by Penny Reid
Instead, I whispered harshly, “I need you.”
He continued to stare at me, dumbfounded, as though trying to makes sense of my words. “What?”
“Follow me!”
His hand shot out to my wrist and he pulled me back and against him. “Bloody hell,” he growled against my ear, crouching us both to the ground. “I’m going to murder you, Fe. What the fuck were you thinking?”
I turned in his grasp, grabbing the front of his shirt with my free hand and bringing his mouth within an inch of mine. His eyes were flashing fire down at me, his jaw working, and I saw that he was both panicked and irate.
“I know the way out,” I shouted to be heard, because our assailants were now also shouting, and tear gas was filling the room. “You have to trust me, Greg.”
Without waiting to gauge his reaction, I twisted my wrist such that I held his hand in mine and pulled him forward toward the chute.
This time he didn’t stop me.
He followed where I led.
Granted, it was only ten feet and away from bullets and tear gas, but he still followed.
So, progress.
We made it to where the manual elevator should have been, but encountered several large empty pallets set on one end and leaning against the wall.
“Help me move these.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Just away from the wall.”
With one fierce push, Greg shoved them forward, revealing the hatch for the chute. I glanced down the vertical tunnel, estimated the drop to be sixty or more feet, concrete floor at the bottom. We’d confirmed earlier it was wide enough for Greg’s large frame.
“You’ll have to brace yourself against the sides and crawl down. It’s concrete floor at the bottom, so be careful.”
“You should go first—” he started to say, but then thought better of it, shaking his head. He stepped forward, dropped his semiautomatic down the chute, and leveraged himself inside. He used his hands and feet to brace himself and slide slowly toward the bottom floor. Once his head cleared the opening, I climbed in after him; the acrid smell of tear gas faint but growing stronger.
I slid down the walls, using my rubber soles and the palms of my hands to slow my descent. Even so, my arms were shaking and my legs were on fire. I was losing my grip. The weight of the day and week was pulling me under. I didn’t have enough strength left to scale the inside of the chute and soon I wouldn’t be able to hold on.
“Drop and I’ll catch you.” I heard Greg’s voice call from below.
I glanced down just as my arms gave way, sucking in a bracing breath. I had to trust him to catch me, because I was falling and couldn’t stop myself.
And he did.
He caught me with an “Oomph!” but his arms were strong and sure, and he recovered quickly.
I twisted out of his grip, my legs feeling like lead as my feet hit the ground. “This way. Dan should be on his way down.”
“I’m here.” I heard Dan’s voice through my earpiece. “I’m by the entrance and I’ve got you both covered. You’re clear to the door.”
I didn’t get a chance to repeat Dan’s words to Greg because just at that moment, Quinn spoke over the com. “You need to get out of there now. Buhari’s military police just arrived and I don’t think they plan to leave any survivors.”
“Explain,” I said, handing Greg my semi-automatic pistol and motioning him to follow me to the entrance. I was too tired to be a reliable shot. My body was exhausted and my brain was fried.
“They’re setting up a repeating grenade launcher. I’m guessing they plan to blow up the building.”
“Fuck a fucking fuck!” Dan growled. I saw him shift on his feet impatiently. He was waiting for us, but his eyes were trained on some point behind us. “Move! They’re coming down the stairs.”
I moved. And I didn’t stop moving. I ran straight out of the building and jumped for the fence, sparing a split-second glance over my shoulder to make sure Greg and Dan were behind me. They were. Greg ran for the fence as Dan shoved a pipe into the handles of the door, trapping the remaining hostiles inside. I sat on the top of fence and offered a hand up to Greg first, then Dan in turn. As soon as they cleared the chain link, I again dropped into Greg’s arms—this time without him asking or me requesting.
We sprinted for the tanker. And when we reached it, Dan climbed the ladder first, Greg handing me up hastily, then climbed up after.
Just as Greg wrapped his arms around me, our chests heaving, gasping for breath, I heard the first explosion. The tanker trembled, but the sound was muted thanks to the steel walls and insulation.
Yet, even if it hadn’t been muted, I don’t think I would have registered it. Not really. Because finally, finally we were together and we were safe.
Echoing my thoughts, Greg repeated over and over, “You’re safe. You’re safe.” Kissing every inch of my face and squeezing me to him with punishing strength.
“Greg—”
“Why? Fe? Why would you do that?” he demanded, shaking, his whole body caught in adrenaline withdrawal.
Seeing stars, I blinked against the blackness encroaching on the edges of my vision. Streaks of pain, hot and stabbing, pierced my temples and the back of my eyes. “You left me—”
“Because I needed you to be safe. Because I need you.”
“I need you, too.” I closed my eyes and the sound of my heart thumping—my blood whooshing—filled my ears.
He was still berating me, his voice fierce and irate, but I couldn’t hear him. Everything went black, and for the second time in a week, I passed out in my husband’s arms.
CHAPTER 20
Dearest Husband,
You are an endless source of patience to my crazy.
-Jenny
Letter
California, USA
Married 19 years
~Present Day~
*Fiona*
I woke up to the sound of arguing voices.
Specifically, Greg and Spenser’s arguing voices.
