by Amey Zeigler
“I trained with the Israel Defense League.”
“Are you allowed to train with them?”
“If you know the right people. Which I do.”
He circled her seeking an opening. Andy blocked his left hook, grabbing it, turning under his hand to a hold. He countered with a wheelhouse kick, which she blocked, sending them both downward with force.
They tumbled to the ground, him on top of her, pressing down. The moisture of his sweat wet her skin. The movement stopped. Their gaze locked in an intense stare. Both breathing heavily into each other. Then with all the intensity of the last few minutes of fighting, he bent over her and kissed her, hungrily eating her lips, her jaw line, anything he could touch. She reciprocated, pressing upward to meet him.
He tore at his gloves, releasing them. Tugging at the wraps binding his hands, tearing at them in one long string as they unwound. His hands, now free, immediately released her hair, letting it loose in strands all around her. His thumbs followed the length of her throat, the base of her neck, her bare shoulders. Andy tugged at her gloves to touch his skin, his hair. But being overcome, overwhelmed, she succumbed. Her heart pounded as if they still fought. No more lies. She could just love and be loved. He broke her down. And she liked it.
Then Hugh stopped and released her, rolling to his side. “I can’t let it go this far,” he said, wiping his hand down his face, freeing the perspiration.
“Oh?” Andy said.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Sighing, he sat back against a punching bag lying on the floor, allowing her to settle into him. He slid his arm around her, holding her tight, letting his lips brush her jaw line. “Not now.”
He drew her in closer. Kissing her again.
When they finally broke for air, Andy’s throat ached for more.
“I am sorry you had to suffer so much these last few days,” he said, stroking her bangs back to where her hair fell in pools on the mat.
Tears pricked at her eyes. Her gaze met his, so full of concern, deeply searching hers.
“Brad.” Her voice broke. “And then Conner.”
Hugh waited patiently for her to speak. Calmly, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. The act of intimacy warmed her heart.
“It was so hard to lose him, even if I hadn’t seen him in ages,” she said.
“How long had it been?”
Andy’s heart bled it all out. Things she’d never been ever allowed herself to give expression to before, let alone confess to anyone bubbled to the surface. “He broke up with me the night of the movie festival in the park.”
Hugh nodded, continuing to stroke her hair, letting her talk. Up close, she could count the scars on his face, marking his jaw, marring his rugged five o’clock shadow, not just his eyebrow. Slits of white. What hid behind those eyes? Other pent secrets? Some pain, some suffering, an understanding of her ache and longing?
“I thought he was going to propose.” Her heart heaved when she said it, as if for the first time she was admitting this to herself. A burning in her nose was a sure tell the tears would come. “He finally had the right job, making a lot of money and bam! It hurt. It hurt so bad I couldn’t believe emotional pain could hurt so bad, real physical pain.”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, dribbling in her ears. “Brad told me he was planning on proposing. He broke up with me instead.”
“Did he give a reason to breakup?” Hugh asked.
“He said we were going in different directions, but there was more. Last night Brad said Conner was afraid.”
Hugh’s face crumpled with disapproval. “He was a fool.” Andy smiled wryly. Hugh’s gaze focused on where his thumb and forefinger stroked a strand of hair above her head. Hugh continued, “So, what else did Brad tell you?”
Silence passed. His chest rose underneath her as he breathed, his nose breath blowing fly-a-ways on her neck. “He said he belonged to some secret organization called Imperium. They were doing something bad. Something huge. He wanted me to investigate and expose them.”
“What was it?”
Andy shrugged.
“Why was he telling you?”
Andy shook her head. “He wanted to relieve his conscience, I guess.”
“You don’t think there was some other reason?”
She’d never considered anything else. “Could there be another reason?”
“I don’t know, I’m just asking. Why didn’t he go to the police? Or why didn’t he go to the newspapers himself.” His eyes narrowed, focusing on her. “Why you?”
