Never Say Spy (The Never Say Spy Series Book 1)

by Diane Henders

  I squared my shoulders and drew a deep, trembling breath. “Okay.”

  He started forward cautiously, scanning the corridor ahead. I followed, watching behind.

  Chapter 29

  We crept through the corridors quickly and quietly. Thank God Kane knew where he was going. I was completely lost. At each corner, he paused and checked in all directions. I stuck close behind him, paying little attention to what was ahead.

  Scuttle, pause, scuttle. Our rhythm continued through seemingly deserted corridors. My heart vibrated somewhere in the vicinity of my back teeth. Jesus, we had to be getting close to the exit.

  A gunshot blasted through the corridor and Kane jerked back, swinging an arm around to push me behind him. I risked a quick glance in his direction and saw him lunge forward to return fire. He ducked back beside me, covering behind the corner of the wall.

  I snapped my gaze behind us again, trying to control the adrenaline surging into my bloodstream. More shots exploded, and the tang of gunpowder scented the air. Two men ran around the corner behind us, guns in hand.

  I had been holding my weapon in ready position. Their arms jerked up, but I was already in motion, sheer reflex kicking in. Lead the target. Just like trap shooting.

  I fired once. The gun kicked in my hands, and one man fell.

  The other snapped off a shot that went wide and dodged behind a projecting wall. His shadow stretched across the floor, marking his position.

  Drywall partition. It only looks solid.

  It’s not.

  I jerked the laser dot onto the wall at chest height. It zigzagged wildly in my shaking hands, and my tournament instincts took over unbidden. I eased out a long, controlled breath and squeezed the trigger. A dark hole appeared in the wall and the body toppled over into the corridor.

  I felt Kane move beside me and spared a quick glance his way. He was giving me that intent look again. “Clear,” he hissed. “Run!”

  We dashed down the corridor, my injuries screaming protest. Kane had been efficient. Three bodies sprawled across the corridor. We dodged around them.

  “Door!” Kane barked, pointing. We burst through it and charged across the parking lot.

  I gasped for air that didn’t seem substantial enough, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I stumbled on jelly-like legs, tripped and fell. I struggled frantically to my knees.

  Shots rang out behind us and Kane lunged between me and the building, dropping to one knee. Firing one-handed, he fumbled his keys into my hand.

  “Run for the truck. Leave me. Go!” He jabbed his chin in the direction of his SUV and fired toward the warehouse again.

  The vehicle was only about a hundred yards away, but it might as well have been a hundred miles. I tried to scramble to my feet, but my knees wouldn’t hold me and I fell helplessly to the ground.

  I rolled over beside Kane, straining to raise the heavy gun, and fired toward the building from prone position. It was extreme range, and I was trembling so much I couldn’t aim any more, but at least I could provide some covering fire.

  “Is there a Plan B?” I yelled over the gunfire.

  He ejected the empty clip from his gun, slamming home the fresh one he’d taken from his pocket. “Get to the truck!” he shouted. “Go, dammit!”

  A stinging shower of asphalt sprayed us as a bullet ricocheted off the pavement only a few yards away. I squirmed backward toward the SUV. Kane moved with me, keeping his body between me and the warehouse while he returned fire.

  More men rushed out the warehouse door, spreading out to fire on us. I couldn’t move fast enough. We were going to lose. The SUV was too far away.

  The icy pavement numbed my exposed skin. It was only a matter of time. Kane would get shot. It was a miracle he hadn’t been hit already. And I would either die with him or be taken and tortured. I fired a couple more rounds, barely able to control the recoil.

  “Move!” Kane bellowed. “We can’t let them take you!”

  With the clarity of despair, I realized there were no alternatives left. My mind refused to consider what would happen to me if I was captured again. Some things are worse than death.

  I gulped back pure terror. “They won’t take me.” I gestured with my shaking gun. “Six shots left. Five for them. One for me. If it comes to that.”

  Kane spared me a fleeting glance. “Wait as long as you can. Backup’s coming.”

