To Catch a Rat

by S J Grey

  Pain radiated from her neck down to her hips, but she pushed herself to her knees. “We need medical help. Agent down.” She tried to shout into her radio, but it came out as a scratchy whisper.

  Another shot whistled past her, and she ducked her head. Either they weren’t a good aim, or the shooter was in a bad position. She needed cover. Add that to her list of things that would make this situation better.

  Get moving, she told herself. Standing up would hurt, but it was the first step to getting into a safe position, and that was way better than being an easy target.

  The nearest cover was the overhang from the gelato shop. She couldn’t make it that far. Her knees were going to give way again, any second. She was a sitting duck. Easy prey. If they shot her in the back again, the force would push her over the edge and into the lagoon. If they aimed higher, she’d be dead.

  “Emma.”

  She caught her name over the thud-thud of the rotor blades. Who was shouting her? It came from the water.

  “Over here.”

  She peered over the edge. Looked down. A silvery head bobbed in the water.

  “Emma. Jump. I’ll catch you.”

  Holy shit. It was Caleb. He was alive.

  “You need to take cover. Come on, ginger.”

  I can’t swim. The words reverberated in her head. I’ll drown.

  Drown or be shot? Either way she was going to die.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Trust me, Emma. I’ll catch you.” Caleb’s words were muffled by the noise from the chopper.

  A woman was screaming. Sirens blared in the distance.

  Still, Emma hesitated. She’d been terrified of deep water all her life. The idea of jumping in made her want to throw up.

  Was it a better option than staying here, waiting to be picked off?

  Did she trust Caleb? He saved her life once before.

  She wanted to live. Wanted that life with Mark.

  A bullet splintered a nearby wooden fence post. Shards of wood flew in the air. One scraped against her cheek, but she didn’t feel it.

  The fuckers wanted her dead. Or they thought she was an agent, like Jonathan.

  Emma moved.

  One shaky step, wobbly as a new-born calf, and she was at the edge. The water was black. Evil. She couldn’t do this.

  She had to.

  “Catch me,” she cried and rolled over the edge.

  She had time to suck in a deep breath, and then she smashed into the water, ass first. Pain exploded in her lower back, and she gasped, letting go of the air she needed. Too late.

  She was dropping. Falling. Deep. Everything was black. Was she blind? Dead? Deeper still. She wind-milled her arms, panic a heartbeat away. Where was Caleb? He said he’d catch her.

  Water in her nose. Salt in her mouth. She wanted to spit it out, but she might swallow it instead.

  “Caleb.” She tried to scream his name, but all that came out was bubbles. They went up. She was going the other way. Her vest was heavy. It would keep dragging her down. Designed to save her, it would kill her instead.

  Something snagged her arm and pulled. Up.

  She thrashed in the water and tried to turn. To grab him. He tugged harder. She was moving. Following the bubbles.

  Caleb had a hand under her chin, keeping her head up and her mouth shut.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs burned. Her heart was going to explode.

  Light came first. They broke the surface, and she saw the last traces of the sunset. She was alive.

  Emma needed air. No matter how hard she tried to suck in a breath, it wasn’t happening. She clung to Caleb, her arms around his shoulders in a death grip. She gulped, but nothing was going in. Dear God, was she drowning after all?

  Caleb was moving in the water, towing her along. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He was talking over and over, trying to calm her, but she couldn’t breathe. Did the bullet go into her lungs? Did the vest fail?

  He stopped abruptly. Did he get shot? Next thing, she was dragged out of the lagoon, onto a rock. Caleb rolled her to her side and crouched over her. “I’ve got you,” he said, close to her ear.

  She coughed. It was unexpected, but water shot from her mouth. She sucked in air, greedy and desperate. Her chest was on fire and her back hurt, but she was breathing. Halle-fuckin’-lujah.

  “That’s it. Just like that.” Caleb smoothed her wet hair back from her face. “We’re between the rocks. I think we have cover. You okay, ginger?”

