Shiver of Fear

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I know.”

  “So, don’t take it personally. You’re not my daughter. You’re not part of me. You’re a mistake in judgment I made on a particularly bad day when I made several.”

  Devyn waited for the punch, for some kind of take-your-breath-away blow to her heart as the words settled over her.

  But nothing happened.

  Except release. The pressure released a little on her chest. The painful truth wasn’t so painful at all. It was a relief. This may be the woman who gave birth to her, but she was no more her mother than… than a stranger on the street.

  They had no connection. So why was Devyn looking for one? Suddenly, she felt free. Light. Liberated from a need that had weighed her down her whole life. There was no connection.

  But there was the little matter of staying alive. And information was power. “So you’re here because Finn asked you to, but you’re really here to, what, screw him out of the chance to buy a pardon?”

  “Well, there is the money. I’m getting a lot of money.”

  Devyn shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve been to your house. Money’s not important to you.”

  “Money is a nice side benefit,” she shot back. “Believe me, this was not the first time a terrorist organization approached me. I have a unique and valuable talent, but I always took the high moral ground and said no. But when Finn asked me…” She actually smiled. “Revenge trumps morals, every time.”

  “Enough that you would let innocent people die?”

  “If I can make Finn look bad? Lose his dream of a pardon and a”—she slid a look to the side—“his chance with you.”

  Devyn gripped the wheel. “That’s what he wants?”

  The other woman let out a scoffing choke. “He’d say anything to get what he wants, honey. That’s what Finn MacCauley does. And now I’m going to make him look so bad.”

  “But what about you? You’ll look bad, too.”

  “I’ll have the money to not care, but don’t worry—I’ll finesse this so I look like a good undercover SIS spy. That’s where you come in. You know, I’ll try to save you. Or make it look like I did. But Finn will be screwed and he will not get his pardon. And I’ll be free.”

  “That’s what you want? Freedom from…”

  “From hating him. Freedom is a good thing.”

  Yes, it was. And Devyn had never felt so free in her life.

  She had no connection to this woman—none at all.

  And that was the “connection” she had never been able to make. She was her own woman, not a product of any man or any woman. They were nothing but bodies who brought her alive.

  And right now, she felt more alive than ever.

  Except for the gun pointed at her. “Take that right, go around the dock, and pull into that gate. It should be open.”

  So Finn had tried to convince Sharon to do something good for the government and buy a pardon, and she double-crossed him.

  “I’m sorry if this disappoints you,” Sharon said, not sounding sorry at all. “I hope you weren’t expecting a happy family reunion with me.”

  “Not at all. You’re not my family.” Freedom.

  “Then why are you here, hunting me down?”

  Devyn glanced at her, fighting a smile. “I needed to find out what I was made of.”

  Sharon lifted a dubious brow. “Did you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What are you made of?”

  She was about to find out. “Better stuff than you.”

  “Well, I can say you don’t look like Finn or me.”

  “Because I don’t have any part of you in me.” No part that mattered anyway. Not her head. Not her heart. Not her soul.

  “Through the gate,” Sharon ordered.

  She drove toward the expanse of the shipyard, which was acres of concrete jutting into wide docks and black water.

  “Stop here.”

  The clang of metal against metal punctuated the order, drawing Devyn’s gaze upward to the massive shipbuilding crane standing hundreds of feet in the air. The moonlight and pale yellow lamps along the docks allowed her to make out the giant black H and W on the side of the famous landmark.

  She managed a slow, steady breath, and another look at Sharon, who still hadn’t lowered the gun. With her injured arm, she somehow pulled out her phone and pressed it to her ear.

  “I’m here. How much time do we have until Baird arrives?”

  How could this be happening? And Marc. What happened to Marc? The question echoed in her head and heart. Had she lost him?

  Had she thrown away that chance for this one?

  She should have listened to him when he told her that she wasn’t made of the same stuff as her parents, that strings of DNA are meaningless. He was right. Because regardless of the genetic imprint, this beast next to her was nothing to her. Nothing.

