Wild Encounter

by Nikki Logan

  Clare stepped off the tube at Vauxhall station and hurried the few blocks to the Thames-side offices of MI6. Even without the address in her hand, she could never have missed the distinctive, towering complex that housed the central offices of the British Secret Intelligence Service.

  Some secret.

  She paused out front, gathering her courage, and then—schooling herself not to look around like a tourist—pushed through the street doors into the very heart of Simon’s territory.

  Breathless.

  Because you’ll see him again.

  It was the first time in the weeks since her return to London that she’d felt anything but numb, emotionally. Even the considerable panic of stepping up into Artie’s shoes and struggling to drag WildLyfe back from the brink of ruin hadn’t done more than make her nights restless. And she couldn’t hold work entirely responsible for that. Not when her dreams were filled with piercing, accusing gray eyes.

  A history of horrendous business choices became apparent when someone other than Artie looked at his corporate records, but Clare’s accountant got straight to work extracting WildLyfe from the dodgier relationships and nurturing the good ones, while Clare kept the admin side of things running smoothly. What was left of the thirty-grand Tim—Jim—had let her keep from the fake grant paid for a month with a high-end recovery specialist who worked a corporate desk like a concert pianist, spinning challenges and accusations to a more positive angle with as much loyalty and courage as Jambi would have shown. It was one hell of a wake-up call to the kind of sheltered, single-focused world she’d been living in all this time. Artie’s world—like Simon’s, maybe?—was a tangled web of third-party politics and high-stakes expectations. It wouldn’t take much to set the whole lot unraveling.

  Thankfully, being numb meant she’d experienced all this drama dispassionately. It felt good to be in an emotional white-out. It felt, well, if not good, then at least gratifying, to have things with Simon turn out just as disastrously as she’d always feared it would. It served her right for having hoped for more.

  So why was just being in the same building with him exciting?

  Why did walking the steps he walked and sitting where he might sit and meeting people he worked with have her heart fluttering?

  She was in for one hell of a nasty fall if she didn’t tame her wild heart.

  Especially since she didn’t have a shrink to help her pick up the pieces, anymore. Dr. Douglass had taken it pretty well, considering all the nasty names she’d called him. And then he’d asked her when he’d see her again because her treatment wasn’t finished.

  Uh…yeah, Doc, it really is. No Stockholm, no capture-bonding, no PTSD.

  Just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill broken heart.

  Yay for her.

  She signed in at the first security check and ignored the curious stare of the receptionist. The bruising on her not-fractured jaw face was almost gone—who knew you could sprain a jaw?—and the stitches across her nose had been removed just yesterday. And her macerated heart was well-hidden under her warm sweater. So whatever had the woman’s interest so piqued it wasn’t carnage.

  She flushed to the roots of her dark hair. Maybe her reputation preceded her?

  Clare dropped McKenzie’s name to fast-track her through the second security check. Deep inside the building, she was greeted by name at a smaller reception desk in a simple waiting room. She didn’t see the receptionist make a call or announcement but, moments after she arrived, the statuesque figure of Agent Amazon swanned through an internal door.

  “Ms. Delaney,” she said, thrusting forward her hand formally. “Thank you for agreeing to this interview. If you’ll follow me?” They walked still deeper into the building, and up a long hallway.

  “How did it end up going with the pack in Africa?” McKenzie said to fill the long corridor walk.

  “Good. The dogs were all settled in when I left, hunting successfully.”

  “And you? Recovering well?”

  From the attack. “Yes. Thank you for the specialist referral.”

  She pushed through yet another door. “deVries arranged that.”

  In case she thought Clare gave a rat’s, presumably. But that was as good an opening as any.

  “I’ll have to thank him before we start the interview.”

  “I’m afraid he’s not permitted to participate in the interviewing process, since he was directly involved in the alleged incident.”

  Alleged? Seriously?

