by Bruhns, Nina
“Why would I want to help you?” he managed to croak.
“Besides your lady friend here?” An infuriating threat that had Kick seeing red. “Grow yourself some balls, soldier. Do it for your country. These motherfuckers are planning to blow up the US embassy in Khartoum, along with the British, the French, and the UN diplomatic mission. Innocent lives will be lost. Lots of them. Or doesn’t that matter to you anymore, Jackson?”
Kick lunged at the bastard. And lost his balance. He fell to his hands and knees, head spinning. He heard Rainie cry out but he couldn’t move to help her.
“You’ve got thirty-six hours to get clean,” Colonel Blair said coldly. “Then I’m throwing your ass on a plane. Be ready.”
IT was hard to stay angry with a man you’ve just seen so thoroughly humiliated trying to defend you. Or maybe even save your life. Rainie hadn’t totally bought into his story earlier, about his former employers hunting him down so ruthlessly. Now she was a true believer. He’d said they were gangsters, but everything about this place screamed military. Or mercenary. That colonel had been just plain scary.
Worse, they expected her to help put Kick through a very dangerous medical procedure. One that could easily kill him.
Pressing her hand to her stomach to quell the gnawing fear, she deliberately ignored the many questions in her mind—foremost of which was whether or not they planned to kill her once they’d gotten what they wanted.
Her guard shoved her to follow the others, who half dragged Kick down a second hallway, then turned into what looked like a brightly lit hospital room.
They lifted him none too gently onto one of the two narrow, railed beds that occupied the white room. Gleaming monitors and instruments that Rainie immediately recognized from the ER lined one side wall, and a row of cupboards ran along the opposite.
“Doc’ll be by in a few minutes,” one of the guards said, cutting off her handcuffs, then they all left the room, slamming the door behind them. The lock snicked home. Leaving her alone with Kick.
He started to moan.
She was almost grateful for the distraction. She could ask him who they were later. This part, the medical stuff, she could deal with, and be in control.
Quickly, she went over and started opening cupboard doors, looking for the things he’d need to get through the coming hours. She was astonished by the range and number of pharmaceuticals and supplies she found packed into them. Some “sick bay.” The room was better stocked than many ERs she’d been in.
What kind of gangsters—or even mercenaries—had facilities this good located in skeevy neighborhoods like the one outside these walls?
“Good grief,” she mumbled. “Who are these people?”
“Don’t ask,” Kick said on a groan. “The less you know about Zero Unit, the better.”
Just then the lock clicked and the door swung open. A tall, rangy man wearing green camouflage pants with combat boots and a khaki T-shirt strode in. Great. This was the doctor?
He went right to the bed. “I’ve only got a few minutes. I was supposed to be wheels-up three hours ago, but they held me back when they found out about your addiction from your pusher last night.”
Kick gave him a weary smile. “Don’t hang around on my account, Doc.”
“Goddamn it, Kick, I told you to get off those damn painkillers! What the devil were you thinking?”
“Sorry. Just didn’t seem all that urgent at the time.”
“Yeah, well, it was. Now you have to go through a potentially fatal treatment unnecessarily, you dickhead. But it’ll definitely be fatal if they send you out into the field in this state.”
“I’m dead anyway. Sudan is a suicide mission. You and I both know that.”
Rainie gasped at the matter-of-fact pronouncement. “What do you mean, suicide mission?” She jumped up from crouching at a low cupboard where she’d been searching for a bag of saline to start an IV. “They can’t just send you out to—”
The doctor spun. Apparently he hadn’t seen her there. “Who the—Ah. You must be the nurse.”
She didn’t get the chance to answer, because two of the guards suddenly reappeared. “Ma’am, we’ll have to ask you to come with us.”
Instinctively she backed away, spilling boxes of supplies onto the floor. “No!” She scrambled behind the bed where Kick was lying curled in a ball. Oh, yeah, like he was in any shape to intervene, even if he wanted to. She really had to start fighting her own battles.
With an effort she straightened her spine and tried to appear brave on the outside, even though inside she was quaking like an aspen. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Still handcuffed, Kick’s hands reached out to take hers. “It’s all right, Rainie. They just want to ask you some questions. Answer them and you’ll be fine.” She gave him a look of disbelief. “Baby, if they’d wanted you to disappear, you’d already be history.”
Oh, swell. Now she was terrified again.
He pushed out a sigh. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
She was too freaked out and exhausted to play games. “No. What are you trying to say?”
“These men are federal agents, Rainie. Zero Unit is run by the government.”
She let out a soft noise of disbelief and leaned down toward his ear. The government? “You said it was the mob after you!” she muttered under her breath.
“You guessed it was the mob,” he murmured back. “I was just trying to protect you. Because once these people sink their claws into you . . .” He shook his head.
She straightened. Not gonna think about that part.
But government agents. Right. Sure. Like spies? Or J. Edgar Hoover wannabes—
Abruptly, her jaw dropped as she realized. “But . . . But wait. That means you . . .”
A weary smile rolled over his lips. “Yup. Me.”
“You work for the government?”