Andy pondered on the simple two-word question. “I guess he trusted me.”
“What specifically did he ask you to do?”
Andy gulped, feeling coerced to share this burden. “There’s an encrypted jump drive with information he wanted me to recover behind an aquarium by his desk.”
Hugh listened intently, but didn’t speak.
“I had to get my bag because I had Brad’s entry code for his office.” She didn’t reveal she had an authentication code for the jump drive or say anything about Dr. Armstrong. She wasn’t even sure of Hugh’s connection yet. She hadn’t even had time to search the Internet. Besides, you shouldn’t tell all your secrets.
Andy finished. “I’ve told you everything I know. It’s only fair if you tell me everything you know.”
He struggled internally.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what you know?” she asked.
“I don’t have anything.”
“You don’t have anything?” Andy elbowed him away.
“All the information we know, I got from you. We need the jump drive. And we need to get into the T-Building.”
Andy fumed. She’d been dealt her own medicine, and she didn’t like it. He must be who he said he was because if he was part of Imperium, he would’ve killed her already.
Hugh bit his lip. “We just need a way in.”
“Can the police help us?” Andy asked.
He shook his head. “No, they might be able to set us up with communications and back up, but access, no. Requires warrants.”
Her phone buzzed in her purse on the other side of the room.
Supposing it was Mrs. Vehemia, Andy sighed. She’d put her off too long. “I’d better answer it.”
Reluctantly, Hugh let her up, kissing anywhere there was exposed skin.
Frantically, she raked through her stuff to find the right phone in the midst of flashlights, toothpicks, matches, and ammo clips. With her purse tucked under her arm, she found the phone just as voicemail picked up. She recognized the number. Fred. Her heart leapt.
She flashed Hugh a nervous smile. He waited for her, propped up against a punching bag lying on the floor. “Someone important?”
She hoped he would leave a message. An icon blinked red.
Perfect.
“Nah,” she said, her voice wavering. “It already went to voicemail.”
He stood, heading to the door. “While you’re listening, how ’bout I get cleaned up and make those long-awaited omelets?”
Shaking, she held the phone to her ear, eager for Fred’s validation of Detective Donaldson as an upright member of the STLPD despite his scars and his exceedingly scary tattoo. And his IDF experience.
Her throat tightened at Fred’s baritone voice.
“Hey, Brittany. I was a little confused by your message. As far as I know there is no Donaldson on the force. Maybe he’s with the St. Charles PD or from some small town like Bella Villa or Georgetown. Or the guy’s messing with you. Impersonating a cop isn’t cool, Brittany. If you need me, call. I’m a little worried about this guy.” Andy’s phone slipped from her ear.
Andy swallowed, her breath jagged.
There was no Donaldson on the force. Andy’s heart thundered. Lied. Again.
And she fell for it, let her heart go, let him in.
Trembling, Andy searched her bag again. Found it. She had retrieved it from her apartment. Her Sig Sauer. She laid it on to
p of her bag. Just in case.
Chapter Seven
Hugh returned to the gym with the omelets. Andy punched the hanging bag in a corner, metal chain clanking with each strike. Andy powered up for a roundhouse kick, sending the bag swinging, the chain like wind chimes in a violent storm.
“Nice hit,” he called from the other side of the gym, his voice echoing across the wooden floors and high brick walls.
Andy didn’t turn. When the bag swung back she gave the bag a powerful strike sending it sailing away.
Without facing him she asked, “What’s your name?”
Hugh was taken aback. Her voice sounded defensive. Not this again. They’ve discussed this already.
“Hugh Donaldson.”
When the bag swung back, she caught it quickly, steadied it before turning to stare him straight in the eyes, a beautiful, furious storm. “My connections say there are no special forces. No Detective Donaldson.”
A wave of guilt swept through him. She had connections. The phone call. Damn. He worried about that.
She fired another question at him. “Who are you?”
Hugh’s mind raced. He needed to stall her. “Truth?”