  And had she really imagined he’d be in a hurry to see her again? He’d not made a single attempt at contacting her since hot-footing it back to London with his suspects. Déjà deVries.

  They stopped at a pair of nondescript doors.

  “Ms. Delaney, this is Brian Radcliffe, who will be sitting in on your interview.” McKenzie walked ahead into the austere room. Radcliffe brought up the rear and closed the door. A large, flat table sat in the middle of the room, with two chairs on one side and a single on the other. A jug of water and three glasses sat at the ready.

  McKenzie sat across from her and Radcliffe took the chair to her right. Clare could see herself, pale and nervous, reflected in the mirrored glass of the window behind McKenzie. The whole room looked a lot like in the movies except the lighting seemed unnaturally bright.

  Useful for interrogation, she thought, and then smiled at herself in the mirror. Everything she knew about police procedure she’d learned from late night television. Or in Africa.

  “Ms. Delaney, thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” McKenzie began. “I should let you know, officially, your involvement in the alleged incident has been completely ruled out.” A lump in Clare’s stomach dissolved. “Your signatures on the purchase order for the modification to the housing have been proven as forgeries and your transport of the collars has been confirmed as unwitting by one of the suspects. Therefore, the nature of this interview is simply to get final statements from you in your capacity as witness and also to build a picture of the events surrounding the previous and most recent trips to Africa. Do you understand?”

  Clare nodded. “I gave full statements to the police officers waiting for me at Heathrow several weeks ago.” As the words left her lips she realized they had probably not been police at all, but rather SIS officers.

  “That is correct. Those statements and the ones you provided in Zambia last year will form part of our investigation. However, other relevant information may have come to mind since you learned the true nature of the events surrounding your kidnapping. You won’t be required to repeat the details of the events, simply to answer questions which have arisen as a result of your first statement.” McKenzie rattled off the statement in a voice like a receptionist answering the phone. Good Afternoon, Secret Intelligence Service. How may I direct your call? The thought made Clare smile—and relax—just a bit.

  McKenzie announced each of them aloud for a recording device Clare couldn’t see and then brought her keen gaze back to Clare. “Can we begin?”

  Clare nodded again and swallowed her nerves.

  Her boss was the first topic across McKenzie’s lips. Clare reiterated what she knew, stumbling over parts of the history with Artie and the collars, overly conscious of the formality of the situation.

  McKenzie was ready with her next question the moment Clare finished sealing Artie’s fate. “We have a statement from Reginald John Preston, who makes the collars for your organization, that he was specifically asked to build into one batch of collars a second chip housing. Do you recall ever asking him for that or have any knowledge of anyone else asking for that?”

  “No. I did not, and no one else asked for it as far as I’m aware.”

  “Would you ordinarily know about such a request?”

  “Yes. Reg would normally double-check any kind of change with me as project leader.” She paused. “Unless the request had come from higher up.” She looked at her hands. Or been on a forged purchase order.

  “From Lyfe. Yo
ur boss.”

  Clare nodded.

  McKenzie continued. “No one else?”

  “There is no one else. Artie’s the director of the company.”

  Was.

  McKenzie frowned. “He implicated you intentionally and caused you to come to harm. Yet you hold remorse for providing your evidence?”

  She took a deep breath. “Boots and Zimbabwe knew the travel route of the convoys. Both times.”

  “For the record, Ms. Delaney is referencing the suspects.”

  “That information could only have come from Artie,” she went on. Which meant he knew what they must have planned to do to her on that deserted track. “But I considered him a friend. I trusted him. So, yes, I find giving you what you need to imprison him for life difficult.” She held McKenzie’s eye. “But it’s not unearned.”

  The smallest of crosses formed between Agent Amazon’s perfect brows. Radcliffe wrote a few more notes. Clare sipped her water.

