by Holly Hart
“Let’s agree to disagree. But…” I grin, my hand – hidden by my back – curling around the USB drive.
I fake a cough, and whip the drive into my fist as I bring the hand in front of my mouth.
“I’m sorry, rough night. But I can go, if you don’t want me here?”
“What was that noise?” Natalie asks.
I loosen my hand, and the drive falls down the sleeve of my shirt. I’ve done this move a hundred times. I know it won’t slip out.
I just need to be certain nothing slips my tongue.
I turn round, holding my breath. I’m desperate for the program to have done its job – deleted any trace that it was there at all.
“Noise?” I shrug, closing my eyes and breathing out with relief. The computer screen is empty; all stop; I’m clear. “Beats me: anyway – about that briefing? If it’s not urgent –”
Apparently satisfied, Natalie makes a dismissive motion with her hand. “Sit down, Nathaniel: enough messing about. This is serious.”
The analysts file in, not making eye contact.
“So why am I here, Natalie? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff. I have a day job now, you know?”
Natalie reaches over from a remote control, and the screen blinks to life. The Paragon Group’s anonymous logo – the letter P and the letter G layered over each other – disappears with the smoke-like effect.
“The Templars are in town,” she says.
My blood runs cold. I blink, processing what this means – not for me, but for Kim.
“Come again?”
“I mean it Nate: at least two operatives, maybe more. We do not know why they here, but we can guess –”
“You should have told me. It’s my ass on the line!” And Kim’s, I don’t say. That’s who I’m worried about, though. The Templars are murderers, every one. It’s a condition of entry to the gang, and the Mexican drug war is brutal.
“I am telling you now,” Natalie replies flatly.
I bite down on the surge of anger rising inside me. I know it won’t get me anywhere. Besides, I need all the information I can get, if I’m going to keep Kim safe.
“What do we know?” I grunt with my eyes focused on the screen. Four mug shots flash up, spinning slowly in 3-D. I’ve not seen any of the men before. Each is heavily tattooed. I study them carefully, committing each facial angle, tattoo pattern, and head shapes to my memory.
If it comes down to it, I know I won’t forget them.
Stan speaks up from the other end of the operations room table. “Interpol intercepted two men of Mexican descent flying from Mexico City to London via Madrid.”
“So?”
“So – they were from the Muerta Brigade,” Stan says.
I’ve never been less happy to be right. My head sinks to my chest. “Killers.”
When my eyes head back up, I see Natalie nod.
I feel a tendril of hope rising inside of me. I know I shouldn’t. Natalie’s too experienced to have called me in for no reason. But because Kim’s involved, I’m clutching onto anything I can get. I don’t know why she’s having this impact on me. Maybe it’s because she acts so innocent. Maybe it’s because she is so innocent.
“What’s the problem,” I ask, “if they are in custody? That’s good for us, isn’t it?”
“The Spanish police have no grounds on which to hold them.”
My forehead collapses into lines. “You’re saying –”
Natalie nods.
“– They are just going to let them go?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s bullshit!” I say, standing up. My thigh smacks against the table, and some of Stan’s notes plunge to the floor.
“Nate!”
“No, Natalie, this is crap. You know it, I know it. We must be able to pin something on these guys.”
“Nathaniel, sit down,” Natalie says, in her most parental tone. What she says next stops me in my tracks. “This is good for us.”
“How, Natalie,” I glower, my face grim with anger. “Tell me how, letting a couple of trained killers, into this country, is good for us.”
Natalie’s face twists with frustration. “Come on, Nate. You have been around this game long enough to know. What has gotten over you?”
“Screw it,” I mutter, sitting down. I need to keep a lid on things. I’m walking a fine line. Natalie might decide I’m too much of a risk – and pull me from the operation entirely. I wouldn’t blame her, not with the way I’m acting.
I feel myself getting worked up. It’s not like me. The differences, this time I’ve got skin in the game – Kim’s skin.
“We have sixteen hours before the Spanish let them go,” she continues, satisfied I’m done.
“That’s crap,” I grunt. She doesn’t disagree. My brain starts ticking. “So – we follow them. What’s the problem?” I say.
Natalie shrugs. “We can try. But these guys are good. Damn good. And besides…”
I study her face carefully. I have a feeling that I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.
“… We think they have already smuggled at least two operatives into the country:”
My mind goes numb. I barely pay attention to what Natalie is doing. She points at the screen.
“ the guy with the tattoos up to his eyeballs; and the operative with the silver front teeth.”
