by Sansa Rayne
I’m being paranoid. Dozens of people got off at the same stop, as always. When I look again, he’s heading for the southern station exit instead of the northern.
Fuck.
Brendan made me jumpy.
Just to be safe, I walk a block past my building, then circle back. I reach into my purse and get a grip on my mace, just in case. No one seems to be following me, and when I enter the lobby of my condo, the doorman nods.
Groaning as I get in the door, I go straight for the wine, but before I get it uncorked my phone rings.
Damn. I spent the subway ride dwelling on Brendan’s bullshit, I forgot about my messages.
The number comes up as RESTRICTED, so I let it go to voice mail. After a second, the phone rings again.
Fuck it.
“Hello, who’s this?”
“Kate Atwood?”
It’s a male voice. I don’t think I know it — and he has my private line.
“I’m sorry, you’ve reached Customer Service,” I say. “How may I direct your call?”
Laughter.
“Ms. Atwood, my name’s Ingram Dent. I have a proposal for a mutual enterprise.”
Now I laugh, though icy fingers tickle my spine. I’ve heard of Dent, though I’ve never spoken to him. An international operative known for his ruthless intelligence gathering techniques, he’s a man to be avoided. There is no way that he would be calling me. It has to be a prank.
“Fuck off, motherfucker,” I mutter, hanging up.
I’m not surprised when the phone rings again.
“Asshole, lose this number or I’ll-”
“Shut up and listen,” he says. “Look at your living room coffee table and tell me what you see.”
I nearly drop the phone.
There’s a small box on the table, the kind that might contain a fancy wristwatch. I didn’t put it there.
“Open it,” he says. “Now.”
My legs feel like they’re caught in knee-high mud. I hear a tone in my head. Fuck me. Fuck me. Brendan was right.
“No, I won’t. It could be a bomb.”
“It is a bomb.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d like to speak with you, but I have to have an assurance you won’t try something foolish, like recording the conversation for one of your reports. I’ll give you a minute to think about it.”
My mind reels at the possibilities. If he has something to gain from me, he must have something good to trade. Maybe he wants me to expose a competitor or use my connections to help his clients. This could be massive — and no one from LPN has to know about it. This could be exactly what I need right now.
On the other hand, that’s a fucking bomb.
“Ms. Atwood, you have ten seconds.”
Heart pounding, I lift the box. It’s not heavy.
“Last chance.”
I take a deep breath and open the box.
I open my eyes a moment later — I’m still here.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, looking at some kind choker. A black band with a small pearl encrusted in its center. I’ve seen bombs before — none that look like this. I almost pick it up to shake it, but… is it really a bomb?
“Put on the collar,” says Ingram. “I’ll know when if you don’t.”
Wetness warms within me, an inexplicable, involuntary reaction.
“You’re fucking kidding me. This is a fucking prank. I’m on a hidden camera, aren’t I?”
He laughs.
“You are on camera, but this is not a prank. You remember Alexi Osnitski, that money launderer for the Russian mob who disappeared in the Caymans last month?”
I remember the local authorities trying to cover up that it even happened, calling it an accidental drowning. No body was ever found — neither was the man’s yacht.
Is Ingram admitting to involvement in a violent murder? Did that just happen?
“You’re saying he died from one of these?”
“No, his was a little different. It didn’t go around his neck.”
Holy fucking shit.
“He screamed from start to finish, crying and pissing himself the whole time. It took a lot of the fun out of killing him, to be honest.”
Sweat slicks my forehead. My heart thumps so loud it could pop. I can feel his electronic eye on me, though I have yet to spot the camera.
“I can’t… It’s just… I can’t.”
“Listen to me, Kate. You know my name, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So you know more or less what I do, and that I work for very powerful people.”
“Yeah.”
As in, people who would want me dead if I did to them what I did to Victor Sovereign.
“Have you heard of Oleg Hunt?” Ingram asks.
“I have.”