  She spat out a mouthful of sea water. It tasted horrible. “Not ginger,” she croaked.

  “That’s more like it.”

  Emma rolled onto her back and breathed deeply. It was amazing. She wasn’t dead. Not yet. Was Caleb naked?

  “Where are your clothes?” she whispered.

  “They took them and left me in my boxers. Better for swimming in, though. Better than that lead weight you’re wearing. What the fuck are you doing here, Emma?”

  “I’m saving you.” Okay, talking wasn’t fun. Her throat was scratchy, and her tongue had a disgusting taste on it. She was also cold. Her teeth chattered, and her hands shook. Her radio was gone, the earpiece missing. She needed to find the other agents. Find out if Jonathan was alive.

  Emma lifted her head. It felt like it weighed a ton. Across the lagoon, blue strobes cut through the darkness. An ambulance. More police cars. The helicopter hovered, bathing the far side in brilliant light.

  “We have to move,” she said. “Armed police are looking for you. We need to get out of here.”

  “I don’t have any clothes. I’m going to stand out a bit.”

  Not necessarily. People would see what they expected. She unzipped the baggy jacket, her hands trembling from the cold. “Wear this.” She tore the lanyard over her head. “And this.”

  And now for bottoms. Her T-shirt was long and came down well beyond her ass. She struggled to unfasten the button on her jeans, but it finally popped open. Wet denim was impossible to wriggle out of quickly but she did her best. “Take my sneakers off,” she said. “Hurry.”

  “Em, I can’t wear your jeans. They won’t fit me.”

  “They don’t have to. Just cover your thighs. The jacket will hide the top.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It’ll work.”

  Between them, they got her out of the sneakers, and pulled the jeans down her legs and over her feet.

  Caleb wrung out the sopping denim and squeezed stinky sea water out of it, before yanking the jeans as far up his legs as they would go. Thank God she wasn’t wearing skinnies today.

  “C-c-come on.” Her teeth were like castanets. “Pretend I’m under arrest.”

  “Your pocket’s vibrating.”

  Huh? Was her phone still working?

  “It’s a text from Mark,” said Caleb. “He wants to know exactly where you are.”

  “Tell him I’m with his team.”

  Caleb sent a reply. A moment later, her phone buzzed again. “He says, and I quote. That’s what I was afraid of. We’ll have words about this later. Be careful. I love you.”

  “We need to g-g-go.”

  “And you need to get out of those wet things.” He knelt at her feet and shoved them back into her sneakers.

  “Right back atcha.”

  Standing up hurt more than it should. Pain ripped down her spine, and she whimpered. “Hold my hands behind my back,” she said. “Like I’m your prisoner.”

  He did so, holding them loosely. “Where are we going?”

  “Car. Behind the Boatshed.”

  “On it.” He was barefoot, but that was commonplace here in summer.

  Emma gazed across the lagoon, at the circle of blue flashing lights from police and ambulances. Please let Jonathan be okay. At least there were no police on this side of the water. Patrons from the pub were watching the drama unfold, but when Emma and Caleb drew near, each painful step like broken glass rubbing into her muscles, Caleb took control.

&
nbsp; “Stand back,” he shouted. “Government agent coming through.”

  They hadn’t gone far, when TJ and another agent came to meet them, blankets in hand, to hustle them into one of the cars. Only then, with the door closed, and the vehicle on the move, did Emma feel safe.

  “I’ve hot chocolate for you both,” said TJ. “Either of you hurt?”

  “Emma was shot in the back,” said Caleb. “Also her face is bleeding.”

  It was? Emma lifted a hand to touch her cheek. Right—it was a flying splinter. “I think I’m fine. Is Jonathan okay?”

  “He took a round to the shoulder and is on his way to hospital,” said TJ. “He was furious at having to leave you behind. The paramedics thought they were going to have to sedate him, to stop him from searching for you. He saw you go into the water.”

  He wasn’t dead. The relief was sweet. “Has anyone told Mark?”