“. . . swear to God, if you so much as touch her—”
“Making threats against a federal agent is an arrestable offense.”
“Your face should be an arrestable offense.”
“Boys. Boys. Enough.” This came from Marie. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, mostly because my eyelids felt glued shut, but I could approximate each of their locations based on the proximity of their voices.
Greg was standing next to me, to my left. Marie was directly in front of me. Spenser was farther away and to the right. If I had to guess, I would say Marie was standing between him and Greg, likely trying to keep them from ripping into each other.
“Now I repeat, my client has nothing to say to you. Partly because she’s unconscious and partly because if she sees you, as she mentioned earlier today, she might cut your balls off.”
“Not likely, since she’s cuffed to the bed.”
At the mention of the restraints I felt the cold metal pressing against my wrists. I fought a frown.
“Yes, likely. Because your boss gave me the keys to the handcuffs.” Presumably Marie was waving the keys around, because I heard them jingle. “And I’m just about to un-cuff my client, as per the amnesty agreement signed off by both you, and your boss, and your boss’s boss, and recorded for prosperity by me. You have no grounds for arresting Mrs. Archer.”
Spenser’s voice turned gruff as he asked disbelievingly, “How can you be an AP reporter and a lawyer?”
“And how can you look yourself in the mirror after leaving my client to die, Agent Banks?”
He muttered a few choice words under his breath, after which the room fell into a tense silence.
“Time to go.” Marie clapped once, and heals clicked on the floor as she moved away from me. I heard a door open. After a beat, I heard Banks’s retreating footsteps.
Greg, obviously unable to restrain himself, added just before the door clicked shut, “Yes, better get back to it. Your inco
nsequential, lonely life isn’t going to live itself.”
Spenser growled something inaudible in response, but it was too late. Marie locked the door as Spenser banged on it once, causing her to huff loudly at Greg’s incendiary statement.
“Really, Greg? Really? While you’re at it, why don’t you poke him in the eye?”
“I have no desire to poke Spenser Banks,” he grumbled, fitting his hand in mine and fingering the metal around my wrist. “Will you please take these off her? Every time I look at them I want to vomit.”
“Well, I think the feeling is mutual. Especially since you promised one hundred million dollars and the CIA only recovered ten from the dry pipe outside of Enugu.”
“I must have miscounted.”
I could almost see my husband’s shoulders shrug as he made this comment.
I listened as Marie approached, lifting my eyebrows in preparation for opening my eyes. My limbs felt sluggish and weighted, sore. She reached for the hand Greg wasn’t holding, and the cuff made a clicking sound as the lock was released.
I blinked once, finding my eyeballs scratchy, my eyelids heavy, and my vision blurred.
Greg’s hand tightened on mine. “Fe?”
“Hmm.”
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Just the end,” I croaked. My lips were dry. I tried to moisten them. “Where are we?”
Greg pushed shaking fingers into my hair. “We’re at the US consulate in Lagos.”
“What are we doing here?” I tried to blink again, but only managed to squint.
“The plan was always to return here after the hostages were secure. When you fainted, we decided it was the safest place to go. They have medical staff on call.”
“We didn’t expect them to arrest you,” Marie added, moving to Greg’s side and insinuating herself so she could release the cuff.
“Why was I arrested?”
“For treason, but it was just Agent Banks trying to throw his weight around. Let me get you some water.” Marie carried the cuffs away, placing them on a side counter with a thunk, and poured water from a pitcher.
“I thought Greg negotiated amnesty for me?” I could see better now, but my headache was returning, pounding between my temples.
“I did.”
I shifted my attention to him. He was leaning forward, his thumb brushing back and forth over my cheek, his fingers curled around my jaw and neck.
“I’ve taken care of everything. All charges have been dropped. But Banks tried to renege when we arrived.”
I blinked once, my mind slowly working through this information. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a dickless jackass?” Greg smirked, quoting my words from earlier.
“You heard that?”
“I heard every word.” He nodded once, his smirk growing into a warm, wonderful smile.
Marie cleared her throat meaningfully as she walked toward me, carrying the glass, and handed it to me. “Or . . .”
I took a sip of water, thankful for the cool, soothing liquid, and studied my friend. She was staring pointedly at Greg. I studied Greg. His wonderful smile grew crooked and mischievous, and his eyes fell to where he was holding my hand.
When no one spoke I asked, “Or?”
Marie tsked when Greg didn’t continue. “Do you want to tell her?”
He shrugged. “Nah.”
“Fine. I’ll tell her.” Marie didn’t sound angry, she sounded reluctantly amused, as though it were against her better judgment.
“Tell me what?” I took another sip of water and then rested the glass on my belly.
“The refinery exploded.”
Greg wasn’t looking at either of us, instead he was smirking at nothing as he said, “Big kaboom.”
“Oh dear Lord.” Marie huff-chuckled.
His unrepentant eyes bounced between us. “Technically, I had no way to stop the explosion. I told Banks that.”
“Yes. You did,” Marie agreed. “He just didn’t believe you until the big kaboom.”
“That’s on him,” my husband insisted. “His resultant demotion isn’t my problem.”