“Yeah, the truth. People want to hear the truth.”
He studied her expression. She was ravishing, flushed and sweaty in her sports bra, even when angry. He wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was all right. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure it was going to be okay. “I have to make a call.”
“Whatever.” Andy faced away.
Hugh entered the living room, eyeing the door behind him just to be sure Andy couldn’t eavesdrop. He picked up his phone and dialed his boss.
“Yes,” a cold voice answered.
“Cover blown. She knows local police.”
A simple swear passed through the phone. “Plan B.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you questioning my orders?”
“You know I never would. Andy’s a smart girl, though.” They’d worked through the protocol before he really knew her.
“Plan B.” Hugh clicked off the phone, shaking his head.
Sighing, he returned to Andy. “They said I could tell you the truth.”
“They?” Andy crossed her arms, her chin forward, her expression expectant. “Okay, what’s your name? Let’s start there.”
“Tyler.”
“First or last name?”
“Tyler Hansen.” He closed in.
“Okay, ‘Tyler,’ if that is your name, what are you? CIA? HSA? FBI? Terrorist or spy?”
Tyler winced when she said his name in mock quotations. He was treading water in dangerous seas. As long as he didn’t lose her, this could still work.
“Tyler Hansen. FBI.” Thankfully, he controlled his bodily reactions. She was staring at his naked chest. He smiled slightly. “I should’ve known I couldn’t outsmart you.”
“So, all the garbage about your grandmother on the farm, your training in the Thai monks. It was all a lie.”
Hugh, now Tyler shoved away hurt feelings. “Not entirely.” He stepped closer. She backed away, keeping the same distance.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I never lied to you straight out. I related parts from my childhood and wove them into something you could understand. Yes, I lived with my grandparents on a farm. It wasn’t in Kansas. I was in California. I ran away from my grandparents, and I wandered the streets in south-central L.A. where I learned how to street fight. I roamed Crenshaw Boulevard to the Santa Monica freeway, sleeping on the dirty Metro stations, dodging cops. I told the essence of truth, Andy. I couldn’t tell you where I’m from, or why I’m here, but I could tell you about me, without blowing my cover.”
“You never told me a lie?” she asked.
“Never. Not a complete falsehood.”
“The best lies are always mixed with a bit of truth.”
“They weren’t lies. Not to me, Andy.”
“How can I ever trust you?”
“You can’t, I guess. But deep down in your heart, you know you can trust me.” Tyler silently prayed she’d believe him. “I’m sorry I used you. My assignment was to get information,” he said at last.
“You used me to get information?” she asked. “All the flirting, the kissing.” She shook her head.
“Oh, and you never do the same thing?”
Andy flushed. He hit the nail on the head. For some reason, he wanted to drive it in.
“You lecture me about kissing to get information? What a little hypocrite. It’s okay for you to use your body but if someone else does it, it’s wrong? I’ve got news for you, girlie, turnabout is fair play.”
Andy’s eyes blazed with fiery light. Her voice transformed into a growl. “I work alone. I don’t need back up. I don’t need you. Brad”—the name choked in her throat as she said it—“asked me to help him. I am doing it for him. He didn’t ask you and certainly not the FBI. If it is indeed the FBI you work for.”
“Andy.” Maybe he’d said too much.
“Lies, lies, lies. All men lie.”
He didn’t want to hurt her. Then again, maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to take her down a notch. “And so do women.” A shiver shot through her. But he couldn’t stop. “You should let us handle it. Leave, go someplace safe. Just give me the entry code so we retrieve the jump drive. If not, you might get hurt.”
Her eyes flattened to little slits. “Are you threatening me?”
“What? No.”
Tyler stepped forward. Andy slipped her hand into her bag, whipping out a Sig Sauer. Tyler scoffed.
Andy aimed the gun straight at him, picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Goodbye Hugh or Tyler. Nice knowing you.”
