Black-Market Body Double (S.A.S.S. Book 1)

by Vicki Hinze

  Reese probably found the body himself. He was the only man she knew whose ego wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of someone else choosing private time without express permission. He’d ignore the Do Not Disturb sign and intrude.

  Reese might have been fooled, but there was no way Kunz was going to believe she hadn’t killed that guard. No way. He’d double the guards on her, which would make her checking out the helicopters before ten tonight even more challenging.

  The intensity of that challenge would depend on who stood on the front lawn guarding her today. Gaston would be more amiable than Beefy. He was out for her blood. She needed to check the living-room window; see who was pulling guard duty. First, she poured herself a cup of coffee. When she turned, she nearly had a heart attack.

  Thomas Kunz stood in the center of her kitchen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amanda splashed hot coffee down the front of her T-shirt. “Great.”

  She set the cup down on the countertop, pulled the fabric away from her skin, then snagged a dishcloth from the counter and dabbed at the spill, determined not to let Kunz see fear in her.

  “Sorry.” He took a few steps toward her. “I assumed your highly attuned instincts would warn you that I was here. Apparently they’re a little rusty...or is it, overestimated?”

  She frowned at him for that backhanded-slap-of-a-remark and tossed the cloth onto the counter. “You could’ve knocked.”

  “I own this place and control your destiny. I knock when and where I choose to knock.”

  Amazingly, he didn’t sound or look furious, but there was no mistaking his vibes. Sheer outrage crashed through his pores and pounded into her in shattering waves. “So I’ve been told.” She sighed and held it, making sure he didn’t miss it. “Since you’re here, would you like a cup of your coffee?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest; spread his feet, claiming his ground. “I’d like for you to stop injuring and killing my guards.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded him, pointing to her cup. “Coffee?”

  “Why not?” His expression didn’t soften; neither did his stance.

  Not a good sign. Amanda reached into the cabinet, withdrew a cup and filled it from the pot. “Look, Thomas. I assume you’re ticked off at me about this Batten guy.”

  “Oh, yes. Rafe had been with me for years.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” How many losses had S.A.S.S. and other Intel groups suffered due to him and his projects? She passed him the coffee cup. “This is a courteous gesture. I don’t expect to have to wear it.”

  He took the cup from her and nodded. “Detente on the coffee.”

  Detente. She hadn’t heard anyone use that word since the end of the cold war.

  Dipping her chin, she said, “While you’re in an accommodating mood, you can point your poison darts about Rafe Batten elsewhere. I’ve already been through this with your sidekick. I was present and accounted for right here by your surveillance equipment and your men.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Thomas’s face. He quickly suppressed it. “Paul is convinced you killed Rafe Batten, Amanda.”

  She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling, plopped down into a kitchen chair. “Well, he would be, now, wouldn’t he?” She set her mug on a sage green plaid place mat. “I scarred his face, Thomas. The man does not find me endearing. He’d blame me for anything he could—including rainfall, mechanical failures and the coming of the Antichrist.” She grunted, shoved a hand through her ruffled hair. “Good grief, for a smart man, you’re surprisingly slow.”

  Kunz sat down, sipped his coffee. “Save your breath, darling. I know you killed the man, and I know you’re hatching some sort of plan to escape. It would be totally alien to your inner nature for you to not be scheming.” He set his cup down, leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “You forget that I know you, Amanda. Probably better than you know yourself, and a definitively better than any other living man knows you or ever will.”

  Darling? Darling? Her heart hammered. There was no misunderstanding the hazy look in his eyes, either. Dr. Vargus had said she’d had intercourse during her three-month incident and until now, for some odd reason, she’d assumed it had been with Paul Reese. But that look and the endearment out of Kunz had her wondering. Had it been Paul? Or had it been Thomas Kunz?

  The possibility of Paul had been horrible. But the thought of Kunz touching her had her flesh crawling, her stomach rebelling and her chest tightening. “You’re forgetting that I know you, too, Thomas.”