  “Ms. Delaney, I’d like to move forward now to the time after your convoy was hijacked. You have already made a thorough statement.” McKenzie cleared her throat. “However, Mr. deVries has made a statement which does not entirely correlate with yours. We need to discuss some of those discrepancies.”

  She stared at McKenzie, waiting.

  “Mr. deVries has alluded to certain physical interactions between you two during your confinement.” Heat surged up her neck. For the first time, McKenzie’s steely expression softened. The tiniest hint of sympathy crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Delaney. Out loud for the record, please?”

  Clare spoke but her voice croaked. She cleared it roughly. “Yes.”

  “You elected not to include these details in your earlier statements to the Zambian authorities?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t see they were relevant.” God this was excruciating. She just wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.

  McKenzie paused, considering. “Perhaps understandable under the circumstances. You were unaware he was operating undercover for SIS?”

  “Yes. I was unaware.”

  “You believed he was one of the criminals?”

  Clare knew what it was McKenzie wanted to know. “Yes, I thought he was one of them. But I also thought he could keep me alive.”

  “He was protecting you?”

  To her mortification, tears sprang into her eyes. “He made me feel safe.”

  That got her attention. “Safe?”

  Clare nodded. “At the time, I thought he was just trying to prevent me from escaping, but he seemed determined that I not put myself at risk in any way.”

  “Yet you did put yourself at risk, repeatedly. Much to his frustration.”

  Clare smiled weakly. McKenzie’s turn of phrase reminded her very much of Simon. “I was working on my escape plan.”

  “We’ll discuss your escape shortly. First, were you grateful to him?”

  The barest twitch of expression in Radcliffe’s face told Clare he was not expecting this line of questioning. He glanced at the senior officer for direction.

  “Uh. Yes, I guess so,” Clare murmured.

  “And so did you develop real feelings for him, or was it strategic? Part of your escape plan?”

  “Uh…” There was no good answer to that question. One made her a cold bitch and the other made her a fool. Radcliffe gave McKenzie a disapproving frown.

  Reflected in the mirror behind the agents, a red light lit up on the wall behind Clare’s seat. McKenzie looked up, irritated, and then glanced at her watch.

  “Interview suspended 2:34 p.m. Ms. McKenzie exits the room.” She stood. “Excuse me a moment.”

  With no further word, she left Clare teetering on the edge of an unanswerable question, and Radcliffe busily reviewing his notes. He looked up at Clare and smiled awkwardly. She clearly wouldn’t be leaving today without publicly detailing the choices she’d made at the farmhouse. She supposed they had to know everything so there’d be no surprises later in court.

  A moment later the red light went out and McKenzie came back through the door, apologized for the interruption, and did her little spiel for the recording. She puffed out her cheeks, then resumed. “I was asking you whether the physical interactions were planned in advance.”

  “No you weren’t, you asked whether they were genuine.” Clare had to be honest but she didn’t have to be a victim.

  McKenzie tilted her head in acknowledgement.

  “Early on, it was strategic,” she admitted. “I needed someone in my court. But he caught onto that immediately and put an end to it.”

  “And after that?”

  “We spent a lot of time together and…he was kind. He made me feel…” Clare was at a loss for words.

  Special.

  “Safe?” Radcliffe chimed in, consulting an earlier comment in his notes. Then he looked horrified that he’d even spoken. Agent McKenzie gave him a withering glare.

  “Let’s move on to the escape, shall we?” McKenzie said, glancing at Clare’s signed statement from the year before. “Your first attempt was a cover. To get to your medical bag which had animal sedatives in it?”

  “Correct.”

  “Your signed statement claims your door was accidentally left unlocked so you were able to get out and sedate two of the men, then steal a vehicle and escape. Do you recall making that claim?”

  Clare blushed again. She’d lied to the faces of the Republic Police. And the SIS interpreter. “Yes.”

  “Mr. deVries relates those circumstances quite differently. Was there anything you wanted to add to, or change in your previous statement?”

  Don’t make me say it out loud.

