Undercover Lover

by Tibby Armstrong

  Günter choked on his laughter and O’Rourke shifted to look over the seat at Simon. “Ya want ter live out yer stay, yank? I’d not talk as ya do ’bout our boys.”

  Finally able to breathe, Günter said, “A line drive is baseball, professor. When they add quarterbacks to the major leagues, I’ll make certain you get credit for the idea.”

  Simon began to wriggle in his seat and Günter taunted, “What? No comeback?”

  “I’m planning on giving you the finger, but it’ll have to wait a minute,” he said with an accompanying grunt as he worked the loop of his arms under his knees in a demonstration of flexibility that had to be seen to be believed. When he finished, instead of resting behind his back, his cuffed hands were in front.

  “What are you doing?” Jenny asked, finally finding her voice. How could everyone be so relaxed when they were all headed to jail?

  Wrists stretched out in front of him, Simon wiggled his fingers and answered, “Getting comfortable.”

  Jenny watched, fascinated, as he took apart a pen he’d pulled from his pocket and used his teeth to wiggle a bit of metal into one of the keyholes on the cuffs. Nobody seemed inclined to stop him, and she wondered if he’d be successful before they tried.

  “Give him the key, O’Rourke,” Ian said, clearly annoyed. “He’ll break the locks with that shit.”

  Jenny looked from Günter to Simon to Ian in bemusement. “You’re letting us go?”

  “Turn around,” Simon prompted, and Jenny shifted so he could undo her cuffs as well. “You should have told her the plan sooner, Gun.”

  “What plan?” Jenny asked, massaging one wrist between a thumb and forefinger.

  “We’ll talk la—” Günter began.

  Simon spoke right over him. “Our arrest in front of the other agents was a ruse so MI-5 could put us in protective custody while the threat level is assessed.”

  Aghast, she looked from Simon to Günter, unbelieving. Not even he could be that cruel. Ian’s steady look in the mirror, however, told her otherwise. Swiveling to face Günter she sputtered incomprehensibly as anger and betrayal vied for prominence on the battlefield of her emotions.

  “You bastard,” she finally choked out. “Do you have any idea what you put me through?”

  Günter held her eyes for an angry beat. “I ensured you’d be able to act the part of a victim.”

  “Fuck. You.” Jenny’s eyes filled with tears born of anger.

  “That’s cold. Even for you,” Simon said to his boss, then turned to Jenny. “It could’ve gone either way if Ian hadn’t been able to intervene. We weren’t entirely sure ourselves he’d be there.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jenny directed the question to Günter.

  Stony-faced, Günter stared straight ahead.

  “You didn’t trust me to keep your secret,” she guessed.

  Günter grunted. “Or not to lie about it later.”

  Jenny’s face flamed.

  “You can be such a…what do you call it?” Simon curled his lip at his boss as he searched for the right word. “Wanker.”

  “You’re fired,” Günter said, his voice deadly calm as he stared his second down.

  Simon’s mouth opened and shut. His skin paled then turned a ruddy red that almost matched his hair.

  “Take it back,” Jenny demanded, horrified. “Simon, he didn’t mean it.”

  “Oh, he means it.” Fist clenched around the handcuff key, Simon glared. “Günter never says anything he doesn’t mean. He might be a bastard, but he’s an honest one.”

  Irritation still plainly written in the flat line of his lips, Günter shifted, ostensibly to provide more blood flow to his still-bound hands.

  “Simon? Give me the handcuff key?” Jenny asked, an idea forming.

  Both men in the backseat looked askance at her change of topic.

  Ian, on the other hand, got her plan immediately.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned as Simon dropped the bit of steel into her outstretched palm. “You’ll regret it.”

  Ignoring Ian, she examined the tiny key in her open palm then looked up at Günter. “Tell us—both of us—you’re sorry.”

  Günter blinked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Say it.” Jenny clenched the key in her fist, using the bite of metal to fortify her nerves. “Say, ‘I’m sorry for behaving like a prick’.”

  Nostrils flaring on a furious inhale, Günter stared at her with twin points of fire shining in his eyes.

