Undercover Lover

by Tibby Armstrong

  Munson stepped away and looked toward the partially open door. Pushing aside the pain in her cheek and skull, Jenny took the opportunity to work at her bonds. The ropes burned her already chafed wrists. She bit back a hiss when the hemp dug into her flesh, but continued working at them until he turned back.

  The door swung open on rusty hinges and Alona entered with the disfigured Teso. When they stood together, Jenny could tell how their scars almost formed a line between their bodies—as if they’d huddled together against the blast in Dublin—the fire and shrapnel catching Teso’s scalp as he’d bent over Alona and only been able to protect one side of her body.

  Looking at these two, love seemed a strange thing. You didn’t have to be good, or even nice to feel it, apparently. Even evil could die for love.

  “What are you staring at?” Alona’s haughty question made Jenny look away.

  “I was thinking,” she began, then thought better of the statement.

  “Thinking what?” Alona stepped forward, her gown swirling about her long limbs. Before the explosion she must’ve been a truly stunning woman. No wonder Günter loved her.

  When she didn’t speak right away, Alona yanked her head back and stared down into her eyes. Jenny could see herself in the depths of her captor’s gaze—disheveled and more than a little frightened.

  Attempting to steel herself, she said, “I was thinking even evil will die for love.”

  “Evil?” Alona spat the word. “You think I’m evil?”

  “Yes.” The word stuck in her throat and came out as a croak.

  A cold blade lifted her chin.

  “Love doesn’t last long without a pretty face.” The woman’s breath, hot on Jenny’s cheek, roiled her already churning stomach.

  Rapid footsteps sounded and Günter’s boots appeared in Jenny’s line of sight. He knocked the blade from Alona’s hands and Jenny looked up in time to see Teso point a gun at Günter’s head.

  “Remember our deal,” Günter warned.

  Teso’s eyes narrowed. “Slowly…retrieve the pocket knife from your trousers and leave it on the table. Back away from Alona. Touch her again, and you’re a dead man.”

  “I’m already a dead man,” Günter said, but fished out the knife as instructed. “Find a new threat.”

  While the men argued, Jenny used slack she’d discovered in the ropes to begin working the knot free.

  “Go check his work,” Teso said to Munson.

  Günter stepped closer to Teso. Jenny could almost see him thinking he’d disarm the man once Munson left. Unfortunately, Teso saw his intention too. Whipping his gun up, he pressed it to Jenny’s temple.

  Everything stilled. She didn’t dare to so much as blink. Wide-eyed, she searched Günter’s gaze.

  Get out of those ropes. Be ready.

  His voice echoed in her head as surely as if he’d spoken. Hours of training under his authority helped her intuit his commands without word and obey them…almost…without question.

  As if unconcerned, Günter made a show of dusting bits of gravel and dirt from his trousers. Alona looked from Teso to Günter, then at the hall door.

  “What’s taking him so long?” she asked after several minutes passed.

  Adrenaline blazed a path from the pit of her stomach. Fingers shaking with nerves, she struggled to untie the last knot. She needed one more minute—perhaps two. If they’d just leave her alone for long enough she could get free. Searching out Günter’s gaze she tried to tell him, wordlessly, that he needed to buy her more time.

  He stared back at her, expression impassive, then blinked once. Slowly.

  Still sitting, he stretched and asked, casually, “Why did Durbin Garvey invent Bengal, Teso? Were you having trouble staying hard for his bitch?”

  Jenny sucked in a breath and Alona recoiled at the dangerous statement. The butt of Teso’s gun connected with Günter’s skull in a flash of movement that left no time for defense. Blood bloomed from the gash at Günter’s temple. Blond hair rapidly soaking with red, Günter slumped forward onto the card table.

  “You idiot! We need him alive,” Alona said, lifting Günter’s head to look into his eyes.

  Frantic to get to Günter, Jenny worked at her ropes. Harsh breathing took over the room and Alona stepped back as Günter turned his head and vomited.

  “You concussed him,” Alona screamed at Teso.

  Alona’s ringing slap spun Teso’s head as Jenny’s ropes slipped free.

