Run Among Thorns

by Anna Louise Lucia

  He looked at her then, slanting his head to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She watched him look her over from her head to her toes and then back to her face. She dug her nails into her palms as his eyes met hers. But then he went back to rapt contemplation of the wall opposite.

  “I don’t know what to do for you, Kier,” she whispered, and watched his throat move as he swallowed. “I just…” She let out a breath and tried and failed to swallow the sob that came with it. “Just let me go. Please.”

  He shifted and grimaced, and she wondered if he was as bruised as she.

  “We’ve been over that, Jenny. You don’t get to go yet.”

  “But I told you the truth!”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, Jenny. That would be a mistake. You don’t get to go free just yet.”

  “Then I’ll escape again, and this time you won’t catch me.”

  “Over my dead body, Jenny.”

  The words hung between them for long moments, effectively putting a stop to the twisted little conversation they’d been having.

  So be it, she thought.

  He looked into her eyes again, and his own flickered, as if her thoughts were written there, but he only straightened and went out the front door, making a show of locking it carefully after him.

  Jenny pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and pushed her fingers through hair that was in dire need of a wash.

  What she wouldn’t give for a bath.

  It was still night. Outside the moon was setting, but the sky had shown no sign of dawn when she’d last seen it. She was so tired.

  When McAllister came back in, she was asleep; slumped at the kitchen table, her hand wedged under her cheek. That unaccustomed tenderness welled in him again, at strange odds with the physical desire for her.

  Do you want me? God knew why he’d asked her that. For a moment it had seemed as if his whole world hung on her answer. But then the conversation had slipped away. She wanted out. He couldn’t blame her. But although there was little he was sure of right now, he was sure he wasn’t about to let her go.

  His instincts had hinted she’d been telling the truth. But his professional experience told him she could still be playing him like a puppet on a string. He’d be a fool to believe her and lay himself open. He was still alive, intact, at the top of his profession, making full use of all his skills and abilities because he was good at his job. Very good. He’d be less than that if he went with his gut and believed her.

  And if he wasn’t good at his job, what was he good for, exactly?

  He watched her for a while, seeing the way her back rose and fell evenly and slowly. She was deep asleep. Her hair had spilled over her face in a mess of curls. He remembered how she swept it off her neck onto the pillow at night. She must be uncomfortable like that, with those dark swirls tickling her face and tucked under chin, around her white neck. Kier itched to reach out and smooth her hair, sweep it up off her throat, to touch …

  Cursing under his breath, he left her there and went through to the bedroom, stripped down to his underwear, and went to bed, eventually dropping off into a fitful rest.

  Kier was awake, suddenly, knowing that something was wrong. There was no sound that he could hear, even the breeze had dropped. Keeping his breathing slow and even, he opened his eyes a fraction. There was light seeping in from the other room. The sight it illuminated almost stopped him breathing at all.

  He hadn’t been himself last night, so he hadn’t taken as much care as he usually would. His own weakness had shaken him, confused him. He’d had the impression that Jenny had exerted some sort of power over him, and he didn’t like it at all. So he’d been careless.

  Which would account for the fact that Jenny had his gun, and stood at the foot of the bed levelling it at him.

  His first thought was that she wouldn’t do it. Then he cursed himself for a fool. If she was who he thought she was, of course she would damn well kill him. It’s what he would do if he were her. And if she was who he thought she was, he was dead. With a detached portion of his mind, he could even admire her acting of the last few days. Bleakly he remembered his own words about weakness.

  Weakness made you careless, carelessness made you dead.

  He’d lost his nerve, and now he was going to pay for it.

  He could see her head move slightly as she looked him up and down. She didn’t know he was awake, he realised, and wondered if that gave him some advantage he could use.

  Then, suddenly, the world twisted and fell away from him, and when it came back, it was different.

  He watched, spellbound, as Jenny slowly lowered the gun, and let it drop. There was a dull thud as it hit the floor. Her shoulders drooped, and she swayed and stumbled for a moment, then turned and headed for the other room. As she turned away from him, he caught the gleam of tears on her face.

  He vaulted from the bed, was across the room in one leap, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her round against the wall. She shrieked, eyes flashing wide in shock. His mind was screaming, What the hell was that? What the hell just happened? Had he been wrong about her from the start? The prospect twisted his gut, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  He reached out to snap on the light, and looked down at her.

  All of her barriers were down. Her eyes, drowning in tears, were fixed, unwavering, on his face. They were begging him, pleading with him to see the truth. And he did. She’d told him the truth. She was as innocent as she claimed. An ordinary woman, trapped in an extraordinary situation, forced into actions the rest of the world would struggle to understand.

  No. That wasn’t right. There was nothing ordinary about her.

  He knew something about the strength of character it took to do the dirty job no one else would do.

  My God, what have I done? was his first coherent thought. He was shocked, sick to his stomach as his mind replayed everything she had experienced with him, registered what it must have done to her. He now knew she wasn’t what he had been convinced she was. And he suddenly didn’t like himself very much. Not much at all.