“What? Banks was demoted?” I was trying to keep up.
“Banks was demoted because he’s a gar-belching guttersnipe,” Greg muttered.
Marie ignored the odd insult and explained. “Yes, Banks was demoted. I suspect that’s why he tried to have you arrested, because he’s quite spiteful and irrational.”
I could only imagine Banks’ level of distress and dismay. The Agency was his life. He would not react well to a demotion.
“They demoted him because of the exploding refinery?” I asked.
“The exploding refinery was part of it.” Marie pursed her lips, then added flatly as she glared at my husband, “And the money was the other part.”
Greg grinned and refocused his attention on our linked fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Marie kept her eyes fastened to my husband but addressed her next comment to me. “Greg moved the money.”
It took me a moment to catch on, to remember what money she was referring to. “Wait, no he didn’t. He left it in a dry pipe.”
“Yes. That’s right. I left it in a dry pipe.” Greg nodded, still studying our joined hands.
“And yet, when the CIA went to retrieve the money it wasn’t in the dry pipe.”
Greg shrugged again. “Meh.”
Obviously unable to contain herself, she laughed tiredly, but with true amusement. “How did you manage to move ninety million dollars while you were being held captive?”
“Exactly. It’s not possible,” Greg said cheerfully.
Marie was about to challenge him further when a knock sounded on the door. She gave him a suspicious glare and moved to answer the door.
“Who is it?”
“Dan the Security Man.”
“Oh.” She unlocked it quickly and motioned him to enter. “Come in.”
I tried to sit up in the bed, but Greg placed his hand on my shoulder to ease me back.
“How is your nose?” I asked, anxious and feeling guilty that I might have caused my friend harm.
“Fine. It’s not broken. Thank God for that. It would be the fourth time, and I really like the job the last guy did resetting it.”
I could see it wasn’t broken. He didn’t have black eyes and the swelling was minimal. “I’m so sorry, Dan.”
He waved me off, loitering by the door. “No big deal.” Dan’s eyes flickered to Marie and he pointed at her. “We need you for a minute.”
She turned to me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Sure.” I nodded once and took a large gulp of my water.
Dan opened the door for Marie and she filed out; just before he left he glanced over his shoulder and gave me a conspiratorial grin. “You were pretty great in there, Archer. Let me know if you’re ever interested in consulting with Cypher Systems, because we could use some of your badass skills.”
I gave him a soft smile in return. “Thanks. You were pretty great yourself.”
Dan lingered, still grinning at me, until Greg snapped his fingers between us and ordered, “Okay, that’s enough. No prolonged stares appreciating my wife for her skills.”
Dan cocked an eyebrow at my husband, his mouth flattening into an unimpressed line. “Someone needs to appreciate Fiona for her badass skills, Greg. Because they are fucking awesome.”
And with that, he turned and marched out the door.
For a long moment I stared at the spot where Dan had disappeared, then slid my gaze to the side as I tried to assess Greg’s reaction. The movement hurt, so I closed my eyes and leaned back into my pillow. After a moment, I felt Greg remove the glass from my grip and heard him set it on a side table.
“Are we going to talk about it?” I asked, not knowing how I wanted him to answer the question. I was so tired. My muscles were sore, and so was my heart.
“The doctors said you passed out
due to exhaustion and dehydration, Fe.” His voice was dark, unhappy, but restrained.
I nodded once. “I believe it.”
“I think we should wait to talk about everything until after you’ve rested.”
“I agree,” I replied numbly.
“But we will talk about it.”
I didn’t respond, instead opting to ask, “Did they give me any medicine?”
“Yes. Just acetaminophen and IV fluids. You’ve only been out for three hours.”
I flexed my hand, recognizing for the first time I had a needle stuck in my arm.
We were quiet for a while, and then I thought and said, “Will you lay with me?”
“Yes,” he answered at once, sounding relieved.
Instead of allowing me to scootch over on my own, Greg lifted me with infinite gentleness. He then climbed into the bed next to me and gingerly tucked me against his chest, my head over his heart.
“I miss the sound of your heartbeat,” I said, loving the feel of him, relatively unscathed, warm and real. I decided to be angry with him later, because right now I wanted to enjoy that he was alive.
Greg smiled against my hair. “The last time you said that was a week and three days ago, when we were in Chicago.”
A week and three days ago felt like an eternity.
“But I think it all the time,” I mumbled against his shirt.
He swallowed, and from the feel of it he did so with difficulty.
“I think about you all the time.” I snuggled closer. “You know how much I need you.”
“Do you?” he asked roughly, his hand squeezing my waist.
“Yes. I need you.”
His heart rate increased and I sensed a shift in his breathing; yet all he said was, “Sleep, my darling. You need your rest.”
I nodded, but then a thought occurred to me. “Greg, what happened to the money?”
His chest rose with a large inhale and I knew he was smiling again. “Let’s just say, your idea of using the mobile clinic was genius, and Dr. Evans is a brilliant co-conspirator.”
I frowned my confusion. “But I thought you rigged the money to explode.”
“Yes. Everyone did.”
“So she moved it?”
“I presume so.”
“What will she do with it?”