  He fired and a man fell. I pulled the trigger again, and again. My world shrank to the task of counting my remaining bullets.

  Four.

  Three.

  I heard a vehicle approaching fast from our right, but couldn’t spare it a glance. Kane was still shooting, and I fired again.

  Two.

  A dark van rushed into my peripheral vision and a din of automatic weapon fire erupted. The volley continued while the van skidded to a halt between us and the building. A hoarse voice bellowed, “Kane!” and the side door of the van slid open.

  Kane scooped me up like a sack of potatoes. His shoulder slammed into my bruised stomach and my face smacked against his back. My cry of pain was drowned out by the gunfire.

  Then we were inside, the square figure in the other side of the van still firing continuously at the building from the open side door. The vehicle accelerated hard.

  Blessed silence fell as the weapons fire stopped and the door slid closed. I sprawled across the back seat, my ears ringing while I choked and sputtered blood from my freshly injured nose.

  A tidal wave of relief threatened to sweep away my control. I was with the good guys. All my body parts were still intact.

  I was safe.

  I allowed myself the luxury of a couple of silent sobs in the darkness before clamping down hard again.

  A beating sound thundered so close overhead that I ducked reflexively. A brilliant light flashed through the van, fading as the sound diminished.

  “That’ll be JTF2,” Germain said as he turned, slinging his sub-machine gun across his broad chest. He moved up to sit in the passenger’s seat, extracting his phone from his pocket.

  Kane bent over me in the dark. “Aydan?”

  “I’m okay,” I panted. I struggled to sit up, groaning, and his strong arm supported me into sitting position. “Goddamn son of a bitch,” I whimpered, then choked again on the thick metallic taste and wiped at my throbbing face with the tattered remains of my T-shirt. “I am never, fucking never dressing up again!”

  Kane‘s arm tightened around my shoulders. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “Where to, Cap?” rasped a voice from the driver’s seat, and I realized that Hellhound was the driver. Friend with a non-disclosure agreement, indeed.

  “Hospital,” Kane barked.

  “Don’t bother on my account,” I said. “All I need is some food. And I need to wash my face.”

  “Hospital,” Kane repeated firmly.

  I subsided. Germain talked quietly on his phone in the front seat. Kane still had his arm around me, and I leaned closer, shivering against his warm bulk.

  A few minutes’ driving brought us to the hospital. Instead of going around to the Emergency entrance, Hellhound parked beside an unmarked but well-lit door at the back. The door swung open, and an orderly wheeled out a stretcher.

  Hellhound swung out of the driver’s seat to open the side door and Kane carefully helped me out of the van. When I finally stood unsteadily in the bright light, Hellhound’s eyes widened.

  “Aw, darlin’,” he rasped as his fingertips grazed my matted hair.

  “I’m fine. You should see the other guys,” I joked.

  My trembling knees buckled again and Kane and Hellhound each caught an arm, making me grunt at the jolt to my bruised stomach muscles.

  I recognized B Wing as I was wheeled in. Doctor Roth appeared immediately, taking in my appearance with a practiced eye.

  “Hi again,” I said as she examined my head and face without comment, lifting my blood-caked hair to check for injuries. “I’m fin
e,” I added. “I just took a couple of hits to the face and my nose bled.”

  “If that’s so, why is your forehead covered with blood?”

  “I was upside down for a while.”

  She frowned. “It looks like you took a couple of hits to the stomach, too.” She indicated the purpling bruise showing through the tatters of my bloodstained shirt. “And somebody used you for a Tic-Tac-Toe board.”

  I picked at my T-shirt, peeling the sticky, stiffening fabric away from my skin. “Just one hit to the stomach. And the others are just scratches. All I really need is a facecloth and a bottle of orange juice.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied. “Linda!”

  Linda appeared, her eyes widening with horror when she saw me. “Aydan? Oh my God!” she cried. Dr. Roth gave her a stern glance, and she went quiet, her face pale.

