I sighed and slouched in the chair, aching to the very marrow of my bones. “I was working on my car when I realized he’d sneaked up behind me. He grabbed me but I was already coming up with a screwdriver in my hand and I nailed him in the face. He staggered back and I pulled my pistol to trank him, but…” I had to stop and swallow. “…he tripped over the edge of my concrete slab and fell onto a steel reinforcing rod.”
Stemp’s expression never changed. “And…?”
I swallowed again. “I… had… a flashback.” Stemp’s silence compelled me to keep talking. “Another impalement… from years ago. I thought he was screaming. Struggling. Like the other guy.”
The horror threatened to overtake me and I huddled into my old emotionless shell.
It still fit me perfectly. My voice came out dead level. “Maybe he was, I don’t know for sure. I tranked him but I could still hear screaming. That would have been part of the flashback, because the other guy never lost consciousness…” I bit off the explanation and met Stemp’s gaze steadily. “Anyway, I lost control. I kept firing until I passed out from the aerosolized trank. When I woke up he was dead.”
I drew a breath and let it out into the thick silence. “But you said he didn’t die from the trank overdose.”
“Correct.” The single emotionless word gave away nothing.
“But…” I licked dry lips, not wanting to talk but unable to stop. “It was only a little piece of half-inch rebar. How could it have killed him? The other guy… it was a three-inch fence post. Punched through his ass and out his belly and took half his guts with it. And he never even passed out. He screamed…” My throat closed and my voice came out in a dry whisper despite my best attempt to control it. “He was still screaming… when they cut the post and took him away…”
The horrific spectre rose in front of my eyes again, and I clung to my shield of detachment with everything I had.
Stemp’s shoulder lifted in a fractional shrug. “At the angle you describe, it likely missed his aorta. And a smooth object the size of a fence post would jam into the body cavity so tightly that virtually no blood leakage could occur. Since it was below the level of his heart, his circulatory system would continue to supply blood to the brain without causing a sufficient drop in blood pressure to render him unconscious. Conversely, the rebar was small with a ribbed texture that effectively acted as blood vents. It tore the aorta and allowed massive bleeding into the abdominal cavity.”
He sounded as though he was discussing the weather, and I envied his detachment with every fibre in my body. I also wondered briefly why he was so familiar with the location of major blood vessels, but I decided I didn’t really want to know.
“So you didn’t fire your weapon until after he was impaled?” Stemp added.
“No.”
“Are you certain? Could you have fired before he fell?”
I frowned. “No. I’m positive I didn’t.”
“Because it wouldn’t be surprising if you were a little quicker to shoot than you normally are,” Stemp went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “That would certainly be understandable-”
“What are you trying to say?” I demanded. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, of course not.” He steepled his fingers and regarded me over top of them. “Dr. Rawling simply expressed concern that you might have… overreacted.”
Yesterday I might have been irritated. Now the comment didn’t even chip the ice of my composure.
“I didn’t.” I hesitated, then added, “Well, until the flashback, anyway. But if he was bleeding out as fast as you say, he was nearly dead by the time the first dart hit him. You can tell Dr. Rawling my overreaction was strictly due to the flashback, and I don’t think there’s much danger that I’ll have another.”
“How can you be sure?”
I held his gaze. “How many impalements have you seen in your life?”
A taut silence vibrated between us. “None that were accidental,” he said quietly.
Oh, God, I shouldn’t have asked.
“Two intentional ones,” he finished.
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He waved away my apology and I went on, “What I meant was, it’s not exactly a common occurrence so the chance of triggers is relatively slim. And I’d had a really bad day with some other, um…”
I didn’t even want to go there.
“…stuff,” I finished carefully. “But I’ve dealt with it.”
Suddenly I was looking into the barrel of his trank pistol.
“Nobody deals with trauma overnight,” Stemp said. “Particularly not long-standing post-traumatic reactions. You overreacted. I think it’s best if you go to a safe house and stay there until this situation is resolved.”
Staring into the soulless black eye of the muzzle, I fought back bitter laughter. A safe house. Ha. Maybe yesterday I could have been saved. Not now. Compared to the life sentence I’d just imposed on myself, short-term captivity in a safe house was nothing.
I leaned back in the chair with a sigh. “Whatever.”
Despite Stemp’s deadpan façade, I could have sworn I saw an infinitesimal raise of his eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Yeah. Go ahead and lock me up if you want. That won’t help you figure out who’s behind this, though.” Inspiration struck, and I added, “If you don’t believe I shot Perkins after he fell, get the medical examiner to test the blood that leaked into his abdominal cavity. If he bled out that fast, he’d only have the fast-acting inhaled trank in that blood. The tranquilizer from the darts might be in the rest of his body, but not in the blood that escaped first.”
Stemp holstered his pistol, his lips curving into a slow smile. “The blood was already tested. With exactly the results you described.”
I gaped at him in silence for a moment. “So what the hell…?”
He lifted a shoulder in a fractional shrug. “Dr. Rawling believed the multiple shots were a stress reaction to your current situation. He also believed you would experience an intense anxiety reaction to the prospect of being restrained in a safe house.”
