The guard nodded slowly before tottering over to sink into one of the chairs in the lab. The dog loomed a couple of feet away from me. Its low, continuous growling wasn’t exactly reassuring, but its immobility told me it had been well-trained, thank heaven.
Panic arrived a second later. Shit, Sam had probably told the Knights about my pain reaction if I was forcibly removed from the network. They couldn’t know I’d been in there.
I contorted my face into an expression of panic and tried to scream. My breath caught in a prison of pain, but the resulting strangled cry was enough to make them all twitch.
I flapped my arms feebly, hoping not to upset the dog unnecessarily while still convincing my human audience I was hysterical.
I tried another shriek. “Get it away from me! I hate dogs! Get it away!”
A bit more squeaking and thrashing, and the tall bald man spoke in the resonant tones I’d heard earlier. “Murren. Come and get the dog. And give me your gun.”
“O-okay…” The young guard came over and collected the dog, relinquishing his gun to the tall bald man with obvious relief. Baldy trained the gun on me with a steady hand, and the Knights waited in silence while the guard tethered the dog to a desk and sank down beside it, petting and mumbling to the dog.
They really were amateurs. They hadn’t even searched me. I could still feel the weight of my Glock in my ankle holster. Not that it helped. Baldy could pull his trigger long before I got to my weapon. Assuming I was still capable of bending enough to reach it in the first place.
Baldy waved the guard’s gun at me. “Ms. Kelly, I presume?” he inquired.
“Brewster, Rousseau, and Plissol, I presume?”
His twitch as I spoke the second name told me I was on target. So Baldy was Rousseau, the stout man was Brewster, and I’d already pegged Plissol. For all the good it did me. We’d all be dead in about ten minutes unless I could get back into the network.
Not quite what I’d planned, but it would still work. I swallowed my fear. At least the Knights would be stopped, and Stemp would get my emailed explanation in the morning.
The three Knights bent over me, and I thought better of trying to sit up. Let them think I was incapacitated.
“What are you doing here?” Rousseau snapped.
“I… uh… God, I can’t feel my legs! I think I broke my back!” I widened my eyes in not-too-simulated terror.
“You didn’t,” Brewster said. “You were thrashing around like a fish out of water. There’s nothing wrong with you. Answer the question, or your back will be the least of your worries.”
“I… uh… I was looking for you. I want to join you.” The lame excuse tumbled out of my lips before I could think of anything more convincing.
The Knights exchanged glances before Brewster focused on me. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I need the money.”
“It’s a trap.” Plissol shot me a fearful look. “She works for the government. We can’t trust her. They’re probably closing in on us right now…”
“Get real.” I summoned up a contemptuous sneer. “I don’t owe those assholes anything. Didn’t Sam tell you how they treat me? Working day and night seven days a week, getting beaten and tortured, and last week they blew up my car and took all my assets. I need money, and I want revenge.”
“Why sneak in then?” Rousseau bent closer, frowning. “Why not just contact us?”
I channelled Kasper’s annoying personality with all my might. “You’re not very bright, are you? I’m under constant surveillance. I couldn’t risk communicating with you.”
“That… makes sense…” Brewster agreed hesitantly.
“Of course it makes sense.” Keeping a wary eye on Rousseau’s gun, I eased slowly into a half-sitting position and slumped against the pallet, my pulse hammering in my ears. I held my voice steady. “You know how powerful a mage I am. Imagine what we could do together.”
I resisted the urge to look at my watch. Only about eight minutes left…
The Knights stared at me for a moment before Rousseau spoke. “We’ll discuss it.” He raised his voice to call to the security guard. “Murren, come here.”
When the young man sidled over, Rousseau handed him the gun and jerked his head toward the offices. “Take her into the copy room and keep her covered while we call the police.”
The young guard paled and backed away a pace. “You said she’s dangerous. What if she attacks me?”
“Shoot her, of course.”
