head snapped around to face Doytchevsky. “Doytchevsky,” he said levelly. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to answer some questions,” Doytchevsky replied as I settled the band around Kane’s forehead.

  “And why would I do that?”

  Doytchevsky grinned and hefted the phone. “Because I’m holding the detonator for a bomb that will blow up an innocent little old lady if you refuse. I believe you know the little purple-haired granny from the sex shop?”

  Kane’s face set like iron. “I’ll answer.”

  “Good. After discovering your less-than-stellar personality traits, I was afraid that might not have been sufficient inducement. But you’re a knight in shining armour after all.” He sneered. “Or so you like to pretend.”

  Doytchevsky cut his eyes at me and stepped back to the computer. “Go ahead.”

  Kane’s gaze met mine, and I forced my face into a stony expression. When I spoke, my voice was deadly cold. No hint of my quaking insides.

  “Answer yes or no. You’ve been following me. Disobeying a direct order.”

  A flash of pain twisted his face, gone in an instant. The look of a man stabbed in the guts and left to bleed.

  His face was impassive, his voice expressionless as he replied. “Yes.”

  The green light flashed with the same vile glee as Doytchevsky’s smile.

  “You’ve followed me before, haven’t you? Lots of times.”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t enough, was it?” I went on before he could respond, holding onto my icy calm. “Even after you raped me the first time, you still wanted more.”

  He stiffened, but his wooden expression didn’t alter.

  I lunged toward him, shoving my face close to his. “Admit it! Tell everybody how you broke into my house in the middle of the night!”

  For a single naked moment we locked eyes before he dropped his gaze.