Yesterday I would have. Not now.
I gave Stemp a dose of his own medicine, eyeing him in silence.
“So I tested you,” he said amiably. “I’m pleased to say that you passed with flying colours. So what is your next step in this case?”
For a moment I just stared at him. No apology, not even a hint of discomfort over the fact that he’d just pulled a gun on me and threatened to have me incarcerated. Bastard.
Well, fine. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.
I sighed. “My informant tells me that the contract might have been initiated by a skinny little guy with piercings who looks like Tyler Brock. I’ll know more after I talk to the informant again this morning. Meanwhile, I’ll check the databases for Norman Perkins…” I trailed off, then added, “No, I guess I won’t. Not until Thursday. Unless you’re reinstating me.”
“No.” Stemp’s gaze bored into me. “But the suspect looks like Brock?”
“Yeah…” I hesitated. Did I have enough evidence to voice my suspicions about Brock without being dismissed as petty and vindictive?
But, hell. If Brock was the mastermind behind the assassins, Spider might be in danger. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.
Stemp was still waiting and watching, and I pushed away the uncomfortable conviction that he was reading my mind.
I sighed and laid it all out, finishing, “I don’t have any solid evidence and I know it seems really unlikely that it’s him, but at this point I don’t dare ignore the possibility. I’m hoping to find out from my informant when the original contract was negotiated, to see if Brock has an alibi.”
“Ah.” Stemp eyed me narrowly. “And this informant? Who is he or she?”
I hesitated. Shit, this might not turn out well for Hellhound.
I put on my best poker face. “I’m not at liberty to sa
y.”
Stemp regarded me with unblinking intensity. “But you’ll document the identity in your classified reports.”
For once, his subtle reptilian menace failed to intimidate me. I met his gaze squarely. “Unfortunately, I’m suspended. So I can’t file any reports.”
After an instant of silence, Stemp let out a bark of laughter. “Checkmate. Well played, Kelly.” He sobered. “Nevertheless, I will require the identity of your informant.”
“Sorry, you can’t have it.” When he began to speak again, I held up a restraining hand and talked over him. “This informant owes me some personal favours. He only knows me as Jane and I only contact him through an intermediary so there’s no way he can trace me. He poses no risk to national security or to me, but in the unlikely event that anything happens to me, the intermediary will contact you directly. I can’t give you anything else.”
Stemp gave me the silent-treatment stare, but it didn’t even dent my composure. After a long silence, he said, “You mean you won’t give me anything else.”
I shrugged and said nothing.
Stemp’s voice dropped to an icy quiet that cut like a scalpel. “I could have you arrested and imprisoned for withholding information in a case.”
Weary beyond words, I slid lower in the chair and let my head fall against the chair back. “Yeah.”
This time he was definitely disconcerted. His hand twitched up to adjust his tie and his gaze flicked sideways for a bare instant.
“What’s the matter?” I inquired. “Your favourite manipulation tactics not working the way they should?”
He surprised me with honesty. “No, they’re not. I wonder why.”
“I told you, I dealt with my shit.”
“So it would seem.” Stemp’s eyes narrowed as if trying to hone his gaze sharp enough to slice open my skull and expose my secrets. When that didn’t work, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose.
“Very well. For now, I’ll trust your judgement on this. Keep me apprised of any new information you receive.”
“Okay. Um… Sorry, I know this sounds really paranoid, but… I have to ask…” I gave him a pleading look. “I’m worried about Spider. He’s unarmed and vulnerable. Is there any way we can protect him? Just in case? Brock’s threatened him a couple of times.”
Stemp frowned. “That seems… prudent. In the short term, at least.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Germain is debriefing from his last mission right now. I’d prefer not to reassign him until he completes his post-mission psych evaluation, but with Kane and Holt both relieved of duty…” He let out a breath. “Since I know Germain’s mission went well, I don’t foresee any problems with his psych evaluation.” He hesitated only a moment. “Very well. I’ll assign Germain to protect Webb.”
“Oh, thank you!” I sagged with relief. “And that will keep Linda safe, too.” At Stemp’s quizzical look, I clarified, “I think Brock might have been harassing her.”
Stemp nodded. “Then this will be the optimum solution, at least for the short term. I’ll keep the analysts working on finding connections between Norman Perkins and Drake Mallard and let you know if anything surfaces. I’ll also get Brock to provide a timeline of his activities so we can check it against your informant’s information.” He raised a deadly eyebrow. “I presume I can reach you at Kane’s house if you don’t answer your phones.”
What the hell, he’d obviously guessed where to find me this morning. I met his gaze without flinching. “Yep.”
He rose. “I’ll escort you to the conference room and wait with you until Ms. Ritter arrives. She will escort you out after your interview.”
I hauled myself to my feet, too. “It’s only a few doors down. You don’t need to bother.”
“On the contrary, while you are under suspension I’m required to treat you the same as I would any other visitor who doesn’t possess a valid security clearance.”
I sighed and headed for the door. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”
A few paces down the hall, I stepped into the conference room with Stemp right behind me. Sinking into a chair, I stretched out my legs and stared at the wall. Stemp propped a shoulder against the doorframe and stood regarding me expressionlessly.