“I c-…” Murren squared his shoulders. “All r-right. Move.”
The wobbling gun described a perilous arc, and I discovered that the only thing scarier than being held at gunpoint by a professional gunman was being held at gunpoint by a terrified, incompetent gunman. I raised my hands very slowly
“Okay, I’m just going to stand up now,” I soothed.
Murren nodded and stepped back another pace, his knuckles whitening on the handgrip.
I struggled onto one knee and straightened carefully, drawing a breath of relief when the pain in my ribs actually eased a fraction. “Okay, I’m standing up now…” I got my feet under me and leaned against the boxes for a moment, panting shallowly.
“Hurry up,” Rousseau snapped, and jerked my arm in the direction of the copy room.
I staggered, groaning, and took a few faltering steps.
“Oh, for… Take her.” Rousseau gestured to Brewster, who grabbed my other arm. The two men dragged me to the copy room and flung me inside, and I let myself fall to the floor with a pitiful cry.
“Don’t forget how much I can help you in the network,” I reminded their retreating backs. “And I know how to find Sam, too.”
They whirled to stare at me for a long moment before disappearing into their office, muttering tensely among themselves.
I considered my options, my mind racing. Too risky to go back into the network with the guard watching. He’d probably yell if he thought I’d passed out, and the Knights would know immediately what I was doing. I was running out of time, dammit. I rolled over and sat up slowly.
“Stay calm,” I said to the young guard’s wide-eyed stare. “It’s Murren, right?”
“Yeah… No! None of your business.” He glared, his attempt at ferocity belied by his trembling gun. “Don’t try anything.”
“I won’t. I just want to talk to you.”
I held his frightened gaze with mine. The poor damn kid was scared shitless and he was about to die for no good reason, doing a stupid, shitty, low-paying job.
“Listen, Murren, those guys aren’t calling the police. I’m an undercover agent, and they’re terrorists. You should get out of here. They’ll kill you for being a witness.”
“Y-you’re lying…” He eyed me uncertainly. “They’re just a bunch of harmless old farts. Our company has had this contract forever. They always put the new guys on it because it’s so boring…”
He tightened his lips and straightened, raising his wavering gun. “I know what I’m doing. I have all the training…”
“Ow.” I groaned and drew up my knees slowly, reaching carefully for the ankle where I could feel the burning sensation of broken skin. “Your dog is a monster. Look what he did to me.”
I pulled up my pant leg and concealed my disappointment at the few small drops of blood on my sock. I’d been hoping for something a little more spectacular.
I rolled down the sock and was gratified at his indrawn breath. At least that was one advantage to the fragile fish-belly-white skin that came with my red hair. Angry crimson welts made the sparse oozing of blood look much more serious.
And now that his attention was diverted and my hands were near my ankle holster…
Time for some shock value. I blew out an impatient breath. “These men are terrorists. Professionals. You saw how he handled your gun. You need to get out right now. This entire building is going to blow up in minutes.”
“What?” He gaped at me, blanching. His gun hand drooped,
and I whisked my Glock out of my ankle holster to train it on him.
The last of his colour drained away and the gun fell from his trembling fingers. “God, lady, don’t kill me! P-please don’t kill me…” He was practically in tears.
I snatched up his gun and stuffed it in the waistband of my jeans as I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding. The Knights were still talking in the other room, their voices rising and falling in heated argument.
“Move,” I hissed. “If you make a sound, you’re dead. Go!”
He whimpered, tears beginning to slide down his cheeks, but thank God he followed my instructions.
“Into the office next door. Hurry!” I hustled him around the corner and over to the window. “Open it.”
He obeyed, trembling so violently I was afraid he’d collapse. Jesus, please don’t make me have to carry the poor dumb kid.
“Out through the screen. Go, go!”
Murren stooped to grapple ineffectually with the screen, and I planted a foot on his rump and shoved hard. He toppled out the window accompanied by the sound of tearing screen, but he kept mercifully silent.