He’s a financier based out of Switzerland, primarily invested in resort hotels, casinos and event halls. Over the last decade he’s amassed dozens of new properties, primarily in Mexico and Central America.
“I have evidence that Hunt has been using his businesses as fronts for illegal arms trades, and that his hotels are routinely used to house and hide private mercenary armies.”
A tingle of pleasure rises up my body. If this is true, it would explain Hunt’s exceptional profitability, despite the recent economic trends.
“What kind of evidence?”
Ingram chuckles.
“Audio and photographs from meetings, financial records… more than enough to expose Hunt.”
I stare at the choker, the supposed bomb. If all I had to do was put that on for a few minutes to land another story on the level of Sovereign Aeronautics…
My lip rises into a smirk. Hunt Attractions is another one of LPN’s major advertisers. Corporate will be really mad.
“Should I assume that you’re here on behalf of one of Hunt’s competitors in the field of paramilitary forces?” I ask.
“No comment, Ms. Atwood.”
Now I laugh. His deep rich voice tickles inside my ear. Something trickles down my thigh.
“Are you in, Kate?” he asks.
Fuck. I’ve done some crazy shit before, for work and otherwise, but none of it comes close to this. At least with Victor Sovereign I was in a somewhat public place.
I remember that he can see me. My cheeks flush. I can’t help wondering what he would do to me if I try and fuck him over.
I breathe heavily. Ingram says nothing, but I hear street noise coming through the phone. Is he here, outside?
This is utterly insane, but I can’t let this go. Not a story of this magnitude. And if Ingram wanted me dead, he could have killed me by now, right?
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Good. Put on the collar.”
The blood in my cheeks surges, no doubt turning my face a bright red. Can Ingram see me from the front, or from behind? The thought of wearing a device like this awakens rush of hormones; the tide hits me in the worst and best ways.
Holding my breath, I slide the collar around my neck and connect the ends together until they click. The sound carries a sense of finality — the stroke of a pen signing a contract, the gulp of swallowing a pill with a smiley face drawn on it. The sound echoes in my head, and I exhale in relief, as if the bomb might have detonated.
I try not to think about Ingram watching the whole process — it only exacerbates the wetness dripping down my inner thighs.
My body’s messed up reaction has nothing to do with Ingram. It’s the thrill of taking a chance on something big. That’s all it is. This isn’t so different from the first time I went skydiving or ventured into the African bush to expose a warlord’s diamond mine. It’s like putting down a ten-thousand-dollar bet on a hand of blackjack at the Monte Carlo Casino.
That’s it.
In all likelihood, this thing will explode if I try to take it off. I can already see John and Brendan standing over my grave saying one last I-told-you-so. Somehow, this still feels like the right move.
“Very good, Kate. Get your purse and take the elevator downstairs.”
“Can I-”
“No,” Ingram interrupts. “Do as I say.”
Shit.
Somehow I feel under-dressed; the wide-leg black pants and ruffled v-neck I wore to see Brendan is a far cry from how I’d want to look for a meeting of this significance. I guess Ingram doesn’t care.
I try to breathe deeply, if just so Ingram won’t hear it. It would be nice if I could stop sweating. Turning my head causes the collar to shift around my neck, jolting my body with every step.
There’s a building security camera above me; does Ingram have access to it? Could he tap into it somehow? If I quickly took the collar off, would he know? Or would I end up like that Russian money launderer?
“When the elevator stops, walk through the lobby. Smile and wave to the doorman.”
“What if he says something?” I ask.
“He won’t,” Ingram replies. “You’re on a phone call.”
Good point.
Sure enough, the doorman just gives me a nod as I go by. If he thinks it’s weird that I’m leaving mere minutes after getting back, he keeps it to himself.
“Wait at the curb.”
After a moment, a limousine pulls to a stop and a door opens.
“Get in.”
Fucking hell. This is crazy. I’m absolutely out of my mind. Somewhere, Brendan is having an aneurysm.