  “Who is he to you?” Teso demanded, raising his weapon to point it at Günter. “Do you still love him?”

  “I never loved him.” Alona’s hair swirled around her shoulders. “Put your toy away and behave like a man.”

  Teso’s hand shook and he backed up a step, still pointing the gun at Günter’s head.

  Alona paced to the door. “Where is Munson? What is taking him so long?”

  In that unguarded moment, Teso glared at Alona’s back—settled his venomous gaze on Günter, and tightened his finger on the trigger.

  Using the pole for leverage, Jenny swung into a high kick and knocked the weapon from Teso’s hand. In slow motion, she saw the gun arc into the air, flipping over and over until it skittered to rest under the table, out of Teso’s reach. Jenny dove, rolling out of the way when Teso lunged for her, and bolted to her feet with the gun held in both her hands. A warning shot brought concrete raining down on Teso’s hair as he rushed her. Unfazed, he kept coming. Aiming lower, she fired again.

  Teso clenched his stomach and the room filled with the scent of gunpowder and iron as blood gushed over his hands to puddle on the floor. He staggered toward her. On reflex she fired again. This time he flew backward against the wall. Eyes unseeing, he slid, leaving a bloody trail along the concrete.

  Alona screamed and ran to Teso. Reaching him, she collapsed on the floor and held his head to her breast. Sobbing, incoherent, she cradled the dead man to her, rocking him. For a moment, pity welled in Jenny’s chest. This could be her. Mourning Günter. Or him mourning her. So much senseless death. Was this how her mother had felt when she’d watched her father’s body crumple to the floor? Or had she rejoiced to be finally free of his violence?

  Eyes closed, skin as pale as death, Günter slid off his chair. Dried blood crusted in a line where it had trickled from his temple past his ear. They needed an ambulance for him. Now.

  Fishing in his pocket, she pulled out his phone and entered the password. The cell awakened. Except where she expected to see a screen full of apps, a red background with a white clock sprang to life—counting down from 10:00…9:59…9:58…

  Dismay lodged in her throat as she realized the phone had been programmed as a detonation device. Staring, stupefied at the decrementing numbers, she never heard Alona coming.

  With a scream, Alona grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor. The gun and phone both clattered out of Jenny’s reach. Rolling with Alona, Jenny crashed into the pole where she’d been bound. Rope touched her fingers and she grabbed for it, intent on looping it around the woman’s neck to choke her unconscious.

  Greater anger and the element of surprise remained on Alona’s side. In a fury, the woman pummeled her with a flurry of limbs and the rope slipped from Jenny’s grasp. A solid punch to Alona’s jaw snapped her head backward, but the injury only seemed to make her more vicious.

  The snick of a blade accompanied a searing pain in Jenny’s chest. Blood bubbled into her mouth. Viscous. Metallic. She retched at its foreign taste. Alona raised the knife higher. Jenny blocked her face and pain bloomed in her arm. A whistling wheeze accompanied her scream. The blade fell again, but this time she only gasped. Fire bathed her lungs with the effort to take in air. Her head lolled to the side and in her peripheral vision she saw Günter’s cell phone…

  7:01…7:00…

  Metal flashed once more, but instead of pain, she felt no more than a tug as muscle and bone shifted in her shoulder. The pain receded. She floated away into darkness then resurfaced to voi
ces. Shouting.

  “Just take her and get the hell out of here!”

  Günter…

  “You’re blind! You can’t see to disarm the thing!”

  Simon…

  In hazy recall, Jenny remembered the blow to Günter’s head and moaned. He couldn’t stay behind. Had to come with them.

  “Shh, sunshine. I have to make it right this time. Please understand.”

  Günter…

  Then, carrying her, Simon ran. Pain ripped through her chest. Each breath recreated the rending tear of the knife entering her flesh. A repeated torture, made all the more unbearable by the knowledge they’d left Günter behind. To die.