  In fact, Devyn would kill this woman in a heartbeat. All she had to do was figure out how.

  “Okay, I see you now,” Sharon said. “Move fast. I’ll be on the dock.”

  Devyn followed Sharon’s gaze out to the water, seeing… nothing. Then something moved, sinister and fast, skimming over the water like a blacked-out shark fin. A dark boat with no lights, no markings, cutting through the waves toward the shipyard docks.

  “Get out of the car and don’t you dare try to run. You’ll be dead before you take your next breath.”

  Devyn had to buy time. As she climbed out, she eyed the entire space, gauging every option.

  There were none.

  The entrances were gated off. The docks led to ice-cold water. A long, gray warehouse lined one side of the shipyard, closed tight for the night. The only other place was… She lifted her gaze two hundred feet in the air.

  The crane.

  Sharon was out and beside her in a matter of seconds, nudging her toward the water. “Let’s go.”

  She pushed Devyn forward. Wasn’t there security? Cameras? Customs to control ships in and out? She glanced around for one of the many CCTV lenses that she’d seen all around Belfast, but if they were being watched, she couldn’t tell.

  The boat, visible now despite the black paint, rumbled up to a long concrete dock.

  Could she run? Could she scream? Were they expecting her, too? Why had Sharon forced her to come? Whatever she needed from Devyn, she wasn’t getting it. No matter what.

  The boat docked quickly, and a man emerged from the back, dressed in black from head to toe, his face darkened with grease, barely visible.

  With a solid grip on her arm and the pistol in her back, Sharon pushed her forward. “Here she is, Malik.”

  He barely nodded as another man stepped out behind him, holding a container.

  “Jesus Christ.” She yanked Devyn back with a gasp. “Baird! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Dr. Greenberg. Did you really think you could outsmart me?”

  Sharon pushed Devyn away like a useless sack, freeing herself to point the gun at Baird. “It wasn’t that difficult.” She lifted the pistol to shoot, just as he tossed a silver canister in the air. It landed at Sharon’s feet. She leaped backward, turning as voices and engines suddenly roared from behind them and a gunshot echoed over the docks.

  “They got us!” One of the men yelled. Another shot exploded, and Devyn was forgotten in the chaos. Instantly, she took off, covering her head when a bullet zinged past her, staying low and running as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

  Cars charged toward the water. In the air, a rumble and a blinding light from a helicopter. Then to her left, three, four, five large black vehicles appeared from nowhere, lights on, men pouring out, all armed.

  She didn’t know what was happening, who was good, who was bad, who would kill her, who might save her, so she just ran until she reached the base of the crane. Gunshots exploded, men shouted, and the boat revved to take off. Devyn had no choice.

  She’d have to go up the crane, with the hope that it would be the only safe pla
ce.

  She seized the first rung of rusted metal and hoisted herself up, the bars of the ladder nothing but narrow, slippery bands under her sneakers, her fingers stiff on the freezing steel handles.

  Daring a look below, she saw the men in black move like ants around the fingers of cement that formed the channel. They fired at the boat, but it still kept going.

  She didn’t stop to watch but climbed with every ounce of strength she had.

  If the wrong person saw her—Sharon or Baird or whoever the guy on the boat was—they’d shoot her. The wind howled, clanging metal against the giant arm that stuck out another hundred feet over the water.

  Finally, her hands hit solid flooring, and she pulled herself up to the arm of the crane. It was a long, narrow pathway made of woven steel, tracks, and twisted cables running along either side. There was a railing, but it was nothing more than two bars designed to hold the harness ropes.

  The harness she wasn’t wearing. But if she could just wait this out, avoid being caught or spotted, she could get down and get help.

  Wind buffeted her, and she automatically dropped to her knees, refusing to look down as her palms scraped the jutting edges of the tracks, her knees screaming in pain from the metal.