  Unprepared for that comeback, he stiffened on his seat. Uneasy. Anxious. Edgy. She capitalized on it. “What? You thought the drugs would make me forget what you did to me?”

  He clenched his jaw, said nothing.

  “Not a chance.” She drank from her cup and walked to the pot for a refill. “I remember it all. Every bit of it.” Should she risk pushing too far? Straining credibility? But why not? What more could she have at stake than she already did. “In intimate, specific detail.”

  “You remember only what I want you to remember.” He smiled.

  The warmth in it chilled her to the core. It seemed so genuine and sincere. So honest. Those were deadly traits in a corrupt man. “I remember you.” She came around the edge of the table, stood close to him and hoped she wasn’t putting a bullet through her own head with this performance. “Did I so much as hesitate at calling you by name on seeing you?”

  She hadn’t, and he had realized it then, and again now. He looked up at her, serious and solemn. “You’re a dangerous woman, Captain West.”

  Captain West. She had him on unsure ground. “Yes, I am.” She smiled. “But you’re a dangerous man, too, Thomas, and you do seem to have the momentary advantage.”

  “There’s no seeming to about it, it’s a fact. And it isn’t momentary, Amanda. The sooner you accept that as truth, the better for both of us.”

  She brushed against his shoulder in a show of defiance and a lack of fear that was totally bogus and then returned to her chair. “What is your overall plan? Take over the world? Manipulate the economy? Destroy the country?” She shrugged. “The last is pretty much a given.” She tilted her head, looked at him through a fringe of hair slipping over her eye. “Do you hate anything quite as much as America, Thomas?”

  The light in his eyes died. They looked distant and gray and empty of any emotion. That absence terrified her most of all. She could deal with everything from joy to rage, but there was no effective way to deal with indifference.

  “There’s no need to disclose my plans. You’ll be around to see them unfold.” He thumbed the rim of his coffee cup with a blunt fingertip. “That is, unless you become more trouble to me than you’re worth.”

  He’d regained his footing. More’s the pity. “Well, that would take quite a bit of effort, don’t you think?” She tilted her head, challenged him with her tone but not with her soft expression. “My double is new, and as I’ve said before, there’s no way you could learn everything about me or the way my mind works in three months. You need me. Somehow, you have to convince me to help you.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Frankly, I don’t think it’s possible, but I know you’ll give it a shot anyway.”

  “You’ll help me.”

  “I don’t know, Thomas,” she said, tilting her head, pondering. “Operatives have killed themselves for far less.”

  “But you’re not one of them,” he said. “You’re a survivor. That’s something we have in common.”

  “We have nothing in common, Thomas.”

  “Yes, we do. Surviving.” He paused to sip from his cup. “If you were going to kill yourself, you’d have done it when your father brutalized you and locked you in the box. If you didn’t commit suicide then, you won’t now. None of the operatives I’ve chosen to double have, and none will.”

  Because he likely was right, Amanda frowned. “Speaking in absolutes is a dangerous thing. You usually end up eating your words.”
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br />   “It’s a given. A fact, Amanda.” He rolled his shoulders, relaxed. “You see, there’s a streak of idealism in all of you that makes you believe that as long as you’re alive, you might find a way to save yourself and your country.” He snorted. “It’s truly amazing that a woman who’s known your reality can still be an idealist.”

  Amanda squared off at him. “What’s amazing is that someone who’s lived your reality didn’t choose to be an idealist.” Genuinely curious, she prodded. “You were abused. I recognize the signs, and they’re all over you, so don’t bother denying it. You know what it’s like to be small and helpless and hurt, and rather than protect people from all those awful things, you do worse—and actually enjoy it. You love to torture people. I don’t get it. Why do you do that, Thomas?”

  His eyes gleamed. “You never feel more alive than when you’re about to die. Don’t you remember the rush? The gasping for breath not knowing if it would be your last?”