When he spoke, I had to suppress a twitch.
“Where is your waist pouch?”
I studied the wall intently. No way I was going to admit I’d been so messed up I’d run away and left it in my garage.
“Didn’t bring it today.”
“I can see that. Why?”
God, I was so sick of questions. Just make him shut up.
My evil twin took over my mouth. “Because I was so busy fucking Kane’s brains out this morning, I forgot it at his place.”
Stemp didn’t react at all.
Ursula Ritter, however, jerked to a halt as though she’d run into an invisible force field in the doorway, her mouth dropping open to form a lipsticked ‘O’.
Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
Chapter 36
Stemp’s legendary composure didn’t even flicker. “Ms. Ritter,” he said, courteously inclining his head. “This is Agent Aydan Kelly. If you would be so kind as to escort her from the building when you’re finished your interview…?”
Ursula Ritter gave a jerky nod, colour darkening her cheeks even under the powdery layer of makeup she wore. After a moment of expectant silence from Stemp, she blinked and stepped through the doorway into the conference room. He offered us a nod and withdrew, leaving Ritter and me staring at each other.
I was pretty sure I was blushing hotter than she was. Any second my eyebrows were going to catch fire…
“Sorry,” I croaked. “I know that sounded really inappropriate, but he’d just irritated me and I was trying to shock him. It’s not what it sounded like…”
I trailed off. Hell, it was exactly what it sounded like. With a supreme effort I prevented myself from beating my forehead against the tabletop until I lost consciousness.
Instead, I rose and extended my hand. “I’m sorry. Can we start over? I’m Aydan Kelly.”
Her mouth snapped shut, her lipstick thinning into a straight red slash.
Aw, shit. I could read my doom in the severe cut of her navy blue suit and the bun scraping her artificially dark hair away from her face so tightly that the corners of her eyes looked tilted.
She gave me a stiff nod and regarded my hand as though I’d offered her a rotting fish. “Please sit, Agent Kelly.”
I sat.
She inspected the chair across from me with a disapproving frown before lowering herself into it with fastidious reluctance.
God, she looked so tight-assed it was a miracle she could even move. I imagined clenched buttocks squeaking as she bent to sit, and almost snickered aloud. Hellhound would laugh his ass off when I told him…
Sick misery punched me in the gut.
Could we still be friends now that I’d committed to Kane? Sex was so much a part of our relationship; the bawdy jokes, the teasing touches, the easy intimacy…
“Agent Kelly!”
“Uh?” I jerked up from my despairing slouch. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said…” She paused for emphasis and made a disapproving moue, tight lines forming a starburst around her puckered lips.
Hellhound would say it looked like she had a bright-red asshole on her face.
My heart clenched again. God, what if I lost him?
“…what is your relationship to Charles Stemp?”
I blinked, dragging my attention back up to her slitty eyes. Focus, dipshit. Just because your personal life is a disaster, there’s no need to sabotage your work life.
“We don’t have a relationship,” I said weakly. “Like I said, what you heard-”
An impatient sigh hissed out between her pursed lips. “Your professional relationship,” she snapped. “This is the first question on the interview sheet.” Her conservatively-manicured fingertip stabbed
at the top of her sheaf of papers.
“Oh. Sorry. Um… well, he’s the director of clandestine operations and I’m an agent. I report directly to him.” I frowned. “I thought you knew that already.”
Another huff of impatience escaped her. “Of course I know that. I’m simply following the standard interview format. Consistency is very important. Now, if we may continue…?”
Her last sentence came loaded with a substantial dose of snark, but I bit my tongue and nodded.
Do not sabotage this…
We worked through a series of pointless questions and I kept a pleasant expression on my face and answered like a good little robot. At last Ritter gathered up the papers she’d been marking off and tapped the stack into alignment before laying them aside, their rectangle perfectly parallel with the table edge.
The routine seemed to have settled her composure, and she spoke with crisp dispassionate tones. “These next questions deal with your personal relationship with Charles Stemp…” She hesitated and for an instant I thought she’d make a crack, but thank God she didn’t go there. Instead, she finished, “This will help identify any biases or personality conflicts that might colour your perception of his effectiveness as director. Have you ever had any conflicts or differences of opinion with Charles Stemp?”
A snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it. Her brows snapped together and I hurriedly got my face and voice under control. “Um, yes,” I said meekly.
“Please describe them.”
My evil twin took over again. “You don’t have enough paper there to hold it all.”
The slitty eyes and thin lips were back. “Then please describe the top three conflicts you’ve experienced.”
My God, the woman had less sense of humour than a dyspeptic wolverine.
I drew a deep breath, my mind racing. It seemed like a bad idea to relate the time I’d shoved my gun under Stemp’s chin and threatened to kill him. And probably all those times I’d called him a dickhead weren’t ideal interview fodder, either.
But, hell, if she’d done any research at all she probably knew about those times already and she was just trying to catch me in a lie.
Spy Away Home (The Never Say Spy Series Book 10) Page 27