  “If you want a prayer of getting out of those cuffs this decade, you’ll apologize,” she threatened.

  “What do you think MI-5 trains us with? Satin ribbons?” Günter voiced the question with menace. “Hand the key to Simon and I might not deliver the spanking you so clearly deserve, Miss Ainsley.”

  “Last chance,” she said, ignoring the ridiculous threat.

  Lids heavy with the promise of retribution, Günter stared her down, and she realized he didn’t think she’d do it. He actually thought he had her cowed. And why shouldn’t he? At every turn he’d bested her—or she’d let him—over the past twenty-four hours.

  “Fine.” She kept her shrug nonchalant. Her voice, unruffled. She reached over him to let down the window and drew back her hand to toss the key into the cold, damp wind.

  Günter grabbed her so swiftly she couldn’t say how it happened. He pinioned her arms behind her back and pulled her so close her breasts pressed into his chest. Thoroughly off-balance she couldn’t fight him as he met her eyes with a hard stare and pried at her fingers.

  Breath quickening, she let him have the key, but instead of releasing her, he tightened the band of his arm around her back and tossed the key over the seat to O’Rourke. His hips shifted beneath her and Jenny bit back a gasp at the unmistakable press of his arousal against her hip.

  “Now, what were you saying?” Günter asked.

  The window lifted with a mechanical whir, ushering relative silence into the vehicle. Jenny shook her head, the surprise and his nearness leaving her mute. Fury and fear blended with lust to create a potent, mind-bending cocktail.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, a corner of his mouth kicking up as he stared at her lips and adjusted his hips so not a millimeter of space remained between their bodies. “Ready to make a deal?”

  The manner of his grip pulled at her waistband, pressing her feminine folds tight against the seam of her jeans. The erotic pressure, combined with Günter’s nearness and the regular bump-thump of the vehicle over the highway pavement, culminated in an unexpectedly delicious torture.

  “Does it involve your apology?” She tilted her chin at an imperious angle.

  Günter lowered his head and nuzzled his lips against her ear so only she could hear his offer. “You promise to do as I say, no questions asked, without fail, for forty-eight hours and I won’t give Simon the sack or you that spanking.”

  The hot wash of his breath coaxed a flood of warmth to her face and thighs.

  “Okay.” The breathy agreement slipped from her lips even as his words conjured forbidden images of his square palm cupping her naked backside in a slow, sensual spank. “As long as you apologize.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She inhaled in surprise then moaned on lust when they hit another bump in the road.

  Günter closed his eyes.

  “God, Jenny,” he groaned. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  Dazed, she shook her head.

  Ten seconds. He held her gaze. Breathed her breath as she breathed his. Striations of gray and deep-blue melded to form the indigo in his eyes, mesmerizing her. She licked her lips. Leaned in. Needing his kiss.

  He blinked and she saw him come back to himself. Unwinding her from him, he set her on the seat.

  “Strap in,” he said, as if the interlude had never happened.

  Her heart went into a freefall of disappointment. She curled her fingernails into her palms, resisted the urge to ex
plore the muscle of his rock-hard thigh. When she finally looked around, everyone cleared their throats and glanced away, pretending fascination with the upholstery or a point on the road ahead. Her face flamed and she busied herself with buckling her seat belt. Bunch of voyeurs, this lot.

  They turned off the M40 onto the A34. Jenny knew enough about their direction from the road signs to realize they’d feinted toward London and now circled back around toward the north.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “A safe house in Oxford,” Simon answered when nobody else bothered.

  “What are we doing there?”

  Ian glanced at her in the mirror, and she studied the juxtaposition of lush lips and coffee-toned skin stretched tight over exotic features.

  “Debriefing,” he said, somehow making the word sound monosyllabic.

  “Your accent doesn’t sound like you’re from Manchester,” she observed, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Have you always supported United?”

  “Look, Miss Ainsley,” he said, his tone thoroughly laden with English displeasure at the prying nature of her observation. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re here to protect you. Not make friends.”

  “It’s Ms. Ainsley. And would that be the same way you protected my mother?” she snapped.