  He saw a flash of pain in her eyes and realised he had tightened his hold on her till his fingers were digging into her flesh. White-faced, furious, and reeling, he dropped his hands and stepped back.

  “Everything you ever told me is true, isn’t it?” he asked, in a dead voice.

  “Yes,” she said, simply.

  He folded his arms, curbed the impulse to touch her, tried to rein in the shocking wave of emotion his discovery had produced. He struggled to concentrate on the job in hand.

  He had taken her apart, piece by piece, and now the vultures were circling to pick over the bones. He had to make his report, call them off, settle this.

  “I—” his voice was unrecognisable, even to himself. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I have to report back. They won’t authorise me to release you unless I do that first.”

  It was the unfocused look in her eyes that warned him, even before she started to sway. He caught her round the waist, holding her to his length to support her, guided her to the kitchen table, and sat her down. Kier crouched down beside her, still with his arm across her back. She was limp in the chair, but he couldn’t tell if she had fainted or was just dizzy.

  He lifted a hand and swept the shield of dark curls off her face, letting his thumb linger across her jaw.

  Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her face pale. She lifted her head away from his caressing hand, but she didn’t open her eyes. She looked broken, exhausted. Kier let his head drop forward until it was resting on her thigh, his own eyes screwed tight shut. He fought the self-loathing that was rising in him.

  Jenny made a little sound, and his gut clenched as he remembered other sounds she’d made in passion, and as he realised he was never going to be in a position to hear them again.

  She was sitting up straight now, breathing deep, placing her hands on the table edge in front of her, getting her support from it and not hi
m. Kier rose and backed away, fetching his clothes from the bedroom and dressing quickly. He retrieved his gun from the floor.

  He tried to concentrate on what he had to do. Call Dawson, arrange an e-meeting. Make his report. Get back here. Set her free. Wave good-bye …

  “You believe me.”

  Her voice was flat and thin, and he could barely hear her. He moved across to the gas stove and lit it, putting the kettle on the burner and getting instant coffee out of the cupboard. They could both use some.

  He cleared his throat. “It seems your version of events is accurate.” Was it just him, or did he sound like a jerk?

  “Really,” he could hear the wry sarcasm in her voice. He heard her shift in her chair, but he didn’t turn round.

  “So what now?”

  “I have to go and make a report. I won’t be long, and then I’ll be back here to let you out, so to speak.”

  “That’s it?”

  It should be. “Yes.” They weren’t going to be happy, though. This was not what they had bargained for, and it gained them nothing. He wasn’t paid to delve into the wasps’ nest, only to report there were no wasps.

  “And you expect me to just wait here for you? Oh, come on.”

  The kettle boiled, and he made coffee. He took his black, but topped it up with cold water so he could drink it fast. It tasted vile. Kier set Jenny’s down on the table in front of her, but he didn’t sit down. He realised he didn’t actually know how Jenny liked her coffee, since he’d never asked her.

  “You will have to wait for me. I’m locking you in.” With hindsight, he probably should have waited until she wasn’t drinking. He walked round and slapped her on the back until she stopped choking.

  Jenny swatted his arm away, seeing stars. The big oaf. “You can’t just leave me here, locked in! What if there is a fire or something? What if I were to have an accident?” What if he never comes back?

  He drained his coffee, shrugging into his coat, giving her one, long, measuring look.

  “I’m not going to be gone long, Jenny. I’m only going across to Newcastle. There’s a computer suite there I can use to hook up with a meeting I’ll set up this morning. Video conferencing.” His temper was getting short. She could see it in the way his brows contracted, in the way his lips thinned. In the way he adjusted his cuffs with tight, controlled movements of his big hands.

  “It’s the middle of the night in America!” she said, not quite believing he’d really contact them. In all honesty, she didn’t quite believe he was going to talk to them at all, going to get her off the hook. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. But she didn’t like herself for wanting that, either.

  The whole thing was a mess.

  “Yes, it is. I’ll get them out of bed. That okay with you?”

  “Oh, shut up.” She wrapped her arms round her middle, scowling at him. “I just don’t want to be locked in here by myself. You know as well as I do that’s stupid and dangerous.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, breathing hard, but she just glared back at him until her eyes stung.

  “Wait here.” He turned away and headed for the door.

  “No!” Jenny cried. She leapt up and lunged forward to try to grab his arm but missed. “You can’t do this!”

  She collided with his back as he halted. McAllister turned and took her shoulders, setting her back from him. He ducked his head to look into her eyes.

  “Jenny, stop it. I’m going to get you a phone, okay? Wait. Here.” He went out.

  She pulled back from him abruptly, ashamed of her panicked reaction. The thought of being alone in the cottage was scaring her out of all proportion to the problem. Truth was, he’d been pulling her strings since she got here. The idea of him cutting loose left her feeling limp.

  Jenny had been living minute to minute now for days. Struggling to cope with each new challenge as it turned up. Now everything had skewed again: it looked like she was going to get her life back. She just didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

  She was clutching at little things that gave her security. She hated that one of them was Kier.

  He came back in with a mobile phone in his hand.

