Kiss the Killer [From the CIA 2](BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Dawn Kunda

  * * * *

  Borland, Duchaine, and Eikem watched from a vantage point in a park as two olive-skinned men entered Alina Runesson’s home.

  “I don’t know what kind of trouble she’s in, but looks like her search and rescue team found her residence a minute before us.” Borland voiced his thoughts.

  “They look like Middle Easterners.” Eikem added his two cents.

  “What would Middle Easterners, Grant, and Alina Runesson have in common? Is Grant part of her problem, or else why would Grant and this woman be together?”

  Shadows moved in front of the windows in Alina Runesson’s home. “They have to be looking for something.” Borland flipped a page of the newspaper he idly held on his lap.

  “Do you think we should stop them before they leave? That might be an easy way to find out what’s going on.” Duchaine patted his side where the loaded pistol rested.

  Eikem spoke up. “Maybe I should take them out. We could abscond anything they find because I doubt they’re going to tell us what they’re up to if it’s not on the up and up, which is likely at this point.”

  They all kept quiet for a moment. Borland looked down at the newspaper he hadn’t read. Catching a headline, he bent his head down to read the English paper. “Listen to this…‘Psychiatrist murdered in office…Last patient to see her, Alina Runesson.’”

  “I wonder what that means?” Duchaine jarred his posture of leaning against the door into alertness.

  Eikem leaned over the back of the front seat as Borland said, “The address they’ve given for Runesson happens to be one and the same as the house we’re watching, so the newspaper’s Alina Runesson is the same as Grant’s.”

  “What if those guys who went inside are cops, or more likely they killed Runesson’s psychiatrist to get this address?” Eikem said what they all had on their minds.

  “I’m voting that they’re looking for Runesson. They don’t look like the National Task Force, not even undercover.” Borland put the paper down. “We could be helping by taking those guys out. We might get some information, too. Sound like a plan?”

  Chapter 17

  Vic yawned. Only eight at night and he felt like he’d been awake for a week. If he reviewed the day, all that’d happened sometimes did constitute action for a week. He almost wondered if the extra weight of keeping Alina safe and informed at the same time added to his weariness. He put aside his tablet and the phone he’d used for staging their debut in Iraq and sprawled out on the bed.

  Alina had been gone for longer than he thought was needed to find the vending machines. He glanced at his watch again to make sure his imagination caused the hands to travel at a faster rate. He had checked two minutes previous. She probably had to go to another floor. Most hotels didn’t have machines on every floor.

  His eyelids felt heavy, yet the adrenaline still made a path to his brain, keeping him from resting his eyes while he waited for her to return.

  Unease settled in as he listened to the silence of the room. The comfortable “arms” of the bed didn’t pull him under, rather he swung his legs over the edge, rubbed his face, and stood to walk to the window. Pulling the curtain open, he stared down at the road they’d come from. A slew of small cars crowded the street. People hurried down the cobbled walk, bracing against the windy cold.

  He had to find Alina. She’d been gone too long.

  * * * *

  Duchaine motored the car two houses down from Alina Runesson’s. Duchaine, Borland, and Eikem readied their weapons.

  “Eikem, you take up the rear. Borland, you take the east side, and I’ll cover the west. Keep an eye on all entries. Looks like there’s a west side door, the front door, and usually we can count on a back door.”

  The three men looked toward the old stone and wooden house, making plans for the encounter.

  Duchaine gave a last order. “Stay alive and don’t be braver than you have to be.” In other words, shoot first, then ask questions.

  “Any chance we want to keep them alive for interrogation?” Eikem asked a necessary question without much conviction.

  Eikem and Borland paused for the answer. “That’d be a start, if possible. Do what you can.” Duchaine didn’t put much faith into getting the two or more men if some were hidden in the back and weren’t seen, alive with ready information.

  Chapter 18

  Vic flipped around and crossed the room in a couple long strides. As he stretched his hand to the door lever, it flew open.

  Alina stopped before crashing into him with an arm full of miscellaneous plastic covered vending food, two cans of cola, and a small bag of ice.

  “Oh, you surprised—”

  “I was getting…worried.” They spoke in unison. Vic felt a tightness in his shoulders let go as his arms relaxed, then reached out to pull her in.

  “I had to go to the second floor.”

  “I should’ve gone instead of sending you.” He saw a flash of fear cross her face in the form of eyebrows raised and eyes open wide. “You don’t have to worry.” It was a natural thing to say, yet he wasn’t so sure himself.

  “I hurried. It was kind of weird leaving and not knowing what or who I might run into.” She stepped into the room. He grabbed her purchases as a cola can and packaged sandwich began to slip from her grip.

  He didn’t want her to think he didn’t have confidence in their plan. Any lack of confidence on his part could make her a liability. She may react, and he wouldn’t blame her, by altering the instructions he’ll give her along the way. Any of their correspondences from this time on needed to be treated with a surety that they acted on the behalf of the Egyptian leader, Abasi Shehata. Shehata needed to be convinced Alina and he will succeed in the retribution of Shehata’s daughter’s murder, or Shehata will pull out leaving danger on all sides. The danger will result in an unsuccessful venture where Alina and he will be dumped in the sands without the conventional body bag.

