by JA Huss
Finn offers me his hand. “Come on, it’s cold out here. Let’s get inside.”
I get out, more from habit than anything, and he closes the door behind me and waves me forward towards…
“A house?” I say. “Where are all the other cars?”
“What cars?”
“The cars!” I say. “You know, that all the people come in? Hasn’t it started yet?” I check my watch. It’s after midnight now.
“They’ll be here soon. You’re supposed to come in first.”
“Oh,” I say, taking a deep breath to try to get my rapid breathing under control.
“Don’t trip,” Finn says, grabbing hold of my arm and leading me forward.
I do trip. Like immediately. Because the stone pathway leading up the dark house is uneven, just like the one at my house back in Denver. So I don’t pull away.
We stop at the front door, which is apparently locked with an electronic keypad, because Finn punches in a sequence of numbers and the door beeps. He swings the door open to reveal more darkness.
“Go on,” he says, encouraging me. “We gotta hurry before people start arriving. You want to be ready, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. But this whole thing is creepy as fuck. I really hope Chella knows what she’s doing and Jordan is trustworthy. I mean, the guy’s a lawyer, so you’d assume. But then again, there’s a million lowlife lawyer jokes for a reason, right? You can’t trust them. What the hell was I thinking?
He closes the door, eliminating the hazy moonlight leaking in from outside, and the entire place is pitch-black darkness.
I hold my breath, convinced this whole thing was a setup and he’s really here to—
Stop it, Issy!
I take seven quick breaths, then three long ones—the same technique I’ve been using to calm myself down for the better part of a decade—and say, “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” he says, flicking a switch to illuminate the room.
Which is… a living room. And not a well-decorated one, either.
“What the hell?” I ask, spinning around to see his face. “This cannot be the place.”
He shrugs as he punches in a sequence of numbers on the door again.
This time locking me in.
I don’t ask any more questions. I just react.
CHAPTER EIGHT - FINN
Her foot catches me in the mouth, then a fist chops me in the throat. I’m down on the ground gasping for breath in the span of three seconds. One second later the lights go off, and the darkness envelops us.
“What the—” I gasp out, just as I hear something crash across the room.
And I don’t get to finish, because she’s got something pressed against my throat. A stick, or a bat, or—
“You better start talking right now, Finn Murphy or whoever the fuck you are. Or I’m gonna break your windpipe with this fire poker.”
My body instinctively twists, unbalancing her, and the next moment, I’ve got her on her back and I throw the poker. It crashes against a wall.
There’s like half a second when I think I’ve got her pinned and now I’m on top, but she gets a hand free and jabs me in the eye. I can’t help it, I let go of her other hand and she clocks me—hard—right in the jaw. She delivers a second punch to my nose, and the hot sensation of blood dripping pulls me out of my momentary stupor. She’s on her feet, standing over me now, when I reach out, grab her ankle, and drop her to the floor. She kicks me in the chest, sending me reeling backwards, and then scrambles away—hidden in the darkness of the room.
“Issy—” I cough. Fucking Declan was right. This chick is goddamned dangerous!
“Who are you?”
I look off to the left where the words come from, but I can’t see shit. “Special Agent Finn Murphy!” I yell. “And I’m gonna arrest you now for assaulting an officer!”
“Fuck you!” she yells. And now the voice is somewhere else. Damn, this little bitch is fast. “This is not part of the game, and I’m two seconds away from taking you down for good if you don’t unlock that door and—”
I’m on my feet, heading in the direction of where I think the door is—but I don’t unlock it.
I flick the light back on.
She’s perched on top of a bookcase, crouched down on hands and feet, like a goddamned monkey ready to—
Just as the thought forms in my head, she leaps. Fuckin’ knocks me down and chops my throat again.
This time I don’t recover so fast. I can do nothing but roll over and wheeze as I try to draw in air.
“Stay down, Agent,” she hisses, searching my pockets, then backing away.
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. I don’t know how long I stay there, on hands and knees, my forehead pressed into the dirty wood floor as I try to remember what it’s like to breathe, but it’s a while.
During the time I’d like to say I got my act together. That I didn’t just allow a woman who barely comes up to my shoulders to take me down in the span of three minutes… but I’d be lying.
Because by the time I can breathe, she’s got my hands zip-tied behind my back and she’s sitting on top of me, pushing my face into the floor as she leans down into my ear to hiss, “You’ve got ten seconds to start talking, asshole. Or I will knock you out, break a window, climb through it, steal your car, and leave you here to stew in your own stupidity until your friends come save you.”
CHAPTER NINE - ISSY
“I’m supposed to protect you, Issy! I’m your goddamn bodyguard!” he yells. Well, it’s not a yell because he can barely manage to get the words out.
“Bodyguard.” I laugh, but get up off him and start pacing the room. “You’re obviously not my bodyguard, because I neither asked for, nor do I require, a bodyguard.”
“I swear,” he gasps. “That raid was real. That terror threat was real.”
“Bullshit! I have nothing to do with that!”
“Right, Einstein.” He chokes out a laugh. “You were set up. We explained this to you earlier.”
“You told me you were part of the game!” I yell.
