Andy turned around, still close enough that if she wasn’t careful she’d elbow him.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My contact, the one who looked after my cabin, this lodge is his. He and his wife have a lot more enemies than I do. I guess they see the need for a lodge all the way out here, cut off from everything.”
“I guess that makes sense why there’s antibiotics.”
“Exactly. People like us tend to get shot at.”
Her limbs were still cold. Not frozen, but hard to command. The sight of all that rust red on her old thermal shirt…it couldn’t be real. This was a mistake. Something else had happened.
She took a deep breath and grasped the hem of her shirt, pulling it up. A new pain jabbed down her arm. She sucked in a breath.
“Need a hand?” Andy asked.
“No.” She heard the strain in her own voice.
He had to as well, but he didn’t press the issue. For that she was grateful.
Carol eased her good arm out first. She pulled one shirt over her head, then the other.
Here went nothing.
She pulled both shirts over her shoulder, but no farther. The sleeve tugged at her skin, the dull fire poker stabbing her deeper. She hissed and paused to let the dizziness pass before examining what was going on. The fibers around the rip seemed to have dried to the wound. Did she rip it out? Or was there another way?
“I’m stuck,” she said.
Andy turned and went to a knee next to her. His gaze went straight to her sleeve. He didn’t glance anywhere, else though now, she was sitting there in nothing but a bra and snow pants.
“It’s a graze.” His shoulders slumped.
“Is that bad?” She peered down at the wound.
“It’s good. It’s deeper than I realized, which is why there’s this much blood. No bullet to dig out.” He lifted his gaze to her face. “I’m going to soak some gauze, then we’ll loosen this up and get you out of these clothes. After that we can clean you up, bandage it, and start some antibiotics.”
Carol nodded. Of course this superspy hideout would have everything they needed. There were probably heat-seeking missiles outside or something.
This was a dream. A very bad dream.
“Here.” Andy pulled the blanket around her waist up over one shoulder.
“Thank you.” She wrapped it across her chest, the mangled mess of her shirts in her lap.
“Water needs to boil for a few minutes before we can do anything. Sit tight while I get us situated, okay?”
“Stay out of the way. Got it.” She nodded.
“How do you handle pain?”
“How much pain?”
“If I need to do stitches?”
“I don’t think I’d handle that well.” Carol swallowed.
They descended into silence, Andy moved around the tiny lodge while Carol watched water boil. The stove gave off a good deal of heat, but there was still a draft sucking out some of the warmth.
Her stomach growled and she eyed the bag of dried-out bean stew.
“Why don’t we eat first?” she asked.
“Because dried beans take a while to cook, and because I would prefer you to not vomit from pain.”
“Oh.”
“Want something to drink before we get started?”
“Yes.”
Andy scooped some loose tea out from a bag and dumped it into the smaller boiling pan. He lifted it off the stove and sat it on a metal grill near the base of the stove. That done, he put another pot in the smaller one’s place. The soup mix went into the biggest pot. Waiting for that to be ready would be the most miserable part. Her last meal was almost entirely liquid.
He sat back on his heels and stared at her arm. “Cleaning it is likely going to be the most painful part. Hopefully you won’t need stitches. Thirsty?”
“Very.”
Andy snagged a mug and a strainer from what appeared to be the kitchen bin. He poured the fresh tea from the pan through the strainer and into the mug. One for her, then one for himself.
She blew across the hot surface, inhaling the fragrance of fresh tea. Usually she liked some sugar in hers, but right now she just wanted drinkable liquid. They sat in silence, listening to the wind and watching the fresh pot boil.
“Ready?” Andy asked after she’d finished her tea.
“Let’s get this over with.”
He pulled the water off the stove and dipped some gauze in it. She grit her teeth and held her breath, waiting. After a few moments he pressed it to the place where fabric and skin were joined. She braced herself, but…that wasn’t so bad. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not terrible.
Andy swabbed the exposed skin, wiping away dried blood. Her shirt came away a bit at a time. She hissed, feeling the sting down to her fingers. He never pulled too hard, choosing to soak it more before prying the shirts off.
“Why not pull it off all at once?” she asked finally through gritted teeth.
“You have a scab forming already. If I yank, I might do further damage to the tissue, and if you begin to bleed a lot, we’re shit out of luck. I think there’s a thing of saline solution in there, but no blood.”