  All this surfaced in his thoughts as he set their dinner on the desk. She added the bag of ice to the pile. “You didn’t see anyone, did you?”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically.

  “I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of our chasers, but I think we can rest easily tonight.” He began separating the stack of food.

  She jumped in to fill plastic cups with whiskey and a sparse selection of ice cubes. “If you know they, the chasers as you’ve been calling them, will find us again, shouldn’t we change plans?”

  “That’s a good question, but no. There isn’t much we can change. We’re already behind the timeline, and either way we have to get to Austria, then Egypt.”

  She sipped her drink, making a face as if she’d bit into a lemon.

  “You obviously don’t drink much.” She nodded. “Take it easy then. We need to be on our toes in the morning.” He downed his small cup of the mix without so much as a grimace.

  He watched her refill both cups, hers with only a dribble of alcohol and mostly soda. With her side to him, his eyes automatically surveyed her body. Her shiny, chestnut hair curved along her neck and rested on delicate shoulders covered in a thin sweater the color of dark chocolate. He noticed her chest rise gently under the clingy material. The sweater continued over her nicely rounded hips, stopping to reveal long legs covered in a faded jean material. The top of her low-heeled brown leather boots hugged her calves.

  He wanted to put her at ease, but the kind of “ease” he came up with after starting his second drink had nothing to do with a confidence boost about their mission. He was glad for the spot of alcohol to give his tension a release.

  Interrupting his analysis, she set a partially squashed sandwich on his end of the desk. Taking her choice of food from the pile, she plunked on the edge of the bed. “Better than nothing,” she commented.

  “Right. Definitely.” He considered sitting next to her, yet chose to pull out the desk chair and face her as they devoured the vending machine dinner. It took the edge off his first drinks, but
he countered it with another refill. He wanted to kick himself for enjoying the relaxation it supplied. It also brought back the night he’d met her. He knew he treaded dangerous grounds by thinking of her as anyone other than an unofficial partner.

  She sipped her cocktail and set it on the nightstand. He fought the idea that another night pleasing this lustrous woman in front of him couldn’t be so bad.

  The crunching of wrappers as she balled them together and tossed them toward the garbage can alerted him from his meandering thoughts. “Are you a double agent, or something?” A nervous quirk flitted across her mouth. She picked up her drink for another swallow, possibly for courage to ask what she really wanted to know.

  His face perked up at the unexpected question. He wanted to take her seriously, but with the long day, touch of alcohol, and a general tiredness, he let slip a small smile.

  “I’m not joking. That’s something else I want to know before we leave tomorrow.”

  He put on a straight face for her comfort. “No, I’m not a double agent.” She stared at him waiting for more. “The men that are after me are more like double agents. I worked with them until I discovered what they were up to. Their roles as CIA agents don’t fit the description by US standards.”

  “So they’re doing illegal things?”

  He rose and placed himself next to her on the end of the bed. He almost hoped she’d find a reason to slap him in the face as the warmth and subtle scent of her body permeated his better judgment. “It’s not that easy.” He looked up hoping for a simple explanation to fall from the ceiling. “I’ve legally been in charge of a squad of agents where I was directed to put them into certain places and positions around the world. My chasers, the men you saw in the car and others, gave me those orders under the guise that we’d be helping US relations in other countries.”

  “And the orders were bad?”

  “In a sense. The real reason for the orders was for my chasers to gain power and money from those countries’ governments. When I found evidence to prove this, I left, came to Sweden, to help my agents leave their posts without being killed, which is the ultimate ending planned by my chasers.”

  Her brows crinkled in thought.

  “In a nutshell, my chasers don’t want me to succeed and expose their ‘double agent’ activities. They will kill anyone in their way.”

  “Including me.”

  “I won’t let that happen, but you’re already a part of this. Even if you leave now.”

  She closed her eyes slowly, letting her head fall back. Seemingly speaking to the ceiling, she said, “If I want to go now, I can’t.” She brought her head back to neutral and opened her eyes. “Sorta like I’m a prisoner, huh?”

  “Listen, you’re not my prisoner. If you want to leave, you can. But…you will be followed by others. I doubt you can fend them off with your looks.”

  She scowled. “And they’ll kill me.”

  “They might ask questions first, but yes, they will kill you.” He didn’t need to add that her cousin would never be found. He looked at the last bit of sandwich in his hand. The white bread was partially hard on the edge. The meat, whatever it was, probably ham, appeared to be on the verge of turning gray. It didn’t smell or have a sour taste, so he figured he was safe. He took another chug of his drink.

  She looked in deep profundity as she gathered the rest of the wrappers and leftover scraps of food. He wondered if it was better if she didn’t accompany him. He could drop her at a safe house on the way, but he doubted she’d entertain such an idea. She barely allowed her government to change her life after returning from Iraq.

  “Why didn’t you change your name and move farther after you returned?” Was it possible she did change her name and made false paperwork and a passport? He should’ve checked farther into her background, yet it didn’t matter at this point. He needed to know what made her tick.