  Staying flat was the only way to keep from being blown off. Or shot at. She took a ragged breath and laid her face against the diamond-shaped holes in the metal, then closed her eyes, her hair blowing over her face. If she could just stay alive.

  If Marc stayed alive.

  She had to tell him how wrong she’d been. Wrong about her mother, yes, but even more so, wrong about the genes. That woman—that horrible, heartless, hateful woman—might be her mother, but she had nothing to do with Devyn. Maybe it was coming face-to-face with her, but something inside Devyn had snapped, and she finally let go of those fears.

  “Very clever!” The words floated on the wind and fell on Devyn, forcing her to turn around. “You must be my daughter after all.”

  Sharon’s face was bruised and scraped, her hair whipped into wildness. The Indian silk scarf hung useless from her wounded arm, barely hanging on in the wild wind. In one hand, she still held the damn gun. And in the other, a silver canister.

  “Looks like I underestimated Mr. Baird. No matter. He’ll have no credibility, and the SIS will still believe I’m their agent, as long as I get rid of you.”

  She took a labored step forward, fighting the wind but managing to hold up the canister in one hand and the gun in the other. “If you can hang on until that chaos down there is over, I’ll let you climb down before I kill you. Otherwise, I’ll shoot you up here and you’ll fall.”

  Sharon waved toward the ground and the movement freed the scarf, sending it sailing into the air, black and gold, floating like a fallen leaf.

  “It’s a long way down,” Sharon said.

  Devyn stole a look at the flying scarf, hope surging. Maybe someone would see it and realize she was up here.

  Hope evaporated when the scarf snagged on a hook of the crane, still a good hundred feet in the air. The wind would tear it to shreds before anyone ever looked up and saw it.

  Sharon let out a rueful laugh. “Hell, I hate heights, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Devyn whispered.

  “Of course you do,” she said softly. “You’re just like me.”

  No, she wasn’t. And she’d die trying to prove that.

  CHAPTER 27

  Marc reached the shipyard at the precise moment that the SIS moved in. In his stolen black Saab, he slipped through the gates with the other cars. When they moved in, he held back, not wanting to draw attention. When the agents finally made it to the edge of the wharf, he parked and followed the shadows, gun drawn, head down.

  So far, so good.

  “Hey!” A man jumped him from behind, giving his neck a good crack. “Who the blazes are you?”

  Shit. They had perimeter guards. He really didn’t want to kill an MI5 agent, but he would to save Devyn.

  “American,” he said. “There’s an American hostage.”

  The man loosened his grip and another jogged over, looking warily at Marc over a Barrett M82 rifle.

  “Hey, I know you.” His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “From the bell tower.”

  Marc recognized the MI5 agent instantly. “Nigel Sutton.”

  The other man shrugged but didn’t lower his rifle. “What the hell are you doing here? Still chasing Dr. Greenberg?”

  “She took an American hostage. I think she’s on that boat.”

  The boat was already surrounded, men being thrown on the ground, guns drawn.

  “You’re wrong,” the man said. “She is the American hostage. That’s part of the operation.”

  No, it wasn’t. And Marc knew that as well as he knew his name. That woman had sent the men to kill him, and she wasn’t working for SIS or Baird.

  “Listen,” the agent said. “I don’t know what the fuck you want with that woman, but she’s on our side, and unless you want to be collateral damage, this is an official SIS operation and you are not welcome.”

  “She isn’t the hostage,” he insisted, managing to break one arm free, the one that held his gun. He stuck it right over the Barrett. “And she isn’t on your side. She’s on that fucking boat with another woman and I’m going to get her.”

  The other man stared him down.

  “Hazmat’s here,” Marc’s first attacker said, inclining his chin toward a team of men in hazardous-material suits surrounding a small container on the dock. Around them, agents were dragging perps away, two in cuffs, one in dark Muslim garb with a gun to his head.

  “We got the bastard,” the agent said with a grim smile.

  Marc eyed the man. “Who is that?”