I swallow hard. Both of them have the look of fighters. I’ve been around the block, but these guys… They came up from the slums of Michoacán. They probably killed their first man before their fifteenth birthday.
They look like they would kill their own children, if the price was right.
I run my hand through my hair. “We’ve got to pull her out: Now.”
All I can think of is what would happen if these guys got their hands on Kim. They wouldn’t just kill her. They would do unspeakable things to her body. Things she would never recover from.
Natalie shakes her head, and it causes a surge of anger inside me. “No way,” she says, “the intelligence she is getting us is golden. She is exposing Landwolfe for exactly what it is – a nest of vipers.”
“She doesn’t know she’s doing it!” I protest.
Natalie shrugs. “I cannot help that, Nate. You chose her.”
The statement hits home hard. I bite my lip. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. Kim is only in all this danger because I put her there. Maybe she’d have got herself mixed up in it anyway, but I can’t console myself by telling myself that lie.
I did this to her.
So it’s my responsibility to save her from it. I don’t care if Paragon agrees with me or not.
“If she dies,” I protest, “what then? She’s a God damn American citizen. We of her –”
“– Nothing,” Natalie replied coldly. Her lips are thin and white. “We are not the CIA. We are not the FBI. We are not the damn police. We are private. We do what we want. In fact, we do what I want. And what I want Nate, is for you to tell me you are on board with this. Are you? Because if not…”
She leaves her threat dangling in the air. If it was any other case, any other mission, any other girl, my pride wouldn’t let me give way.
But it’s not any other girl.
If I want to have any chance of saving Kim, I need to be on the inside. I need to have access to Paragon’s data, their resources, everything.
My fists clench so hard white-hot skewers of pain flash through my wrists. I want to hit something. Natalie’s playing me just as hard as I’m playing her, and I don’t like it.
I breathe out heavily.
Think of why you’re doing this.
“I can deal,” I reply, fighting against every morsel of my personality. “But I don’t want that girl’s death on my conscience. I’ll do anything –”
Natalie cuts me off. “It will not be,” she says with the tone of the woman who wouldn’t lose a second’s sleep over Kim’s gruesome murder, “it will be on mine.”
I nod. My face i
s still contorted into a grimace, but I’m not going to smile just to make things better.
“Get in touch when you know something,” I say. I glance contemptuously at Stan and the other analysts, sitting in the corner with looks of shock on their faces. “Anything.”
I turn on my heel, and have to restrain myself from shoulder barging the clouded glass doors on my way out.
Two weeks ago, I might not have blinked an eye if Kim were to die.
Two weeks ago, I was the only important thing in my life.
Two weeks ago, I wasn’t a very nice man.
Would I trade my current problems for two weeks ago? No way in hell.
14
Kim
I ignore the first knock on the door. Honestly, I don’t even do it consciously; I’m just so engrossed in what I’m reading.
The knocking begins again, and this time I blink.
I push the laptop off my stomach, and haul myself to my feet. I let out a little sigh as I roll the kinks from my shoulders. I don’t know how much time I’ve spent hunched over that damn machine, but it feels like too long.
My neck screams at me to do a couple of stretches, once in a while. I walk to the door, and put my eye against the peephole, expecting to see the concierge, or maintenance person.
It’s neither.
I flatten my back against the door, and cover my mouth with my hand. It’s Nate! He looks unbelievably good, with that tousled blond hair of his firing off at every angle. Not many guys can pull the scruffy look off like he can…
He rocks it.
“I know you’re there, Kim,” Nate laughs.
Oh shoot, oh shoot.
“How?” I finally call back.
“The door moved. Then I heard a thud. You’re not as stealthy as you think.”
“Remind me to never join the Army, then,” I reply.
“You’re too pretty for the Army,” he replies. It’s such a corny line I’m tempted to laugh. I kind of like it. Nate’s the only guy who’s ever complemented me and made me feel sexy, instead of just a piece of meat.
Mind you, it’s a short list.
“What are you doing here?” I ask while my mind races. He can’t be here. Not like this, not right now. I’m dressed in oversized sweatpants, and my hair’s messy and huge.
“Open the door, and I’ll tell you.”
I shake my head from side to side against the door. My toes scrunch up inside my woolen socks. I know what happens if I open that door. I know that I’m not ready for what happens.
But I do it anyway. “Don’t laugh,” I call, turning around.
“I wouldn’t dare…” Nate replies with his voice as low as a trombone.
He’s as good as his word. When I open the door, he’s resting against the doorframe, one arm behind his back. I know what I look like – a mess, but Nate doesn’t even crack a smile.