  Ian had the grace to look away, shamefaced. He cleared his throat after a minute. “From what I understand, your mother was in prison for a crime she admitted to committing. There was very little MI-5 could do.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” she tossed back. “All you boys do is shovel crap and expect the little people to take it. Even the situation last night—I’d bet money you’re behind it somehow. You were too bloody prepared to help Günter. What do you want from him? And from me?”

  Günter stared at Ian with dawning horror. “Tell me 5 didn’t pay off someone to kidnap Jenny.”

  Ian shrugged, answering the question without seeming to give anything away. At one time Günter had trusted this man with his life, but now the wall of Ian’s duty came between them.

  “You had no right,” Günter said, affect flat as disappointment in his friend tugged at his chest. Emotion and logic clashed, clouding his ability to figure out what 5 had wanted with Jenny badly enough to risk an international incident with the Americans.

  “You took an oath, same as all of us,” Ian answered, apparently undisturbed with 5’s ethics breach. “We did what we had to do to help you to remember it.”

  Emotion won out.

  “Regnum defende?” Günter snarled the motto. “You think I still cherish Queen and Country above the lives of those I care for?”

  “No. I don’t.” Cold words. A colder look.

  Pieces of the puzzle clicked together. They’d tried to take Jenny. To make him think this copycat Tiger had her, so he’d work for Tallis to take the bastard down.

  “You thought…” Günter ran a hand over his face. “Christ, you’re a bunch of sick fucks. Even if he were alive, which we both know to be impossible, I’m no expert on the White Tiger. I proved that in Dublin. And you took an awfully big gamble. Tallis might not have called me in.”

  “Trust me, you’re our man. If Tallis hadn’t called you in, we would have, eventually,” Ian said. “The Director General wants you at any cost.”

  “The DG?” Günter’s mind froze, unable to work. “How big is this thing?”

  “Big.”

  “So you planned on Günter showing up on Jenny’s doorstep last night?” Simon asked.

  His second had caught on.

  “We assumed he would.” Ian shook his head. “We just didn’t figure she’d still be there.”

  5 obviously knew Tallis had paid him to keep tabs on Jenny…and that he’d kept on doing so of his own volition several months after he’d stopped working for the musician. Lips pursed against the urge to tell Ian to go fuck himself, he changed the subject.

  “Was Gray yours?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ian confirmed.

  He slid his gaze sideways to Jenny. “And the drugs?”

  “They were for leverage after our initial plan failed,” Ian answered, chin tilted at a stubborn angle as if he were convincing himself he followed the right path. “If she decides to talk we’ll find a way to pin them on her. Discredit her.”

  Jenny inhaled sharply. Günter placed a hand firmly on her thigh, willing her to remain silent. For once she obeyed.

  “I want her out of this. Free and clear,” he said, ashamed he’d ever doubted the woman sitting next to him. “Before I agree to anything.”

  “Of course you do.” Ian’s noncommittal mask fell smoothly into place once more. “Now that she’s here and she knows what she knows, however, 5 has other uses for her.”

  “Uses for me?” Jenny cried. “I’m not your property.”

  “You’re still a citizen,” Ian pointed out.

  “Drop it for now, Ms. Ainsley,” Günter said, knowing Ian had to be fucking with her. “5 can’t possibly have any intention of holding you.”

  He gave Ian a hard look, even as he wished they were still on the same side. Instead he found himself facing a future that smacked of his past—only this time without his friend’s support. That 5 had marked Jenny as their method of manipulation meant their analysts had read him like a book. What he didn’t fathom were the whys. Why him? Why now?

  “Why did you have Gray bribe us? Why would he even mention the White Tiger?” he tried. “It doesn’t fit with the rest of your plan. It’s extra and it’s sloppy.”

  “Hold on there, mate.” Ian jerked around in surprise and the vehicle swerved. He faced forward again. “Those weren’t our operative’s orders.”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  Ian clenched the steering wheel hard enough the vinyl squeaked. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me a liar when you’re the one asking for asylum for murder.”