Shock, I realized as I stepped out the window nearly on top of him. He was curled into a ball, rocking and whimpering quietly.
“Fuck!” I jerked his collar, resisting the urge to shout at him. I settled for a fierce whisper instead. “Get up, you moron! I’m not going to kill you, but you’re going to die if you stay here. Run!”
He unfolded, staring at me without comprehension.
“Come on!” I stuffed my gun back into my ankle holster so I could use both hands to drag him to his feet. “Run, you dumb fuck! Run!”
He took a few stumbling steps, and my ravelled nerves snapped. My open palm hit his cheek with a resounding smack, and his eyes snapped into focus.
“Run!” I repeated, and dragged him a few paces before letting go of him to run myself. Maybe if he saw me doing it, he’d catch on.
I’d only covered a few yards when I heard the sound of pounding feet behind me, accompanied by high-pitched sobbing. Thank God.
I dashed for the trees.
I tore the cardboard off my bike’s headlight with hands that shook almost as much as Murren’s. My aching chest heaved in an effort to suck in more oxygen while I flung myself onto the machine.
Murren stumbled up as the engine caught. I spun the bike in a tight turn, goosing the throttle to launch myself into the open field.
I threw a wild yell over my shoulder. “Keep running!”
The entire world lit up, and God Himself roared and kicked me in the back.
Chapter 50
I rolled over painfully, my ears pulsing with a strange cottony fullness. In the orange glow from behind me, I could see my dirt bike lying on its side a few yards away. The headlight was still on, but I couldn’t hear the engine running.
I struggled to my knees, then crept to my feet. My body thrummed with pain, but everything still seemed to be working. I staggered over to the bike, picking up my helmet on the way. After an impact like that it’d have to be replaced, but I hoped it would be better than nothing.
I jammed it on my head and bent my complaining body to the torturous task of righting the bike.
Come on, it’s only a dirt bike. Not that heavy…
By the time I had strained it upright I could barely straighten around the spears of pain jabbing my ribs. I swayed precariously for a few moments, gasping shallow breaths. If the bike fell over again, I would, too, and I wouldn’t get up.
I raised a shaking wrist to peer at my watch in the fiery glow. Shit, I had exactly twenty minutes to get to the park.
Somehow I managed to sling one leg over the seat. Seconds later, I was bumping across the field as fast as I dared.
The jouncing ride was pure torture. My abused body screamed with every twist and jerk. When I finally reached the truck I had to clear involuntary tears from my eyes while I slumped over the handlebars. I was pretty sure I was making some kind of snivelling sound, but I couldn’t hear it yet. I hoped my hearing would come back soon.
Then the hammer blow of realization struck me. The keys to the truck were in my waist pouch.
Which I’d left lying on the pallet of C4.
Which was now blown all over hell’s half-acre. I’d have to ride my dirt bike to town.
It was probably a good thing I couldn’t hear the wail I felt in my throat.
After an eternal fifteen minutes of icy wind and rough road, I idled up to the back edge of the park.
I spent a few moments stifling my moans while I pried my numb fingers off the handgrips, the returning blood burning and tingling. My stiffened body reluctantly straightened, and I carefully secured the motorbike on its kickstand. If it fell over now, I was done.
My hearing had returned oddly distorted. The sound of my hair swishing against my jacket seemed deafeningly loud while soft, fluffy silence muffled the night noises. Long shivers racked my body, wrenching my injuries into fresh protests.
I started to remove my helmet but thought better of it. It obstructed my peripheral vision, but at least it held a few vestiges of heat. I was already sluggish with cold, and the faint voice of my remaining intellect advised ‘shock and hypothermia’.
Yeah. Whatever.
Just one more thing to do.
I plodded in the direction of the playground, not even caring enough to flit from bush to bush in approved spy fashion. Robert probably wouldn’t show up anyway.