“No,” he says, finally starting to breathe normal again. “You said I was part of this stupid sex game you’re playing. I just went along.”
“Fucking liar! Caleb sent you, didn’t he?”
“Who?”
I kick him in the ribs. Hard. “Don’t play stupid!”
“I swear,” he says, rolling over a little so he can look up at me. “My badge is in my front pocket.” He nods his head towards his jacket, which I didn’t search when I found the zip ties.
“Make one move and—”
“I’m fucking zip-tied, Issy! Don’t be an asshole. Just get my badge. I’m telling the truth!”
I do a quick pat down on his coat pocket and—fuck. I can feel what’s probably a wallet. I pull it out and yup—one of those leather fold-over things that hold badges. Flipping it open reveals an ID, which does in fact, confirm he’s FBI.
“Shit,” I say.
“Shit is right. You’re gonna be charged for this.”
“Shut up,” I say, pacing. “I need to think.”
“You’re going down for assault with the intent to kill. They’re gonna get you for evading arrest, kidnapping—”
“Kidnapping!” I laugh. “That’s a good one.”
“You’re holding me against my will.”
“I’m holding—You’re holding me against my will!” I yell back.
I stop pacing. He stops struggling and we both just—take a breath. He stares up at me, craning his neck to try to make eye contact.
I wait.
Finally he says, “Listen. I’m FBI. Whoever this Caleb person is, I’m not a part of that. Whatever this game is, I’m not a part of that either.”
I don’t know what to think, so I keep quiet.
“Someone called into… somewhere earlier today….”
“Somewhere?” I ask, forcing a laugh as I try to calm down. “What d
o you mean somewhere?”
“I mean, the call was real, it came in—but beyond that I don’t know much. I wasn’t really…” He sighs. “I wasn’t really paying attention earlier today. I had shit on my mind, OK? So I’m not clear on the details, but however it happened that you got on our radar, that was real, Issy. There was chatter.”
“What chatter?” I’m really not doing well right now. My heart is skipping beats inside my chest. My breathing is picking up and starting to become erratic.
“Look,” he says. “I’m not the best FBI agent, OK? The reason I’m in Denver was because I was demoted. I lost my father a few months back, I’ve been drinking too much, sleeping too little, and… and… yeah.” He lets out a breath that says all the things he couldn’t.
I think about that for a few seconds, but my mind is racing, and my heart is pounding, and my hands are shaking and… I hate this. I fucking hate this. I hate that I’m rattled, I hate that every fiber of my being is screaming RUN!
I don’t run. I don’t run, I don’t run, I don’t run…
“Untie me, Issy.”
“No,” I say, swallowing down the fear. “No, I’m leaving you here. I’ll make an anonymous call telling people where you are and—”
“No,” he yells. “You can’t leave.”
“I can leave.” I laugh. “I’m going to leave. So you better just come to terms with that, buddy.”
He rests his head on the floor, craning his neck to look at me. Then he laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“I mean that literally.”
“Meant what?” I snap. I’m busy running probabilities in my head. Probabilities of getting out of this alive. What are my chances of survival right now?
“You cannot leave here.”
“Watch me.” I laugh.
“Go ahead and try.”
“What?”
“The door is made of steel. It’s on a digital lock and you don’t have the code to open it.”
“I can go through a window, genius.”
“Like I said. Go ahead and try.”
What the fuck—? I walk over to the window, tear open the curtains and see—
“Reinforced security shutters, Issy. On every single window. Also on a coded lock. This is a goddamned safe house, OK? No one can get in without blowing a hole in the wall. Which means no one can get out, either. And if you’ve got some harebrained scheme for giving that a try, I’d like to take this opportunity to caution you against it. They will make you pay for damaging government property. So I hope you’ve got money stashed away for that. Because fucking up a priority one safe house is gonna cost you dearly.”
A sharp pain fills my chest, making me double over. My breathing is far, far beyond erratic now. I start to hyperventilate. My whole body begins to tremble. My knees buckle, and reality flickers, and before I know what’s happening—
CHAPTER TEN - FINN
She falls to the floor. Like collapses into a heap. Her head misses the coffee table by mere inches. “Issy!” “I yell. “Issy?”
I struggle in the zip ties, but my hands are secured behind my back and I’m not in the right position to break out of them. So I don’t bother. I’m a little more worried about her right now than myself. I wriggle across the floor until I am close enough to get a good look at her face. “Issy?” I whisper, trying to see if she’s breathing. “Issy?”
She moans.
Thank fuck. “Issy,” I say again. “Can you hear me?”
“Whaaaaaa…”
“I think you fainted, Issy. Open your eyes. You’re OK, do you hear me? You’re OK, you just fainted. You’re fine. Just open your eyes.”
She shifts her body, turning over on her side. I can’t see her face because it’s covered by her long, dark hair.
“You’re OK,” I repeat. “You’re fine, all right? You just fainted. It’s gonna pass. Just… try to breathe and open your eyes.”
She does more than that because suddenly she’s up on her hands and knees, her whole body swaying.
“Don’t get up!” I say. “Just be still, breathe, and open your eyes and look at me, Issy. Do you hear me? Look. At. Me.”