  He couldn’t fault her for standing up for her own rights and needs, or was she just stupid? He didn’t give a thought to her intelligence. A chemist had to have a fair amount of brains, but what about common sense?

  She paused bending over the trash can, then proceeded to drop the handful of garbage. She began speaking before she turned back to him. “I happen to like my name and I happen to like my country.”

  He tilted his head and raised his brows. “That was easy enough.”

  “I’m not a difficult person.”

  “Okay, you like your life. Don’t you want to see retirement?”

  She paused, possibly deciding what kind of generic answer she could give. “It’s crossed my mind.”

  He decided to take another route. “When I think of a scientist, I think of someone guarded from danger, in a white coat, and in a white, cement room with a microscope. You must realize your position, as a Swedish scientist working for foreign governments, has its own dangers?”

  “I haven’t run into any until now.” Her face reddened, or was it the lighting in the room? “I…I guess I always felt protected.” She swung around, paced to the window, then back. In a tightened voice, she added, “Sweden does not get involved with the problems of other governments. We do not take sides with our work. If we are dissecting a country’s nuclear materials, it’s not to give another country the information to use for a political purpose, or to help a country fight another. It’s only to make sure mistakes don’t occur in the form of unwanted explosions or misuse of active agents.” He knew this and also knew not to interrupt the steam behind her explanation. “If anything, we hope to help the country from creating a toxic atmosphere for them, which will also keep it from affecting neighboring countries.” She tightened her hands at her sides and stood in front of him. “My job helps people live.”

  “Always the optimist.” He looked down at his hands. This stunning woman before him did have a good heart, probably too good. “Can I ask you one thing?” His voice softened and he looked at her until she did not look away. “You don’t deserve to be in danger. Are you going to be able to handle the possibility that we aren’t successful?”

  He swore her mouth would’ve dropped open, if she didn’t have something to say. “I know that could happen. I have to go back to Iraq, though. Christa would not be there if it weren’t for me.” She groped behind her for the desk chair, and sat as if a weight pushed her down.

  “You got her the job?”

  “No, the men who took her thought she was me.” She pulled at the seam down the side of her jeans.

  He chose to end this line of interrogation. “We’ll get your cousin back and I won’t give whoever captured her a chance to get to you.” He leaned toward her. “Trust me. I’m one of the good guys.” He looked at his empty cup. “One more before bed, or have you had enough?”

  Her lips gave away a faint smile. She held her plastic cup to him.

  They sat in their respective spots, her sipping the diluted drink he made under better judgment and him slowly drinking a more potent version of the same.

  She thoughtfully rolled the cup between her hands. “Should I be afraid of not making it back home?”

  Chapter 19

  Eikem left the vehicle first and headed off in the opposite direction of Alina Runesson’s home. By plan, Duchaine and Borland would leave the car together, pretend a short chat, then head west and east respectively.

  A block up, Eikem crossed the street. The snow, slush, and ice slipped under his booted feet. The cobbled road added a degree of traction. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. His right hand encompassed the grip, feeling the weapon which had gotten him out of impossible situations more times than he could easily recall.

  As he neared the entry of a bakery that sent tantalizing scents of sugared dough, baked loaves, and chocolate, not his favorite but delectable when smelled in high concentration, he casually glanced up the street, then down to take notice of his partners’ positions. He could see Duchaine creeping along a line of leafless shrubbery mixed with a few yews. Borland had already ducked
out of sight.

  He popped into the bakery, watching his surroundings for anyone watching him while he turned around to absently check the glass cases and tables of the morning’s new arrivals of pastries.

  “Could I get one of those?” he asked the girl behind the counter as he pointed to a turnover.

  She smiled and reached for his choice. “Are you visiting the area?”

  “Yeah, my friend goes to the University.” Always the quick thinker, Eikem smiled back.

  “Maybe I know him. What’s his major?”

  He needed to avoid a long discussion. “I’m not sure.” He snickered. “Nice to meet you, but I have to get going.” He nodded and turned for the door.

  Leaving the bakery, he shoved another quarter of his breakfast into his mouth. He pretended to appreciate the neighbors’ home fronts while he walked toward his target. He tossed the rest of the pastry to the road and replaced his hands in his pockets where he wrapped his hand around his weapon once again.

  At the far edge of the neighboring property and after a surreptitious look around, he slipped up the side of the house, stole to the back of the lot, and crossed to the border of Runesson’s yard. He smelled sweet hay and found a shaggy llama munching and oblivious to anything around it. Any of the crackling of the frozen grass between clumps of snow he caused would be covered by the noise of the animal as it fed.

  “In place?” Duchaine’s distorted voice sounded in his earpiece.

  “Behind the house. Back door ten feet in from the west side.” Eikem gave his vantage point.

  “No door on east. Will move to southeast side.” Borland was also ready, near the front of the house.

  The tension mounted in the cool crisp air. If the cold, frosted edges of the house could transfer electricity, the house would hum and buzz like a million bees at work. Instead, an occasional creak or groan came from a distant creek as its ice expanded and contracted. The sound echoed at a low pitch adding to the eerie early morning silence.