  “It’s blocked, okay? But you can call nine one one—”

  “You mean nine nine nine. Emergency services are nine nine nine over here.”

  He flicked her an irritated glance. It made him look so human she almost grinned.

  “Whatever. You can call me on my alternate cell phone, and you can receive incoming calls. But you can’t dial out any other number. Got that?”

  “What’s the number for your other mobile?”

  “It’s in the memory. Press the green button and you’ll see it. Press it again and—”

  “Okay, McAllister. I’ve used mobiles.”

  He scowled. “You’re not off the hook yet, Waring. Don’t piss me off.”

  Jenny held out her hand for the phone. For a second he didn’t give it to her. Then he laid it in her palm, but held on to it until she looked at him.

  His eyes were travelling over her face as if recording it. Then they met hers, and her heart lurched and began to beat in hard, painful strokes. If she’d imagined care there before, this was the real thing.

  He let go of the phone, and cupped her free hand with his. Jenny felt the warmth of his fingers, and shivered when he ran his thumb across the back of her hand. His skin was rough against hers.

  “I …” His deep voice was raspy, and he paused to swallow. “We’ll sort this out, okay? I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

  Too late, she thought, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she stared up at him, mesmerised, and didn’t care that there were tears welling in her eyes.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and watched him leave in silence.

  It was a board of three. Kier studied the faces of the men in the three little boxes on the screen in front of him.

  Davids was John Dawson’s boss, head of the Agency. Kier wasn’t sure if he was the head of the whole deal, but he was sure he didn’t trust him a damn. He was overweight, balding, and rarely looked anyone in the eye. He was dressed in a surprisingly cheap-looking suit for someone who should be bringing in such a high salary.

  To Davids’s left was Jeremy Groven. A quiet, lean man in his fifties with a reputation for a manipulative deviousness that was an enviable skill in his profession. He stared at the screen in front of him with a faint air of boredom.

  On the other side was a man whom McAllister was not happy to see.

  His name was Matthew Christopher Kendrick, and he was in Kier’s own line of work. He’d made his name deprogramming cultists, but Kier knew that was the least of his talents. He was strongly built, tall and fair, with green eyes that never revealed anything. Today, he sported a three-day beard, and McAllister wondered what assignment they’d pulled him from. His presence on this impromptu board suggested they were prepared to challenge anything he put before them, with the authority of another expert.

  He knew John Dawson would be there, too, recording the proceedings, but no one there disturbed him half as much as Kendrick.

  The speed with which the meeting had been set up also disturbed him. He hadn’t counted on them being so interested, and now he was worried, turning a pen over and over in his fingers, out of sight of the webcam, waiting for their reaction to his findings.

  His report was clear. The whole thing had been a fantastic fluke, backed up by her own natural talents and clear thinking. She was just an incredible natural proficient with outstanding reactions—she’d beaten him twice, after all. And the finding pleased him, because now he could go back and tell her she was free, give her back her life. He was glad, glad, damn it, that she was innocent, that she was free. It gave him a sense of satisfaction he’d seldom found at the end of one of these episodes. Rather than seeing her incarcerated and further interrogated, eventually locked up and forgotten somewhere, well away from the usual justice department jails, instead
he could go back and let her go. And never see her again. And get on with his life. He tried to concentrate; Davids was speaking.

  “Well, gentlemen. I am satisfied with the findings of this report. And bearing this in mind, I think it is clear that we need to bring Waring in and build a programme around her natural talents. We can’t let such skill go to waste,” he said with a jovial air that Groven dutifully laughed at.

  Kier’s mind stuttered on that one, as if he’d turned a corner and found himself somewhere else entirely.

  “Hang on. She’s a conservationist, not an operative,” he said.

  Davids chuckled. “I think our programme could turn even a conservationist into an operative, Mr. McAllister.”

  What programme? What the hell were they talking about? “I’m sure it could.” His voice was tight, but he kept it even with an effort. “I’m equally sure it shouldn’t.”

  On the screen, Davids stared at him thoughtfully the crease of a frown between his brows. “I don’t believe we engaged you to advise us on the results of your findings, Mr. McAllister, just to report on them.”

  “But I just don’t think—”

  “Good. We didn’t ask you to.”

  Kier gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax in his chair. He saw Groven lean over and whisper in Davids’s ear.

  “Mr. Groven has just made a good point. Perhaps if you are unsure about our decision to train Ms. Waring, you would like to undertake the job? Witness for yourself, firsthand, how effective our programme can be? I realise you are a freelancer, Mr. McAllister, and I can offer you say, another twenty percent on top of your usual rate.”

  That was one hell of a lot of money. And the hermitage in the Pyrenees needed a new roof.

  Who was he kidding?

  He swallowed. His throat felt dry. This was crazy, unheard of. “Does she have a choice?” he asked.

  “Mr. McAllister. Our influence extends far, as I’m sure you are aware. Did she have a choice when you took her to Scotland? We suggest you … persuade her.”

  That thought made him feel sick to his stomach. He’d promised her freedom. Could he return and take it back? “And if I don’t do it, who will?”