  She took a breath. “All right.”

  McKenzie continued to look at her steadily; Radcliffe readied his pen for notes.

  “Simon and I, that is, Mr. deVries and I were left alone in the house that day. The others had driven off somewhere. I knew it would be my only chance. It wouldn’t happen again. But I needed the bakkie. To get to Lusaka. I had to wait until one of them returned with the vehicle.”

  “Go on.”

  “So, Simon and I spent all afternoon together, and we were talking and…one thing led to another…” McKenzie stared at her, wanting more. “You can’t possibly want details?”

  “You could have drugged him while you were having sex,” McKenzie offered helpfully. “Or before. While he was…vulnerable. Why didn’t you? Why wait until afterward, until he was asleep?”

  “I…um, it never occurred to me.”

  “You seduced him purely to get him in a vulnerable position. Right? Why go through with it if you didn’t have to?”

  Clare paused for a long time before answering. “I could have used the drugs at any time. Taken him by surprise. I didn’t need him asleep.”

  “Then why did you have sex with him?”

  “Because I wanted to.” Her voice rose along with her pulse. “Because I felt closer to him in those moments than to anyone else in my whole life. And because he looked at me like I was his entire world.” She’d be shouting, now, if her throat weren’t so tight. “He and I had been locked up together for days with all this incredible chemistry bubbling away between us, and then suddenly we were alone and…the feelings just boiled over. I never planned that. It just happened.”

  McKenzie’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “Do you need a moment, Ms. Delaney?”

  “No. I don’t!” Clare snapped. She was tired of this line of questioning. “Do you have any questions not relating to what Mr. deVries and I did in the privacy of that room?”

  “Quite a few. This is a matter of international security, Ms. Delaney, so there is no such thing as privacy.”

  In the mirror, the red light lit up again. McKenzie paid no attention.

  “Uh, McKenzie…?” Radcliffe glanced between her and the red light.

  “Thank you. I am well aware, but I’m ignoring it.” The last words were said loud
ly to the room in general. Clare straightened in her chair. Radcliffe snapped his mouth shut. The light blazed a few seconds longer before going out.

  McKenzie smiled and continued. “So you woke up in an unlocked house and took your chance to escape?”

  “Yes. One of the men had returned with the bakkie.”

  “So you drugged him and Mr. deVries, and took the vehicle.”

  “Yes.” Clare’s voice was tiny.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Yes! I drugged both of them.”

  McKenzie put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Despite having just had sex with the man? Seems a little cold, doesn’t it?”

  Clare’s chair kicked over as she jumped to her feet. Radcliffe’s hand went to his side-arm. “I’m well aware of that. He’d just informed me he had no plan to get me out, that I was supposed to be dead by morning.” Clare smacked her palms on the table and leaned over. “What would you have done?”

  McKenzie remained imperturbably calm, and silent.

  “Every day since, I’ve wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t done it. If I hadn’t drugged him, just run off with the keys. Or taken him with me. Or anything other than what I did. Until I saw him again in Zambia last month, I didn’t even know if he was alive. That maybe I’d killed him.”

  She swiped angrily at the tears streaming down her face. “I’ve been so afraid of what people would say if they knew. Of exactly the judgment I see in your eyes. Of seeing it in the eyes of my friends and colleagues. So, no. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it. I’ve just held onto it. For seven hellish months. I’m tired, really tired of wondering, and fearing, and hating myself for making an impossible choice.

  “So go ahead and paint me as a whore and a bitch in your report. I know the truth. I slept with him because I was halfway in love with him, and I drugged him because I really wanted to live. I don’t think either of those things is so terrible.”

  Clare dropped back down in her seat, her head in her hands. Such a massive amount of weight had just left her sagging shoulders. She had forgotten how it felt not to carry it around.

  “Would you like that moment, now, Ms. Delaney?” McKenzie asked, gently sliding a glass of water her way.