She collapses again. Her breathing is heavy, almost a pant. Like she’s having a panic attack or something.
“What… what happened?” she mumbles.
“You fainted, that’s all. No big deal. Happens to everyone. It’s gonna pass really quick, OK? You’re fine.”
“My heart,” she moans.
“No,” I say. “It’s a trick. I promise. Your heart is fine, just breathe through your nose for a few minutes. It’s a trick. You got overwhelmed and—”
“Shut up!”
Her yell catches me off guard. So much so that I do. I shut up.
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need your words. I don’t need you to tell me when things are and are not OK. So shut the hell up!”
“There she is.” I chuckle, relaxing my head on the floor again.
She starts making mad grabs at her hair, pushing it away from her eyes. We’re only inches apart—face to face—when her gaze finds mine. Her beautiful blue eyes look like shining sapphires right now. “I don’t need your help.”
“Obviously,” I say. But I feel better. Relieved. I mean, yeah, if she was really hurt and didn’t wake up, I’d be stuck here trying to get myself free. And then, with my luck, Declan would show up before I managed that and… yeah.
The last thing I need is a rescue.
But that’s not why I’m relieved.
She’s OK. She just fainted. She got overwhelmed and scared and who can blame her? It’s been a pretty messed-up night for her.
“You can untie me now,” I say.
“No.” She gets back on her hands and knees, her head hanging, her long hair brushing against the floor as she sways a little. And then she’s on her feet. One hand covering her eyes, the other holding onto the back of the couch so she doesn’t fall over again.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Her hand flies away from her face and she spits, “You can’t hurt me.”
“I know,” I say, pulling every FBI trick out of my hat to keep her calm and see reason. “I mean, I know that now. You’re pretty tough, chick. Anyone ever tell you that before?”
She huffs air, stumbles across the room, hand outstretched, reaching for the small dinette table, and feels her way around it until she’s leaning on the formica kitchen counter in front of the sink. She turns on the tap, sticks her mouth into the flowing water, and drinks.
“Hey,” I call. “I could use a drink too.”
She pulls back, wipes her hand across her mouth—little droplets of water spilling down her chin—and laughs. “Do you keep whiskey here?”
My neck is tired, the muscles in my shoulders strained from lifting my head off the floor. “Untie me and I’ll look.”
She ignores that. Just starts going through cupboards, slapping them closed after looking through each one.
“Nothing,” she says.
Well, duh, I want to say. “It’s a safe house. Not a bar. But we can go get a drink if you want. Talk this over, relax a little, and come up with a plan.”
“I already have a plan,” she says.
“Ya do?” I laugh. “What is it?”
She grabs at her hair, trying to straighten it out. Doesn’t help, it’s tragically disheveled. Beautifully unkempt. “You’re going to let me out of here, I’m going to take your car, and then we’re never going to see each other again.”
“Nope,” I say. “Not gonna happen that way.”
“I’ll hurt you,” she says.
“No, you won’t.”
This makes her laugh. But then she cuts it short and seethes, “Underestimate me, Agent Murphy. I dare you.”
“Look,” I say. “I can see that you’re not happy with the arrangements we’ve made for you—”
“Understatement.”
“—so let’s just renegotiate, OK? Y
ou want to make it to that seminar tomorrow, right?”
She says nothing. Just stares at me.
“We can do that. You untie me, we leave here, go back to your place, you grab a little sleep, and then I go with you to the seminar. I’ll just pretend to be a student and that way I can keep you safe and—”
She cuts me off. “How many times do I need to tell you? I do not need your protection.”
“I get that,” I say, trying to remain calm and reasonable. But the truth is, my fucking neck is killing me, I’m pretty sure there’s no circulation in my hands because the zip ties are too tight, my nose might be broken, there’s blood all over my face, and she might’ve fucked up my jaw when she clocked me. So I’m really fucking sick of this shit.
But I deal. Because that’s what I’ve been trained to do.
“I get that now,” I amend. “But it never hurts to have someone on your side, right?”
“You’re not on my side,” she sneers. “You lied to me! You lied to get me up here! And you fucked me!”
“You fucked me back. And you kinda beat the shit out of me, so suck it up, buttercup. We’re in this together whether you like it or not. Because this night, Issy, this night isn’t a game, OK? It’s fuckin’ real. I’m not after you but people are after you. So put your big-girl panties on and un-fucking-tie me.”
I kinda lose it at the end. Because ‘un-fucking-tie me’ comes out as a threat.
But it works. At least it might be working. Because she takes a deep breath, looks down at her shaking hands, and exhales out a sigh of resignation.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - ISSY
I try to keep calm. Run my options through my head. They fly by, like one of those old-time ticker tapes from the early twentieth century that telegraphed important news to people before the internet made information ubiquitous.
What the fuck is going on? There’s no way they came looking for me. I’ve been too careful. I’ve been too clever. And yeah, I have a decent business going with the whole Go F*ck Yourself thing, but I’m not high-profile. I’m a big fish in a very small pond. I mean, I don’t even advertise. My books sold a lot of copies, but I was never on talk shows and shit. So if that FBI raid wasn’t part of the game, then who called that tip in?