  “I don’t see any serious injuries,” Dr. Roth said. “Linda, bring a basin and let’s get this mess cleaned up so I can get a better look.” She eyed my shivering form. “And bring a hot blanket.”

  I lay wrapped thankfully in the blanket while Linda and Dr. Roth cleaned away the caked blood. When they were done, the doctor looked down at me, her expression relieved. “That’s better. You’re going to be sore for a while, but you’re fine. Your nose isn’t broken, and we shouldn’t have to pack it. The bleeding has stopped.”

  “Good. Can I get something to eat? That’ll fix the shaking.”

  “Do you have hypoglycemia?”

  “No, I just need food.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “We’ll start you with some juice and see how it goes.” She turned to Linda. “Could you bring it, please?”

  “Sure,” Linda replied, her smile buoyant with relief. She touched my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You looked so awful when you came in.”

  Dr. Roth waited until she was out of earshot before turning to me. “I’m going to give you the name of a psychologist who has experience helping torture victims. I hope you’ll consider calling her.”

  I glanced up at her, startled. “I just have a few scratches and bruises. It’s nothing serious. This was just the warm-up act.”

  She frowned. “You were hung upside down. You have ligature marks on your wrists and ankles. You were beaten and deliberately scratched. That looks like torture to me.”

  I shrugged, trying to hide the long tremors that still rippled through my body. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Nevertheless.” She handed me a business card, and I stored it in my waist pouch.

  Linda returned with a glass of orange juice and a straw. I extricated one arm from the warm blanket to take the juice, and she propped up the head of my bed.

  “Ready to meet your public?” she asked, pulling the cubicle curtain aside to reveal Hellhound, Kane, and Germain standing in the corridor.

  “Come on in,” I invited.

  Hellhound and Kane sat in the two available chairs while Germain stood at the foot of the bed. I attempted to sip my juice, but my hand shook so much I couldn’t get the straw in my mouth. Hellhound took the glass away and held the straw to my lips. I sipped thankfully, smiling at him. The other two watched in silence.

  “So this is the spook wing of your hospital,” I said. Kane and Germain twitched in unison.

  “We need to debrief in a secure area,” Kane said. “Until we do, nobody says anything. Clear?” We all nodded.

  “Once I get something to eat, I’ll be good to go,” I said. They all regarded me doubtfully. “Jeez, I just need food,” I insisted. “Arnie, give me some more juice, please.”

  As I sipped again, a sudden thought hit me, and I jerked up, wincing at the pain. “Shit, I forgot to ask. Is Wheeler okay?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Germain replied. “They hit him with a stun gun, but they also injected him with an overdose of sedative. He’s barely conscious right now, but Dr. Roth says we found him in time. He’ll probably be released in the morning.”

  I sank back onto the pillow with a long breath. “Thank God. I’d feel awful if he’d been hurt.”

  With the juice in my system, I felt better almost immediately. I begged Linda to find me some food, and after clearing it with the doctor, she brought me a steaming plate of lasagne. The spicy smell made the saliva rush to my mouth, and my stomach rumbled. “That’s the best looking hospital food I ever saw.”

  Linda smiled. “It isn’t actually hospital food, it’s my supper,” she admitted.

  I grinned at her. “You are such a sweetheart!” My hand tremor had diminished to a manageable level after the orange juice, and I helped myself to the lasagne, shovelling it into my mouth with no attempt at daintiness.

  Germain’s brown eyes crinkled with humour. “My God, she was starving.”

  “You have no idea,” I assured him around a mouthful. I felt mildly embarrassed as the three of them silently watched me stuff my face, but I wasn’t embarrassed enough to quit. At last, I set the empty plate aside with a sigh. “I owe somebody a really good lunch. When can I go?”

  Linda fetched Dr. Roth, who shooed the men away so she could examine me again. At her request, I unfolded myself carefully, gradually stretching my sore stomach so I could stand upright. I walked back and forth in the cubicle a couple of times for her approval.

  She nodded satisfaction. “You can go. Your only potentially serious injury is that hit to the stomach, and I don’t think it’s anything more than a bruise.”