He couldn’t let her leave. Not now. And quite frankly using the gun pissed him off.
He stepped closer. “What if I don’t let you go. You’re going to shoot me? And then what?”
Andy held her steely gaze. Beautiful rage.
“Can’t you understand?” he asked, growing impatient. “It’s naïve to think you can waltz in there with a few disguises and a bag full of tricks and be invincible.” As soon as he said it, he instantly regretted it. He might have gone too far. Whatever cool Andy had been harboring just blew away. Anger, shock, a full flush covered her face. She headed again toward the door. His arm flew out to stop her. Her gun raised again. They were close now. Close enough he could breathe her scent.
“You want to spar again?” she asked, anger flashing in her eyes, her face inches from his. He had to admit, it turned him on. A feisty, fiery girl—just how he liked them. “This time, it won’t end the same as the last.”
He didn’t want to have to do this, but it might be the only way she’d listen to him. He seized her gun hand, twisted it around, wresting away the gun, dropping it to the mat. He kicked it away and pinned her in a joint lock against the door with his body.
She kicked, she elbow-jabbed, but he was relentless. Sheer muscle and weight gave him the advantage, all combined against her. “I’m not saying you can’t do it, but I’m saying leave it to the professionals or join with us. Don’t try to do this alone. Brad would want you to be safe.” He had to invoke his name. He had to evoke whatever emotional sway Brad had over her. Her gaze scorched him with burning intensity, her chest heaving into his with such passion. Conner was a fool to have let such a creature go.
“Let go of me.” She scrambled around powerless against his strength.
“Are you still resisting?” He bent his head to whisper in her ear, his face lost its kindness. “If you work alone, then I will use you as bait. You will go bumbling around in the dark and I will capitalize on your bumbling and stumbling. I will get what I want. With or without you.”
Andy finally relaxed her body. Tyler hated taking the spirit out of her. But it was the only way to keep her from getting killed.
“Okay, I concede,” she said. He smiled inwardly, the rush of victory, conquerin
g a well-matched foe.
“I knew I could persuade you.”
Her smile warmed him, he released his body from hers. In a flash, her leg flew up and hit him square in the nads, opened the door behind her, and slipped out by saying, “Brad asked me to do this. So I will do this.”
Through the purple haze of pain, he called out, “Where will you go Andy Baker?” The front door opened. “They’re hunting you,” he called.
The door slammed shut again.
He smiled despite the throbbing.
He liked her.
****
Too afraid to go home, Andy rented a cheap hotel room to rest and to plan her next move. Tyler ruined her trust. Andy fumed, staring at the dingy framed art above the bed. She was working alone, now. Nothing would change her mind.
The hotel room carpet was so crusty, she was afraid of even sitting on the floor. She’d seen several cockroaches already in her room. Lying on top of the striped bed cloth, she searched online for Dr. Armstrong. She scrolled through the list of links. Taught chemistry in Boston, but was no longer listed on a faculty list. Stumped. Since she couldn’t make any more progress for the time being, Andy decided to call Mrs. Vehemia using the sticky phone in the motel.
Andy had rarely talked to Mrs. Vehemia, an intimidating lady with an impressive plastic surgeon on retainer. The greatest compliment she received was when someone asked if she was Carla’s sister. The woman worried for a passion yet none of it lined her face.
Her personal assistant answered the phone then put Andy on hold. Finally, Mrs. Vehemia’s silken voice oozed from the phone.
“I’m sorry about keeping you waiting, Andy. I had to find a private place to discuss this matter.”
Keeping secrets from the help was vital for privacy. For one of her stories, she was a ladies’ maid for St. Louis’s old-money Mrs. Groggen and uncovered heaps of information about their profiteering. Mrs. Vehemia knew who to hire and how to keep them loyal. Her desire to keep this completely confidential worried Andy.
“I’d love to help you in any way.” Andy sat up on the faded bedspread, hesitating to touch the carpet and chairs coated with stickiness.