  “Yeah,” said TJ, from the front passenger seat. “Like we thought, he’s not happy.”

  Emma stole a glance at Caleb, sitting next to her, hands wrapped around the steaming paper cup. They did it. They rescued him.

  “We’ll get you both checked out at the hospital,” continued TJ. “Mark’s waiting to see you when you arrive.” He smiled at them. “Good work, by the way. Both of you. Your quick thinking meant we extracted you with the minimum of fuss. How did you manage to escape, Caleb?”

  “They were transferring me from a van to a shipping container, and forced me to strip down to my underwear so they could check for a wire. They didn’t pick up the tracker. Then the cops arrived, and in the confusion, I made a run for it and dove into the harbour.”

  “Good work. We’ve rounded up the team that kidnapped you. Great result all around.”

  It hadn’t sunk in yet. Caleb was safe. Her parents too. And Mark was pissed off, but that was better than being dead.

  Emma was wet and shivering underneath the blanket, and had spilled more of the hot drink than she’d swallowed, but she felt mostly okay. Apart from the whole moving thing. That hurt. A lot.

  Chapter Fifty

  The hours that followed were an exhausting blur of activity that culminated with her lying in a hospital bed in a private room, Mark sitting at her side. He wore a backless hospital robe too and had intravenous antibiotics on a portable drip beside him, but he refused to leave her.

  TJ popped in and out, giving them updates. Caleb was fine and had been escorted back to the SIA office, to be interviewed. He’d stay there until Mark was released from hospital and able to get back to work. Jonathan was out of surgery, and was expected to make a good recovery.

  Emma meanwhile, bordered on hypothermia when she arrived there, and had several torn muscles and enormous bruises where the vest had taken the bullet. Better the vest than her unprotected back. It would have killed or paralysed her. She didn’t want to think about that. The Russians had been shooting at her from a stolen police inflatable, according to Mark, who’d been briefed by TJ. Their best guess was that the Russians were trying to take down the SIA agents, not realising one was Emma.

  The cut on her face required two stitches, and now her cheek itched like a bad mozzie bite. Mark held her hand throughout the stitching, and that helped.

  She was tired. Exhausted. Nauseous from swallowing sea water. Her back ached at the slightest movement, even after painkillers. It was fair to say she’d felt better.

  When they finally had some privacy, Emma pried her heavy lids open. “What happens to Caleb now? Does he go back to prison?”

  “I hope not,” said Mark. “I’m working very hard to get him released on early parole. One day we might be able to clear his name, but at least he’d be free again, even with a criminal record.”

  “You made a deal with him. What was that about?”

  Mark didn’t answer right away. He gazed at their linked hands and played with her fingers. “I need him to work for my agency. That was the whole point of this job. To get him on our side, find out his allegiances, and persuade him to work for us.”

  It sounded like a great outcome, so why didn’t Mark sound happier?

  “Setting up a relationship with me, just to get access to Caleb seems a bit of an overkill.” She yawned. “Why not approach him directly?”

  Mark smiled. “It’s a bit more complicated, but that was the goal.”

  “Okay.” She yawned again, her eyes drooping closed. “Sorry.”

  “Go to sleep, love. I won’t let anyone disturb you.”

  When she awoke, it was to find Mark dozing in the chair next to her bed, his hand limp in hers. She stretched. It hurt like fuck. Okay. Small movements only.

  “Hey,” said Mark, his voice like gravel. “Good morning.” He frowned. “Do you need more pain relief? I can get a nurse.”

  “I think I want to avoid getting shot again.” That reminded her. “What happened to the two guys? And the one in the boot?”

  “They’ll live. You can claim two clean wounds. The bullets passed straight through.” He smiled, no doubt at the grimace she made. “The guy in the boot has been very helpful. They’re all talking and giving us plenty of information.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah. And your colleague, Si, was able to shut down the cyber-attack, and that’s really good.”

  It felt like her brain was working at quarter-speed. What did Caleb say about the backdoor? If it worked, it meant that his programme hadn’t been tampered with. She was getting confused. Probably the painkillers.