  Memories blasted out the door of the safe buried inside her, and her father’s muffled voice ran through her head. She lay curled up inside the box in the dark. She’d been there at least two days. Realizing he’d forgotten she was in there, she had listened for his footsteps and, when she had heard them, she had beaten the box lid with her fist and begged him to let her out. Please, Daddy. Please! And all the while she’d prayed that if he did let her out he wouldn’t beat her again.

  More than a few times, she had prayed to either escape or die. It hadn’t mattered which.

  But that was then and this was now, and now it mattered. “I remember terror, not a rush. There was no rush.”

  “For me, there was no terror.” His eyes gleamed. “The rush was like nothing I’ve experienced before or since.”

  “You’re one twisted man, Kunz,” she said from between her teeth. He was just like her father. Looking at him, she felt her stomach heave.

  “Thank you.” He smiled. “Idealist. You’ll do what I want, Amanda.”

  “No,” she said softly. “I won’t. You consider me an idealist. I’m not. I lost any idealism the day I was born, and if I choose to die—”

  “You’ll be kept without any means to kill yourself.”

  She dropped her voice low. “I am never without means, Thomas.”

  “You are now. I control you. Everything, even your breathing is subject to my control.”

  “You’re so wrong.” She lifted her chin. “My will is my own, and it’s stronger than anything you can imagine.”

  “Keep consoling yourself with that nonsense, if you like, but don’t bother trying to convince me. Soon enough, I’ll prove you wrong.”

  She glared at him, stood her ground. Her days of backing down were long over.

  He ignored it. “You mentioned earlier that I need you—to confer with your double on any challenges that may arise. I confess,” he said, “consultations between you two would eliminate incidental annoyances, but never delude yourself. I do not need you, Amanda. And if one more of my guards is injured or killed—whether or not you are responsible—you are going to die for it. So you had better invest in their health and well-being.”

  Her stomach curled. He thought he was smarter than she, and the terrifying truth was, he could be. “Ah, Thomas. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

  “I believe that should be my question to you.”

  She gave him an indulgent look. “I had hoped you’d at least grasp the rudiments of civility during my absence. Yet here you are, threatening to kill me while sitting in my kitchen, at my table, drinking coffee. I’m deeply offended.”

  He gave her a sunny smile. “Then I shall remind you that this is my kitchen, my table and my coffee—all of which are provided for your use and benefit as a courtesy I extend to you, as is your life. Regardless, for now, I shall remove my offensive self from your presence.” He scooted back his chair and stood up. “I’ve been extremely patient with you because, when we first met, I admired your courage and professionalism and, later,” he dropped his voice, “because you excelled in other ways. But even I have my limits, Amanda. Don’t push me.”

  Oh, no. No, no, no! She had had intercourse with him. That she’d been drugged out of her mind at the time didn’t do a thing to comfort her. That slime had touched her. He had dared to touch her.

  Oh, please. Please, tell me I didn’t ask him to, or want him to. Please tell me it was rape.

  Ignorant of her internal debate, Thomas continued, “You are enormously headstrong, and I don’t think you’ve gotten past your anger yet and to the point where you can make wise decisions.” He gripped the back of his chair, eased it toward the table. “I’ll extend your time until dusk tomorrow. By then, you must decide if you want to live here and work for me, or die.” He took a step back, pointed a finger at her. “But if you attack another of my guards, the clock stops, and your freedom to choose vanishes. I will kill you, Amanda. I’ll take great pleasure doing it—and you’ll suffer intense pain. You have my word on that.”

  Icy inside, she held his gaze until he finally turned and walked out of the kitchen. Moments later, the front door closed.

  When it shut, she ran to it and drove home the dead bolts. Shaking, her entire body in revolt, she forced herself to think. To go back to the kitchen and bag his coffee cup for lab analysis. The revulsion in her grew and she suddenly felt as small and helpless as she had as a child, only this time, the box was her body.

  She charged up the stairs to the shower. Shame and guilt and filth and rage rushed through her, merciless, relentless, and the only thought she could hold was that she had to try to get clean.

  Somehow, she had to try to get clean.