“What are you doing?” Nate asks. “Have you got time for your favorite neighbor?”
“Studying,” I say. “I’m busy.”
Nate reaches up with his free hand and caresses my cheek. He’s so relaxed about it. I want to melt into him right then and there. But I stand strong. “You’re not coming in,” I say.
Nate pulls a horrified face. “What if I promise I won’t have sex with you? Will that get me in the door?”
My cheeks blossom with embarrassment. I don’t understand how he can talk about sex so easily. I feel like a giggling school girl whenever he brings it up. To Nate, it’s like he grew up on it.
He holds out his pinky finger. “I, Nathaniel Foster,” he says, grinning, “do solemnly swear that no matter how unbelievably gorgeous I find Kimberly Sawyers, even when she wears Minnie Mouse PJ’s or thrift shop sweatpants, that I won’t try and sleep with her…”
Nate waggles his pinky. “Do we have a deal?”
As he moves, I hear a clink of glass coming from behind him. “What’s that?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.
He pushes himself away from the doorframe, and produces a bottle of wine and two large wineglasses held stem-up in his other hand. “I come bearing gifts…”
I look at the wine longingly. I can feel my defenses starting to unravel: already. “It has been a long day…”
“So,” Nate smiles, “it’s agreed then. You’re mine for the evening.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” I say. Even I can hear how little conviction there is in my voice. “You understand that, right? I’m not joking.”
“So you keep saying…” Nate replies.
“If you try anything…”
Nate holds his pinky out again, his gray eyes twinkling with mirth. “A promise is a promise,” he growls. “But I’ll need yours first.”
I reach out my pinky grudgingly. I don’t believe for a second that Nate will stay true to his word. I can feel the desire burning in his eyes. His finger envelops mine, and I jump at the contact. It’s electric, like he’s not just caressing my hand, but my soul. I swallow hard. I’m already beginning to wonder whether this is a good idea.
Nate pushes past me before I have a chance to think twice. I get the feeling he’s done this before. “So what are you studying, clever clogs?” He asks.
Weirdly, he goes straight for the window, staring out into the darkness. I watch his eyes flicker back and forth in the reflection. It’s like he’s searching for something.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pulling the door closed behind me. It shuts with a click. Suddenly, we are alone together. The thought adds an electric charge to the room. I’m conscious of every breath, and every slight movement.
“Just checking out the view,” Nate replies haltingly, turning back to face me. His eyes go on a long, meandering journey from my toes to my face, lingering for the longest time on my chest. I feel my heart beat faster. When Boris does it –.
This is no time to think about Boris.
“So what are you studying?” Nate asks, licking his lips. I find myself copying him.
“Programming stuff,” I reply. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he replies, settling back onto the couch, and setting the wineglasses down on the coffee table.
I point at the laptop, and Nate glances at it. “I’ve been going over some subroutines. Some of the things that Boris keeps asking me to do – they don’t make sense.”
I notice interest flaring in Nate’s eyes. It’s kind of nice. No one’s ever been that interested in what I do before. Honestly – I’ll be the first to admit it – I’m a computer programmer. It’s just not that exciting to most people.
“Sounds like you don’t like Boris,” Nate replies. His voice is low and throaty. It even sounds seductive. I start to wonder what that voice would sound like if he was whispering things into my ear: dirty things. I flush.
“I don’t,” I agree. My voice comes out as a squeak. I sit down on the couch next to Nate – but a foot away from him. I feel all kinds of awkward.
The wine splashes into the glass as Nate pours, and hands me the first. I take a big sip. I need some courage in me right now, whatever the source. I just wish it wasn’t the kind that encourages me to make bad decisions…
“Thirsty?” Nate grins, that twinkle in his eye. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, I can sense it. There’s a heat building inside my legs, and I keep them apart on purpose; I don’t need to add anything to stoke the fire. Nate is enough of a spark as it is.
I glance at him; then I look away. Am I looking at him too much? I start to analyze everything I’m doing. Am I sitting up to straight? Should I change?
Nate notices. He moves his hand onto my thigh, and squeezes it. The contact sends an electric shock crackling through my body. It is so unexpected; I do all I can to stop myself from jumping half a foot in the air.
“Chill,” he whispers. “Has anyone ever told you that you need to relax?”
I nod. I’m not sure I trust my voice right now.
Especially since Nate’s hand is still on my thigh.
It feels like a pool of lava is forming there, and flowing down, and up, and everywhere. Nate’s unleashing a torrent of desire inside me, and it’s pooling in my core.