Whatever. High-risk, high-reward. I’d rather regret rolling the dice than never know what could have been.
The collar pulses, a strong buzz that nearly makes me shriek.
“I said, get in.”
He never told me the collar could do that. Cursing under my breath, I get into the car. The door shuts behind me automatically.
A face I’ve only seen as a grainy blur on a computer screen watches as I set myself down on the plush, leather seat. There’s no question it’s Ingram Dent, though never in my life would I have imagined a dangerous man like him could have such a beautiful smile.
“Thank you for coming,” he says, not getting up as the limo pulls out into traffic. “There’s a pouch next to you. Put your phone inside and seal it up.”
I check around and find it: a small, rectangular bag lined with some kind of foil. My phone barely fits inside. It closes with a zipper, but when I try to re-open the pouch, I can’t get it to unzip.
“Good, thank you,” Ingram says. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Atwood.”
My mind short-circuits a minute. I forget the loss of my phone as I stare. His short, dark hair practically touches the roof of the limo, he’s so tall. Reclining, a trunk-like leg crossed over his knee, he lets his dark blue eyes linger over me. His clean-shaven face reveals a chiseled jaw and a dark, cleft chin. An immaculate gray suit clings to a truly massive upper body; he’s opened his shirt collar, exposing a hint of his athletic physique. His suit sleeves bulge from the muscle within. I can’t help letting my gaze stray downward, to his crotch, but immediately return to meet his stare. Too late, though — he saw.
“I’ll show it to you.”
“Excuse me?” I snarl.
“The evidence about Hunt,” he says. “But I’d like to get to know you first.”
Warmth races through me, forcing my gaze to linger on his smile.
He’s a confessed killer. Somewhere along the way from my apartment to this car I allowed myself to forget that part. For men like him, a friendly expression is a disguise… no matter how good he looks.
This is a business arrangement. That’s all. Considering my fluids have started to soak through my panties, I can’t afford to lose focus.
“If that’s what this is all about, you can just let me out right now,” I say.
“No, it’s not,” Ingram replies. “But I can’t not comment on how remarkable you are. You don’t seem scared at all, Kate. You’re literally wearing an explosive device that could kill you, and you’re barely sweating. But that’s what I expected, considering the strength you showed dealing with Victor Sovereign. And that’s to say nothing of your years of investigative success — a career worthy of the Atwood name.”
Don’t fall for it, Kate.
“You’re flattering me, trying to disarm my better judgment. Stop it.”
He feigns a hurt expression. If he tries negging instead, I’m out of here.
“I meant it,” he says. ‘I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so effective at your job. Don’t spoil the moment. I’ve been eager to meet you for some time.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. I’ve never seen my colleagues so worked up about a journalist. The job you did on Victor Sovereign really shook them. That’s no small feat.”
“Your colleagues? And who is that, exactly?”
Ingram laughs, a loud hoot with his head thrown back.
“Don’t worry, you’ll meet them in a few hours. We’re headed to a private landing strip. My jet’s waiting.”
Fuck. Not good.
“I’ll pass. You can let me out here,” I say, squirming in place.
Ingram’s not made a single move to touch me, but he may as well have me pinned to the floor. I need to get this collar off, but there’s simply no way without him seeing me.
“Sorry, but I can’t. You’re too dangerous to let go. They wanted me to just kill you, but I decided to take you home with me instead. I’d hate to let your beauty and intellect go to waste.”
The limo pulls to a stop at a red light. I don’t hesitate, reaching for the door, but I already know it’s locked. I pull the latch anyway. Then I find the lock and try to flip it, but the switch doesn’t budge.
“Please don’t, Kate. There’s nothing you can do now.”
The hell there’s not. I lean back in my seat and kick the window with my heel. I hit it two, three, four times — the glass doesn’t even smudge.
I scream as loud as I can, but the pedestrians pass by without looking.
Fuck me!
“Help!” I holler, my throat raw. “Somebody help!”