  An hour later, when Joan knocked on her bathroom door, Amanda was still in the shower. Her lips were blue and her teeth chattering from the cold water. Her skin was red and raw, and still she scrubbed. “Go away!”

  “I can’t, Amanda.” Joan said, then cracked open the door and walked into the bath. “They told me to come check on you. You’ve been in the shower for over an hour.” Joan reached for the faucet.

  “No!” Amanda shouted. “Touch it and I’ll break every bone in your hand.”

  Joan jerked back. “What’s wrong? What did Kunz do to you?”

  “I don’t know.” The water pelted her in the face, on the chest and shoulder and ran down her stomach to her feet. “That’s why I can’t get clean. I don’t know.” She jerked the shower curtain out of Joan’s hand and pulled it closed. “Get out, Joan. Just go. I have to get clean. Don’t you understand? I have to get clean.”

  Joan left.

  And returned within minutes with Mark. “I think she’s been raped. She’s exhibiting symptoms of it, but she denies knowing what happened to her. She’s in some dark place, and I can’t reach her, Mark.”

  He wiped his damp palms on the pale blue scrub pants that “patient” detainees wore, and then walked into the bath. “Amanda.”

  “For God’s sake, get out of here. Leave me alone!”

  “Amanda, it’s me, Mark. I’m not leaving.” He closed the door behind him. “I have to talk with you.”

  She hugged the wall; let the cold water pelt her. It stung, hurt. That, she remembered. The pain was clear and certain in her mind. That, she could feel.

  “I’m coming in there,” he warned her.

  She flattened against the wall, huddled, trying to be small. So small he couldn’t see her. Amanda knew what she was doing. She knew this behavior was irrational, erratic, maybe even crazy, but her emotions seemed to have snapped and they refused to let her control them anymore.

  Mark eased the shower curtain aside and stepped into the shower, fully clothed. “Amanda.” The water was beating on her. She was red and blue and yet her eyes were dry. No tears. “Come here. Please.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t know what I did,” she whispered low to keep anyone from overhearing her. “Did he rape me, or did I want to have sex with him? I don’t know, Mark.”

  “Come h
ere, Amanda.” He opened his arms. “Please, honey.”

  “He’s the enemy. He’s everything I hate. Yet he touched me, and I swore I’d never be touched again by anyone I didn’t want to touch me. I swore it.” She slumped toward Mark.

  He closed his arms around her. “It’s okay. Shh.” He pulled her head close to his chest. This was about her father. About his abuse and her being a defenseless victim. This was about Kunz making her feel like that helpless and hopeless child she had once been.

  Rage burned in Mark’s stomach. He talked to Amanda, whispered gentle words and reassurances, talked of nothing and everything; about their work and all the ways he knew her to be strong. Everything he could recall that proved her strength he related while holding her and rubbing small circles on her back.

  Finally, she calmed down enough that he could reach behind her and turn off the water. They were both freezing cold. Her skin felt like ice. He snagged a towel from the rack in the back of the shower and wrapped it around her. “You’re okay, Amanda. Kunz never touched you.”

  “He did!” She let her forehead fall forward, against Mark’s shoulder. “He specifically said—”

  “He lied,” Mark insisted. “I swear he didn’t touch you. He never touched you.”

  “How do you know that?” She looked up at him, her eyes haunted, pleading. “You can’t know that.”

  “I can and do. I read your file here and I watched your tapes. Joan helped me,” he whispered close to her ear. “I know where you were and who you were with. You slept with Paul Reese, Amanda, not with Thomas Kunz. With Reese. And you chose to do it. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to get closer to him to find out what was going on here. You chose.”

  She stared up at Mark. A little dazed. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” He let her see the truth in his eyes. “I swear it.”

  “Kunz said...” Her voice cracked, and she tried again. “He made me believe—”

  “Of course he did,” Mark said. “He knew it would make you crazy. He knew it would hurt you. He’s playing mind games with you, Amanda. He plays them with all of us.” Mind games.