  Günter’s vision tunneled. MI-5 had him so thoroughly backed into a corner, he’d never get out without doing whatever they wanted. One person—Weber—had already died to cement this operation, which meant they didn’t give a shit if someone else went down too. Especially if that someone were him.

  “I didn’t shoot Weber as 5 well knows.” Günter slammed his fist down on the door rest in frustration. “I can’t believe I came here. How you must’ve wet yourself laughing after my call. I played right into your power-hungry hands.”

  “Bollocks.” Ian brought the SUV to a skidding halt at the side of the road and grabbed the back of the headrest for leverage as he pivoted in to face Günter. “Don’t you dare lay this at my doorstep. I’m not in charge here. You ended any chance I had at promotion with Dublin.”

  The mention of Dublin acted as a slap. Günter flinched.

  “Bravo.” His voice dripped sarcasm in self-defense. “Judas couldn’t have played it any better, Ian.”

  “I was there, or have you forgotten?” A tic pulsed beneath Ian’s left eye. “I’m such a fucking Judas I dragged your arse out of that building you weren’t supposed to be in. If it weren’t for me you’d be dead.”

  Dimly, he realized Simon said something—tried to de-escalate the ominous tension. He and Ian might as well have been alone for all Günter noticed. Scenes of those last moments in Dublin—the last time he remembered feeling hope and the courage to love without restraint—gripped him. Saliva flew from his lips, landing on Ian’s face with the accusation. “If it weren’t for you, my wife and my men would still be alive.”

  Ian flinched, the wrecking ball of Günter’s words taking his expression from livid to crestfallen in one blow. A savage sense of satisfaction clawed to the surface of Günter’s emotions. He savored Ian’s pain, the beast of his rage licking at his opponent’s defeat like a choice piece of bloodied meat.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this.” Ian swallowed hard. “Best to just spit it out I guess. Alona was an informant. She’s the one who set us up in Dublin. In fact, she’s—”
<
br />   One moment Günter was in the car, the next he hauled open Ian’s door and dragged him from the seat. Wool abraded his palms. Bunched in his fists. He slammed his adversary into the side of the SUV. Metal buckled. His fist flew back and connected with flesh and bone. Blood flew from Ian’s mouth. Landed on Günter’s face.

  With a roar, Ian grabbed him around the middle. Threw them both off-balance. Toppled them into a shallow culvert. Cold mud slid beneath his back. Ian towered above him. Grabbed his head and slammed it into the muck. Water and filth squelched into Günter’s ears.

  Oblivious to anything but his fury, he reached for Ian’s eyes. Thumbs met tender flesh. Ian flew backward and Günter regained the upper hand. Knee crushing the agent’s sternum, he held him by the throat and squeezed. For Jenny. For Alona. For the life he’d lost.

  Face purple, eyes bulging, Ian clawed for air. Nails raked at Günter’s hands. Forearms. Drawing blood. Gouging deep. As if from outside himself, he watched his hand close tighter around the ridged flesh of an Adam’s apple.

  A shadow fell over Günter. A booted foot struck his chest and he flailed backward. Twin prongs pierced the flesh of his shoulder through his shirt. Barely enough time passed for him to register he was about to be Tased. A hot pain lanced his muscles. Arced through his central nervous system. He went rigid in the muck.

  During training exercises he’d been Tased for several seconds. No more than ten. His mind screamed for release from the agony of increasingly cramping muscles. Jaw locked, he couldn’t utter a sound. Twenty seconds turned into a lifetime. Thirty into an eternity. The electrical signals to his brain remained confused after their assault abated. He couldn’t do more than lift his head in weak protest when O’Rourke bent low.

  “That’s for our boys in Dublin,” the agent snarled before dragging him up the slope with Ian’s less-than-steady assistance.

  They dropped him to the floor of the passenger compartment at Jenny’s and Simon’s feet. The scent of wet earth and sweat filled his nostrils. Though control of his limbs returned, it still felt as if tiny worms might be eating his flesh.

  “Simon, do something.” Jenny’s voice burned him with its tenderness. He didn’t deserve her pity.