  “Malik Mahmud Khel, the second in command of Pakistan’s powerful Shia militant organization, Tehrik-e-Jafria.” He grinned at Marc. “Bet the fucking CIA couldn’t have done that any better. Though we did have some help from your Dr. Greenberg.”

  “She’s not mine,” Marc ground out. “So where the hell is she?” And, Jesus Christ, where was Devyn? His body ached from the need to run toward that boat and get her.

  “They’ll get her.”

  A man who looked like he was in charge barked orders, spoke on a phone, and directed the hazmats to place their haul in an armored vehicle. Behind him, three men boarded the boat, all armed with rifles, shouting as they went.

  Suddenly, those same men leaped off the boat, shouting. Everyone in the vicinity dropped to the ground.

  “Bomb!”

  The word settled in Marc’s brain the very instant the boat exploded in an orange fireball, flames shooting thirty feet in the air, the noise rocking the docks, cracking the air, rattling the giant cranes above, and throwing all of them back a few feet.

  The sound was still reverberating as he scrambled to his feet, starting to run.

  Both men grabbed his arms. “Nobody survived that motherfucker,” the agent said sternly. “Just consider this a favor and get the hell out of here.”

  Marc shook the agent off and got five steps away before he had him again.

  “Listen to me!” The agent threw him back with the same force as the explosion. “The only reason I’m not putting a hole in your arse is because you didn’t put one in mine. Now, go!”

  Sirens screamed and more men yelled as his captors took off. Marc stayed rooted watching in disbelief as smoke puffed skyward from the explosion, the hazmat truck already rolling away, their dangerous cargo escaping what was no doubt a suicide bomb planted in case things went wrong.

  Was Devyn on that boat?

  The only answer was the metal ropes of the crane’s empty counterweight clanging on the pulleys overhead, hollow and haunting.

  He’d failed. He hadn’t protected her. He sure as hell hadn’t rescued her. He’d left her with her own mother, and now he followed the trail of smoke into the night sky, his eyes filling, his soul aching.

  Did she die thinking she wa
s just like her mother? God, he hoped not. He started to close his eyes, but something caught his attention in the sky, something fluttering from the flatbed that hung from a pulley high in the air.

  He couldn’t look away from the flash of gold, the shimmer of black, the flapping of… silk.

  He’d just touched that silk, made a tourniquet with it. Breaking into a jog, his gaze locked on the ladder that led up to the base of the crane, he ignored a shout in his direction. He snagged the bottom rung and yanked himself up, launching forward, climbing as fast as his feet would move.

  About a hundred feet off the ground, he looked out to the narrow section of trolley line that ran down the arm and hung over the concrete below and saw movement on the track.

  Just as his foot hit the next railing, a gunshot blasted through the air, the bullet whizzing by his head. His hand faltered and his foot slipped, his whole body whipping to the side. A blast of wind nearly shook him loose as he fought to swing back into position.

  He’d almost regained his footing, using all his strength, when he looked across the crane’s arm directly into the barrel of a gun. Behind it, white hair flew in the wind, the same wind that pinned him back so effectively it was impossible to do anything but wait for Sharon’s next shot.

  Choking on smoke, Devyn’s gaze stayed riveted on the fire in the water, her whole being clinging for life as the crane arm swayed from the impact of the explosion.

  Another loud noise rocked the metal under her, and Devyn shrieked, turning to see Sharon braced like a gunfighter, the pistol aimed toward the ladder. Was someone coming up?

  Devyn fought the wind, determined to see around Sharon, who blocked her view of the ladder. And what she saw stole the breath from her body.

  She clamped her mouth closed to stop from crying out as Sharon fired again, the recoil shaking the crane, the bullet missing its target.

  Marc gripped the ladder and battled his way up, his face pulled in determination, his life hanging by two narrow metal bars.

  With her back to Devyn, Sharon steadied her hands to take another shot. Dragging herself up with superhuman strength, Devyn managed a kneeling position. She gripped the railing and pulled herself to her feet.