At last, I sagged against the climbing frame. Lucky I’d stuffed my tiny flashlight into the inside pocket of my jacket.
I flashed the light three times and waited.
Moments later, a hard blow to my back sent me sprawling face-first into the gravel, my breath catching in agony. First my right, then my left arm were twisted behind me, and the sharp familiar pain of a nylon tie jerked tightly around my wrists. Another cinched my ankles seconds later and I lay gasping, too stunned to even struggle.
My captor jerked me roughly onto my back and yanked off my helmet, nearly ripping my ears off in the process. I let out a yelp, and blinding light flashed into my face.
Rough hands bit into my shoulders, my head smacking repeatedly into the gravel as my captor shook me violently.
At last, I registered his words.
“You! Dammit, you! You… you… idiot!”
He flung me back against the ground where I lay floating in a sea of pain.
After a long moment, the flashlight seared my retinas again. “Are you all right?”
I groaned and dragged in a short, excruciating breath. “Yeah. Turn off the fucking light.”
A click plunged us into darkness, and I lay blinking at the brilliant afterimages.
“You idiot,” Kasper hissed. “I told you to stay out of the way!”
“I was just standing here.” I sucked in another shallow breath on a groan. “He said to flash a light three times, so I did.”
“No, you moron, I said that!”
A silent moment later the flashlight clicked on again, this time pointed at the ground beside me, and I stared up at Kasper’s unattractive face in the dimly reflected glow. His gaze was fixed on me with what looked like fear.
“Tell me…” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper, and he cleared his throat. “Tell me exactly what your message was.”
“I can’t remember exactly. Something like eleven o’clock, same place, flash light three times. What message did you get?”
“He said it was the last chance before he disappeared for good.”
“I said that!”
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“You sent that message?” His gaze bored into me.
Slow despair oozed through my veins as I grasped the obvious at last. “Yes.”
His face collapsed. “You. You…” He gulped audibly. “Why did you activate the keep-alive?”
“What keep-alive?”
“The crossword puzzles, you moron.” He stared at me in
the dimness. “Tell me you haven’t been doing the crossword puzzles…”
“Yeah.” My voice was a hoarse rasp. “You mean… That was your keep-alive? Oh, God.”
I sucked in a trembling breath. “Oh, God. Robert did them every night. I caught him at it a few times and he always closed them right away, but I love crossword puzzles, and I bugged him about it until he let me play. We did them together every night. After he died, I just kept doing them… For old times’ sake…”
Kasper sank to the ground, his whisper barely disturbing the silence. “So you and I have just been sending messages to each other.” He closed his eyes, pain carving deep lines in his face. “He’s really dead. My best friend.”
The last of my strength drained away, my heart wringing with grief as bright as fresh blood.
Robert had loved me after all. Had risked and lost his life to protect me nearly three years ago.
And I had defiled his memory with ugly suspicion.
“Yes…” The words barely escaped my scalded throat. “He… He’s really… d-dead.”
I don’t know how long I lay in silence, the throbbing in my body a distant counterpoint to the fresh sharp pain in my heart. Eventually Kasper leaned over to cut the nylon ties and I sprawled in limp apathy on the icy ground, shivering in long waves. Maybe I could die here. Hypothermia was probably a pretty easy way to go.
His hands closed around my shoulders to shake me again. “Get up.”
I spoke through chattering teeth. “B-bite me.”
“I can’t imagine what Robert saw in you,” he sniffed. “You are a thoroughly objectionable woman.”
“F-fuck you v-very m-much.” I tried not to care, but a tiny flame of irritation kindled. “I c-can’t imagine what he s-saw in you. You’re a f-fucking d-dickhead.”
“Of course I am.” He hauled me to my feet despite the spasmodic shower of verbal abuse I delivered between my convulsive shivers. “Shut up and get out of here,” he snapped. “I have some Knights to hunt.”
How Spy I Am Page 36