No one stops; the limo must be fully sound-proof.
“Are you done?” Ingram asks.
“Fuck you!”
I rush at him, wishing I had a weapon. He’s three times my size and could probably punch a hole through sheet metal, but I have to try. Hands balled into fists, I leap toward him.
My arms cushion me as I impact some kind of barrier. Confused, I run my hands across a pane of glass separating the limo into halves. So clear it was practically invisible, I never even noticed it when I got in.
“Unbreakable plexiglass,” says Ingram. “Just like the windows. You’re not getting out, so just try and relax.” He takes out his phone and opens an app. “You know what I can do with that collar.”
“Go fuck yourself! People are going to notice I’m missing. You’re making a huge mistake.”
“They won’t notice for weeks, Kate. You’re on vacation, remember?”
Unbelievable. That’s just fucking great.
“How the fuck would you know that?”
Ingram smiles.
“Let’s just say I own the people who own the people who own LPN. Getting you pulled off the job for a while was trivial. Dumping your body in the Hudson would be even easier.”
I turn around and start kicking the door again. Maybe if I can dislodge it…
“Kate, I can detonate that bomb any time I want. Please don’t make me.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
“You’d die too, motherfucker.”
“I wouldn’t. The blast would be fully contained to your compartment,” he explains, tapping his fist against the clear barrier. “My staff would have to clean up a nasty mess, but I’ll be fine and you’ll be very goddamn dead.”
He’s lying. He has to be lying.
“Bullshit,” I grunt, kicking the door again. Then I feel a searing sting within me. I cringe, gripping my neck.
“Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” Ing
ram asks, his thumb hovering over his phone.
I’m such a fucking idiot. Why the hell did I get in his damn limo? Maybe he would have blown me up with that bomb if I refused to come down here, and maybe he’d have hunted me down if I ran… but I should have at least tried not taking the bait.
But there’s no point in hindsight now. I’d rather be dead than let this asshole abduct me.
“Taking stupid risks is kinda my thing,” I say, making my way to the glass partition. “Try me, you piece of shit.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he says, sighing. He taps down on the screen.
I flinch, waiting to explode — but I don’t. Something hisses. A chemical aroma tickles my nose.
“Is this a game? What the fuck are you-”
A wave of dizziness slams into me; I nearly collapse.
“Please sit, Kate,” Ingram says, his voice an ocean away.
My legs stop existing; I land on my knees. Then darkness swallows me whole.
As soon as she’s down, I shut off the gas and vent the rear compartment. After a minute a notification pops up on my phone that the sedative has cleared. I wish that hadn’t been necessary. Not that I expected Kate to cooperate. I’m glad she’s a fighter. It’s respectable, but inconvenient.
I consider taking off her collar — it’s no longer needed. However, I don’t think she’d appreciate me touching her while she’s unconscious. Plus, the device also monitors her vital signs, which isn’t a terrible idea after applying a sedative. There’s no need to leave the bomb armed though, so I disable it.
“I think that went well,” I say.
“She’s got stones,” Eyal agrees. “She didn’t give up. Maybe you should just kill her. Why take the risk?”
He makes a sound argument, but he’d understand if he’d taken a long look at her like I did — if he’d looked into those fiery brown eyes or watched the defiance curl her sweet, pink lips. And the fight in her — how could I snuff that out?
That’s to say nothing of the fact that she’s an innocent — she may have a taste for some danger, but there’s no blood on her hands. Few people I know can say that.
Of course, she doesn’t look particularly dignified passed out on the floor, but I close my eyes and picture her as she was when she got into the limo: nervous, but brave. Her father had been a handsome man, so it’s no surprise she inherited his regal look: long cheeks, pale skin with silky brown locks hanging below her shoulders. From what I’ve already seen of her gorgeous figure, she clearly keeps herself in top shape. Apparently she’s been known to literally chase after politicians in DC and has an excellent cardio regimen. If she gets a chance to run, she may be hard to catch.