  Cold air. Shoes pounding against pavement. Jenny hit the ground with force as Simon’s body covered hers. She blacked out again. And then…

  Günter…

  He stood before her. Held out his arms as the sky blazed with white light behind him. A ghost. An angel. Warmth emanated from him and she moved toward it—pulled by its purity and promise. Wrapped in its translucent fingers, she ceased her struggle for breath and let the light carry her away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rhythmic pressure. Shrill beeps. Bright light. Pain. Cushioned darkness.

  The cycle of awakening and oblivion wound in on itself, repeating often enough to let Jenny know she’d survived. Moments of awareness lengthened by seconds, then minutes, until she bobbed to the surface of consciousness and floated there, content to drift in her sea of warm blankets. Alive.

  Voices tickled her mind. She opened her senses and welcomed them in. Relished their normalcy.

  “They’re removing the drainage tube from her lungs tomorrow.” Simon.

  “Is that wise? Isn’t it too soon?” Günter’s baritone lapped over her in warm waves.

  Her heart rate increased at the knowledge he was safe.

  “Is she awake?” Günter asked.

  She struggled to open her eyes as footsteps approached her bedside, but lost the fight against the drugs sedating her system. She smelled the warm undertones of spicy cologne and knew Simon stared down at her before he spoke.

  “No. Sorry.” Disappointment laced his tone, and she fought again to open her eyes. “I’ve been here for three days and haven’t seen her lucid.”

  “Thanks for watching over her while I couldn’t.”

  She wanted to get up—to go to him—but she felt so heavy. Her limbs ached a little too, and her lids pressed at her eyeballs as if they’d been weighted with coins.

  “No problem,” Simon answered, his voice receding as he moved away. “Did they… Did they say if your condition was permanent?”

  Condition?

  “I can see your outline. Movement. Light and shadow,” Günter answered. “So, it’s improving, and will resolve.”

  “You could have told me.” A rustle of fabric and the thump of manly back slaps said Simon hugged his boss. “What are your plans? Has MI-5 debriefed you?”

  Chairs squeaked as the men sat.

  “Ian phoned this morning,” Günter answered. “With Alona and Teso out of the picture, the White Tiger organization is crippled for the time being. Also, Gray signed a confession. I’m officially cleared of Weber’s murder.”

  “So you’re good? We can go home?” Simon asked, his relief palpable.

  “Yes.” The hesitancy in Günter’s voice piqued Jenny’s interest.

  Why wouldn’t he want to return to New York?

  “I’m sensing reluctance here. Why?” Simon asked the question Jenny longed to voice.

  Günter stood, walked to her side and by sheer dint of will she opened her eyes to look up at him. He looked pale. Tired. Gaunt.

  “They might not have nailed me with a prison term, but I’ve lost most of my clients as a result of the press about Jenny,” he said, and brushed his fingertips along her cheek. “MI-5 fed them rubbish about her being in rehab, not hospital. And there’s been some speculation about my role in her habit as well.”

  His words pulled a gasp form her and Günter’s hand froze.

  “Jenny?” he asked.

  “Gun,” she answered. The effort lacerated her throat and she made a murmur of pain.

  “Jenny?” He breathed her name, his forehead a landscape of worry. “I— Bugger. I didn’t want you to know. Not like this.”

  A machine next to her bed beeped and made a clicking sound. Warmth rushed along her arm as medication flooded into her vein. Everything became hazy so fast, she barely had the breath to murmur, “Sorry,” before she sank into the warm cocoon of oblivion once more.

  When she woke again, the green glow of medical instruments and the soft beeping of the machines were the only presence she detected. Shifting, she found Gun slumped in a chair pulled close, his head resting on the bed at her knees.

  “Gun,” she breathed.

  Gold-tipped eyelashes fluttered open and he sat up. A dimple popped to life in his cheek.

  “Hey, sunshine, welcome back,” he said.

  “What day is it?” she asked.

  “Tuesday.” Günter searched her face and she knew he wondered how much she remembered.

  Everything.

  “You can see me?” she asked.

  “They have me on migraine medication. It seems to help.” He stroked her hair gently as he spoke, seeming to find comfort for himself in the gesture. “It gets worse when I’m tired, but right now I can see you pretty clearly.”

  “What happened to Alona?” she asked. “Did you disarm the bomb?”