  She studied Mark’s face—the shadows under his eyes and the lines of tension on his forehead. “What’s wrong?” She expected him to be relieved about the cyber-attack.

  “Apart from you, lying here in pain, when you shouldn’t have been anywhere near the waterfront? I’m going to set a rocket under Jonathan’s ass when he comes back to the office.”

  “You sent me that text. How did you know where I was?”

  “Em.” He gave her a stern look. “I saw you on the news, leaving the cargo terminal with Jonathan. I nearly had a freaking heart attack. You promised me you wouldn’t do anything dangerous.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no good, just apologising, if you’re going to do something like this again.”

  She squeezed his fingers and tugged him closer. Close enough to kiss. “Believe me, I am never doing anything like this again. The last week has been a nightmare. I want to get back to my normal, slightly predictable life. I don’t know how you do this and pretend you’re just an accountant. This is your real job, right? Government agent.”

  “I can’t tell you.” He winked. “Otherwise, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Very funny.”

  Mark pulled back. “Now you’re awake, love, we need to talk.”

  “I thought that was what we were doing.” She made her tone playful. The worried lines on his face made her nervous.

  “Thing is, now this job is over, I need to go home. To my real home.”

  His words sank in. “You’re not talking about my little house, are you?”

  “No. I wish I were.”

  She didn’t want to ask. It was funny that after all the horrors of the past few days, this should scare her so much. She’d rather forget this part of the conversation.

  Mark continued to hold her hand, their fingers tangled together. He watched her with a steady gaze. Waiting for her to speak next.

  She swallowed. “Go on, then. Where exactly is home?”

  “England. At least until my boss sends me on my next op.”

  “Oh.” Twelve thousand miles away, on the other side of the planet. “You couldn’t get much further.”

  “No. I know. And it sucks.”

  “It sucks giant, hairy donkey balls,” she said. The words spilled out of her on autopilot. Was this it? Were they finished? “Where will you go next?”

  “I don’t know. Wherever I’m sent.”

  “This is what you do. You tried to seduce Joss for your work, and then
me. Jesus. I should be asking who’s next.” She tugged her hand back. She couldn’t bear to touch him. Couldn’t stand to see the truth of it in his eyes.

  “Believe me, Em. This is different with you. I love you. Really love you. I don’t want to go.”

  “Believe you?” She scoffed at him. “The best liar I ever met? It’s not that easy.”

  “I want—”

  “I don’t care what you want.” She threw the words at him. “You need to leave.”

  “I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”

  “So you stay. But for how long? A day? A week? Maybe two weeks, while you tie up the loose ends and clear out your stuff?” God. After everything, this was the last twist she ever expected. It hurt more than the pain from the gunshot. Tears pressed at her eyes, and she blinked them back.

  “Please, Em, hear me out.”

  If she said anything more, she’d burst into tears. She stared at him, mute.

  “I have to go home. I have to debrief from this assignment, but then I want to resign. If you’ll have me, I want to come back here. To be with you.”

  Did he mean it? She searched his face, desperate for some sign he was telling the truth, and at the same time, frightened this was another story.

  He watched her, his gaze serious. Waiting for her response.

  “If you’re fucking with me, I’ll follow you there, buy another Mossberg, and use you for target practice.”

  “That’s my Valkyrie. I am totally not fucking with you. I want you to marry me.”

  Was he telling the truth? She wanted that more than anything. “Really?” she whispered.

  “Really.” He stretched out and took her hand again. “When we’re both out of here, and my ass isn’t on show to every passer-by, I’m going to go down on one knee and propose to you properly.”

  Twice in the space of two minutes, she was speechless.

  Worry flickered in his eyes. “Please tell me what you’re thinking. I hate it when you go silent.”

  “Yes. I want to marry you.” Now her tears were happy ones, and she scrubbed them away with her fingertips. I don’t care if it’s a fancy proposal. I want you. Forever.”