“Did. Past tense. Remember? No more. Thus the whole kidnapping thing.”
She honestly didn’t give a damn about the time frame. The point was—Hell, she didn’t know what the point was. She was just shocked.
“Our government? You’re sure?”
He chuckled wearily. “ ’Fraid so. Zero Unit is part of the Company.”
Her disbelief morphed to incredulity. “The Company. As in . . .”
“Yeah. That Company. I used to work for CIA.”
RAINIE’S mind was still reeling when she was ushered into a sparse but ordinary-looking office with a neat but ordinary-looking man sitting behind the cluttered but ordinary-looking desk.
CIA?
C-I-freaking-A?
Kick?
Wow. Okay. Maybe. But all that aside . . . Could an official US government agency really kidnap people? And threaten to kill them? Send them on suicide missions against their will?
She didn’t think so. That would be—
Suddenly she was no longer terrified.
She was furious.
“Where the hell do you get off treating people like this?” she demanded of the mousy man behind the desk. “I want to see some identification. No. I want to see the person in charge of this outrage!”
“That would be me.” He gave her a friendly smile and folded his hands in front of him. “My name is Jason Forsythe, Miss Martin, and I work for Central Intelligence Agency. I’m terribly sorry for any inconvenience you may have experienced.”
She almost choked. “Inconvenience? Are you completely insane? I was abducted at gunpoint from my own apartment, by what I now find out is my own government? You call that inconvenient?”
“Please, sit down, Miss Martin. Yes, Doc mentioned you suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. I truly apologize if our methods stirred up unpleasant memories for you. But—”
“Excuse me?” Her body stiffened and she dropped ramrod straight onto the edge of his uncomfortable wooden visitor’s chair. “What makes your so-called doctor think I have PTSD? He’s never even met me before two minutes ago.”
<
br /> Forsythe’s shoulder lifted. “The men who brought you here described your behavior. But as I said—”
“He’s wrong. I don’t have PTSD,” she said, her stomach clenching. She swallowed down the seething resentment at even having to talk about this subject. “I have event-specific emotional trauma, if you must know.”
“Hmmm.” He nodded slowly. “From your parents’ deaths?”
Again she was unpleasantly astounded. How much did they already know about her? Can you say Big Brother?
“Yes,” she admitted before it dawned on her she should really just shut up. Which she finally did.
“Interesting distinction,” he said when she didn’t elaborate. “But hopefully irrelevant, now that you know we’re on the same side.”
This time she did choke. “You’re kidding, right?”
He laughed softly, as though she’d made a joke, but his eyes remained humorless. “I assure you I’m not.” He reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small, thin wallet. “You asked for my credentials. Here they are. Now, if we can—”
“I have no way of knowing this isn’t fake,” she interrupted, scrutinizing the ID card that appeared legit, but who knew what real CIA creds looked like? She sure as heck didn’t.
Although, get real, Kick had already told her these people were CIA, and he had no reason to lie. Some comfort.
Forsythe jetted out a breath. “You have a cell phone, I assume?” She nodded. “We mean you no harm, Miss Martin. Feel free to call the Agency and confirm my identity.”
The offer surprised her, but she wasn’t about to turn it down. She’d feel a lot better if someone on the outside knew where she was and whom she was with. She pulled out her cell and dialed Gina’s number.
“Speakerphone, please,” Forsythe said.
Reluctantly she pushed the button.
“It’s about time!” Gina exclaimed before Rainie had finished saying hello. “I’ve been worried sick, calling you all morning. Where are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Listen—”
“So how was it?” Gina asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “How was he? Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous.”
Forsythe smiled blandly over the desk at her.
“Gina—”
“When you didn’t call this morning, I was sure he’d kidnapped you and—”
“Gina—”
“—handcuffed you and did all sorts of—”
“Gina! Listen to me!”
“Sorry, got carried away. What is it, hon? You sound strange. He didn’t—”
Rainie plunged in. “I’m being questioned by a man who claims to be with the CIA. I need you to check for me and find out if he’s legit.”
There was a long pause. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. CIA. The name is Jason Forsythe. Can you check it out and call me back as soon as possible?”
“Should I be worried?” Gina asked carefully.
Rainie took a deep breath. She wanted to scream, “Yes! Please come rescue me!” but if Forsythe was who he said he was, she should be fine. Hopefully. If he wasn’t, there was no way she wanted Gina involved in any of this. She was even starting to regret having called her at all.
“Don’t worry,” she told her best friend. “Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous actually turned out to be Mr. Tall Dark and Addicted. There was fallout.” She glared at the man across from her. “I just want to be sure the people I’m talking to aren’t bad guys masquerading as law enforcement.”
“Okaaay.”
“Hurry. I’ll be waiting.”
She hung up knowing Gina would already be in a frenzied panic calling her former fiancé, Special Agent Wade Montana of the FBI, trying to confirm that Rainie wasn’t being held by drug dealers or worse. Gina and Wade had an ugly breakup last year, and Rainie hoped he wouldn’t hold out on Gina just to punish her for dumping him. He had no way of knowing Rainie had been his staunchest advocate in the relationship.