  Günter’s expression darkened and he sat back to cross his arms over his chest.

  “I don’t think it’s the time—” he began.

  Jenny narrowed her eyes and he blew out a breath.

  “Do you know how damn difficult you are?” he asked.

  She licked parched lips and said, “Tell me what happened.”

  He stood to pour water from a pitcher into a plastic cup, his back to her when he answered, “Yes, I disarmed the bomb.”

  “But you couldn’t…”

  “See?” He turned to hand her the plastic cup. “I’d remembered I’d nicked one of the wires accidentally—felt around for it. That’s how I knew which one to pull. And I’d rigged it to be fairly uncomplicated to disarm.”

  Although she already knew he’d survived, relief made her fingers tingle around the cup.

  “And Alona?” she asked softly.

  Günter looked away from her. “She’s dead.”

  Somehow, she’d known, but the knowledge kicked her in the chest nonetheless.

  “How?” she asked, needing to know although she worried the question caused him pain.

  “Simon.”

  “Simon?” Shock numbed her extremities.

  He exhibited no emotion. She struggled to sit up. Pain lanced her side and she grunted. He pushed her back gently.

  “Be still,” he ordered—so typical she almost smiled.

  “Are you angry with Simon?” she asked, then, “Did you still love her?”

  After all, he’d married the woman. Feelings like that didn’t just die because a relationship—or a person—did.

  He met her eyes, clearly startled by the question.

  “No. I don’t love her—didn’t. And I’m forever indebted to Simon for saving your life.” He fell silent for a moment as he contemplated her face. Trailing a finger down her cheek, he murmured, “I’m sorry I failed you.”

  “Oh bullshit.” Jenny didn’t know where the words came from, but she found the energy to struggle to a sitting position this time.

  Günter sat back.

  “We were a team. We got in a tight spot. This has nothing—do you hear me—nothing to do with your worth as a human being.”

  He loomed over her—attempted to shush her—but she wouldn’t stop talking long enough to allow him a word.

  “This was not Dublin. You are not any less of a man for being injured. I do not and will not ever question your rabid commitment to my safety or the size of your—
”

  Warm lips smothered the rest of her sentence. His tongue slid inside her mouth, teasing and testing the limit of her breath. Biceps flexing around her shoulders, he held himself above her as he delved into her mouth with tender movements. Her body responded. Endorphins flooded her system—better than any pain medication. She wanted more. Winding her fingers in thick strands, she pulled her lover down.

  “Mmph,” he breathed into her mouth and separated their lips with a smacking kiss. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

  She searched his eyes and smiled.

  “What?” he asked.

  Joy swooped through her. She was free to tell him anything—anything at all. No role and no bet stood between them. After everything they’d been through together she felt secure in their relationship.

  Safe enough to say, “I love you.”

  Small lines, like rays of sunshine, spread from the corners of his eyes.

  “I—” he began, then frowned as his phone buzzed. Drawing it from his pocket, he squinted at the caller ID. When he couldn’t read it, he showed her the display.

  “David,” she said and he put the phone to his ear.

  “She’s awake,” Günter said without preamble.

  Her brother’s voice rumbled from the little speaker. “Put her on.”

  Jenny held out her hand for the phone.

  “She needs rest. Don’t keep her,” Günter warned and gave her the cell.

  “David.” She sighed his name, knowing she was in for a tongue-lashing when she’d fully recovered. For the first time she could remember, the idea didn’t intimidate her. When they butted heads in the future she’d hold her own.

  “Jenny.” His voice held all of the desperation she’d expected. “My God. I was so worried.”

  “I’m fine now,” she said, wanting to put him at ease. “They’re taking good care of me here.”

  A low rumble sounded in her brother’s throat and she heard Kyra’s voice in the background warning him to “be calm”.

  “This wasn’t Günter’s fault,” Jenny said, guessing whose care he wordlessly questioned.

  “Faust is a dead man!”

  She giggled at David’s explosion. She couldn’t help herself. The whole situation—his parental reaction, Günter’s overprotectiveness—seemed ridiculous. These men wanted to wrap her in cotton then blame each other when she found her way out of the wad they’d put her in.