  “No, I tensed up really hard before he hit me.”

  “Lucky you’re in good shape,” she replied. “I’ll get Linda to bring the paperwork.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try to avoid being your best customer in the future.”

  She smiled. “You’d better. Get out of here.”

  Chapter 30

  Hellhound had insisted on giving me his jacket, and he hovered closely on the way to the door. I turned to him with a smile. “Relax, I’ve had my food. I’m not going to hit the deck.”

  “That’s what ya said right before ya hit the deck last time,” he growled.

  “No, I just said I was fine,” I argued cheerfully. “And I was. Would I lie to you?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  I laughed, and his shoulders relaxed at the sound.

  The lights were on when we arrived at the small house-cum-office. Spider sprang up from his desk as we entered.

  “Aydan, thank God you’re okay,” he blurted, but faltered when he took in my dishevelled appearance. I hadn’t looked in a mirror, but I guessed that my nose was red and puffy again, and my hair felt crispy around my face.

  “You are okay, aren’t you?” he added uncertainly.

  I nodded. “I’m fine, no worries.”

  “Thank God,” he repeated.

  “Thanks for driving,” Kane told Hellhound. “You saved our butts. You can call it a night now.”

  Hellhound grinned. “Yeah, same old, same old.”

  I held out a restraining hand as he turned to go. “Wait, you need your jacket.”

  He waved it away. “Give it back to me later.”

  “Arnie, it’s minus ten out. You need your jacket.” I eased it off, babying my aching muscles, and held it out to him. “Thanks.”

  He eyed me, his face set in hard lines. My injuries were even more livid against my pale skin with most of the blood cleaned away. I followed his gaze and offered him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, you know my Princess skin. It’ll be all better tomorrow.”

  “Take your jacket, Hellhound,” Spider said from behind me. “I brought Aydan’s jacket with me from Blue Eddy’s.”

  I turned to take it from him. “Thanks, Spider.”

  The young man’s eyes widened as he took in my scratches and bruises and the slashed, blood-soaked shirt.

  “Oh my God,” he gasped. “Oh my God.” He dropped into his chair and hid his face in his hands.

  I slipped on my jacket to hide the mess. “Hey, Spider,” I said gently. “It’s okay, it only looks scary. I jus
t had a nosebleed. Same as at Sirius.”

  “They…” He lifted a pallid face out of his hands, his eyes dark with distress. “They tortured you.”

  “Hey, Spider. Buddy. Relax,” I comforted him. “I’ve been hurt worse than that playing basketball. With friends.”

  Germain frowned disbelief. “That sounds like a different kind of basketball than I used to play.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, we weren’t too hung up on the rules.” I held out my left hand and showed them the short, ragged scars on the back. “This is what happens when you try to steal the ball from a 250-pound steroid-fuelled ex-football player.”

  I was pleased to see Spider was becoming distracted by my story. “What happened?” he asked, examining my hand. “How did you get the scars?”

  “Those were from his fingernails.”

  He gazed at me, open-mouthed. “He did that? Because you tried to steal the ball?”

  I grinned. “It was an accident. He felt really badly afterward.” I paused for comic timing. “At least I think he did. It was hard to tell under that low, steroid-induced brow ridge.” I mimed an ape-like gait, arms swinging, knuckles dragging.

  Spider let out a half-hearted laugh. “You’re crazy.”

  The other three men had been watching while I told my story, and Germain diverted Spider’s attention with a question. As they turned away, I braced myself on the corner of Spider’s desk, straightening slowly. That little show had cost me in pain, but it was worth it to see the colour returning to Spider’s face.

  Hellhound stepped to my side to wrap a strong arm around me, supporting me while I unbent. When I stood upright again, he moved away.

  “I’m outta here.” He jabbed a finger at Kane. “I told ya to take care of her. Don’t fuck up this time. Anythin’ else happens to Aydan, an’ I’m gonna do some serious ass-kickin’.”

  Kane glowered at him. “Nothing else is going to happen.”