“Very smart,” Forsythe said, almost approvingly. With one finger, he pushed a paper toward her on the desk. “While we wait, I’d like you to read this.”
“What is it?”
He just nodded at the paper. It was a typical-looking no-nonsense government form, filled in and signed. By someone named Kyle Jackson. Jackson . . . Wasn’t that the name the nasty old Marine had called Kick? Lord, how embarrassing, she’d never asked him his last name. At her inquiring glance, Forsythe nodded again.
She skimmed through the considerable verbiage. First came a short, strict confidentiality agreement, treasonous if broken. The gist of the rest was that by accepting employment with Zero Unit, Kick agreed he could be called back to duty at any time for any reason, even after he quit working for them, in the interest of national security. The form was initialed, signed, and dated 1993.
While she was reading it over a second time, more thoroughly, her cell rang.
“I called Wade,” Gina told her, sounding totally unlike her usual lighthearted self. “I had to beg, but he relented and called a friend at Langley.”
Rainie’s heartbeat sped up. “And?”
“There is a Jason Forsythe working for CIA. They wouldn’t get more specific than that, other than to tell me what his signal code is for today. Ask him.”
Rainie raised her brow at Forsythe.
“Labrador,” he said.
Gina exhaled audibly. “That’s right. He’s legit.”
“Thanks, Geen. And tell Wade thanks for me.”
Gina ignored the hint. It was an old argument. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I’ll call you later, okay?” She punched the Off button and eased out a breath she’d probably been holding ever since she opened her apartment door. “So what happens now?”
“You’ve finished reading the document?”
She glanced down at it and nodded. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I wanted you to know Kyle Jackson signed this agreement of his own free will. I’m showing it to you so you’ll know we had every right to bring him in, using any means necessary, despite his protests.”
“That may be so, but I never signed any such agreement.”
Wordlessly, Forsythe pushed another form over to her. This time her own name and address were filled in at the top, along with her Social Security number and birth information.
A frisson of apprehension sizzled through her. She could barely voice the unnerving question circling her mind like a vulture. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Nothing you weren’t willing to do before we showed up,” Forsythe said with an air of soothing assurance.
She wasn’t assured. “And what’s that?”
“Take care of Mr. Jackson. Help him through his withdrawal.”
“That’s it?” The print on the paper danced in front of her eyes. Why didn’t she believe him?
“Yes. We simply weren’t aware of his problem until last night, so we weren’t prepared to deal with it when we apprehended him. Luckily Doc has experience with this sort of thing, and could set things up for you. But his team has mobilized and he must join them immediately. I also happen to know you are in charge of a test program for a similar detox technique at the Bellevue ER, so don’t bother pleading ignorance. We need you to put Mr. Jackson through the full regime before he goes on his mission.”
Rainie shook her head. “No. Get someone else. I won’t be a party to what you’re forcing him to do.”
Forsythe put his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “We don’t have time to get anyone else.” He sat back again and steepled his fingers. “In any case, Mr. Jackson has already been put under anesthesia, and Doc has already left to join his team.”
“Without being closely monitored?” She gaped at him in outrage. “Kick could die!”
Forsythe’s mouth thinned. “That would be up to you. Unless you want his death on your hands, I’m afraid you have no option but to help.”
&nb
sp; “Bastard,” she whispered.
He regarded her for a long moment. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Martin.” He stood, unsmiling. “I trust you’ll find everything you need for the duration in Mr. Jackson’s room.”
Anger filled every cell of her body as she rose, as well. “I’ll need to contact my supervisor at the hospital and let her know I won’t be in tomorrow.”
“That’s been taken care of.”
Of course it had.
The door opened and her guard appeared. “Ma’am? If you’ll follow me?”
Fuming, she returned to the Zero Unit sick bay. Kick was right. These people were used to getting their own way. One way or another. And she had the sinking feeling she wasn’t getting the whole story. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was about to get screwed.
And so not in a good way.
SIX
WHEN she got back to the room where she’d left Kick, as Forsythe had said, he was already under.
Stretched out on the bed with a white sheet pulled up to his chest, Kick looked strangely peaceful. A description she would never have used about the man before now. Gritty. Burned out. Fiercely determined, yes. But not even after a night of sex that had left them both exhausted and replete had the restless, hunted look disappeared from his eyes, for more than a few fleeting seconds.
“Oh, Kick, she murmured softly. “How on earth did you end up in a place like this?” And what was his former job with the CIA that made them want to send him, and no one else, halfway around the world to do it? Terrible visions of what a hard man like him might consider “hell” pulsed uneasily through her mind. Whatever it was, he’d called the situation exactly right. These people didn’t give a damn. They were sending him on this mission whether he wanted to go or not.
And now it was up to her to make sure he had a fighting chance at survival.
She sighed, and went to examine him. He had a catheter line inserted along his collarbone, which led to a series of computerized IV pumps that emitted a low hum. A monitor beeped rhythmically above his head. Automatically, she adjusted the alarm parameters on the pulse ox; the heart rate and BP were all normal.