She bit her lip and closed her eyes.
He was being gentle with her.
The least she could do was keep her whining to herself.
“Almost there,” Andy muttered.
“Just pull it off already.”
“No need to hurry.”
It hurts.
“There.” Andy tossed her shirts onto the floor. He cupped her arm in both hands, examining the wound. “It’s deeper than I thought, but not too deep. How do you feel about scars?”
“What’s the best thing to do?” She sucked down a deep breath. Her head began to spin a bit.
“Steri-Strips. Lets the wound breathe. It’s going to scar pretty bad.”
“Scars just show you’ve lived, right?” She tried for a chuckle, but it turned into a whimper.
“Carol? Hey, stay with me. You’re doing great. This is the worst part, remember?”
She nodded.
That’s what he’d said. Did she trust that? Or was he telling her this to get her through it?
“This is going to hurt. Ready?” Andy asked.
Carol gripped the blanket with both hands and nodded, eyes squished shut.
Cool liquid splashed on her shoulder, and then the burning, stinging sensations started. She cried out, caught unawares by the intensity of the pain.
“Worst part, Carol. Worst part,” Andy chanted. He had his hands on her hips, keeping her in place.
She doubled forward, burying her face against her knees as the pain began to subside.
“You’re doing great. I’m going to wipe you up, get some antibiotics on this and then we bandage you up. Almost done.”
Carol didn’t sit up. She couldn’t. Her strength was gone. All her fight was used up. She was done for.
Andy took over holding her arm out while he gently cleaned up the area. He was wearing blue gloves. When had that happened? Probably while she’d had her eyes closed. Was there anything he wasn’t prepared for?
“How you feeling, Carol?”
She grunted in reply.
“That good, huh? Almost done.”
She was beginning to hate those two words.
Almost done should be what he said right before he slapped the bandage on and gave her a lollipop, not right before he made her wish she’d died.
No, she didn’t want to be dead, she just didn’t want to be here. Though if she weren’t here she might be dead. It was a dark, depressing circle.
“There we go. Nice and clean,” Andy muttered.
She closed her eyes and focused on the warmth.
Food, then sleep sounded like an ideal plan.
There was only the one bed in the lodge.
She didn’t have the energy to be bothered by that fact.
“Done. Carol? Still with me?”
&nbs
p; “Yes.” She sat up, the room spinning a bit.
“Here.” Andy unzipped his snow pants and pulled off his long-sleeved shirt. Under that he wore some sort of sports-fabric material that molded to every bump, divot, and ridge of muscle. “Arms up.”
“Do I have to?”
“Would you rather not have a shirt?”
Oddly, she didn’t much care one way or the other right now. Her mind won over. More layers meant more warmth.
“Yes, please.” She lifted her hands and he did the rest, slipping it up her arms, over her head, and down around her waist.
The black knit shirt swallowed her whole. One deep inhale and the only thing she could smell was his soap. It was subtle, but she’d been around him long enough to pick up on it. Odd how something that just yesterday morning would have made her panic she now found comforting.
Andy hooked his arms under her and picked her up. He set her back on the bed and tucked both blankets around her.
“More tea, and let’s see how the soup is, hm?” He peered into her eyes, as though he were searching for something.
She wasn’t dying, and she wasn’t going to throw up, but she didn’t have the energy to tell him either.
Chapter Nine
Carol watched Andy strip out of his snow pants. She kind of liked him in those. He couldn’t move without making an ungodly amount of racket. Now he moved silently, as though he were part of her dreams.
He went about pouring more tea, then ladled out a bowl of soup. She eyed the low sides of the dish with trepidation. In her current state she was going to wear more of that than eat it.
He sat next to her, facing her, legs crossed.
“Tea or soup first?” he asked.
“Tea.” She mustered the energy to lift her hand.
Andy let her wrap her hand around the cup, but he kept his hold on it, helping her guide it to her lips while she drank. When she was done, he set it on the wooden lip of the bed. He spooned up a mouthful of the soup and blew across it.
Her stomach growled.
He ate the first bite and grimaced.
“It’s not done yet,” he said.
“Do we have other options?”
“No.”
“Then it’s fine.” She held out her hand.
“Here.” He spooned her up a bite.
“Is this part of the Andy service package? Bandaging, feeding, carting around?” She took the spoonful he offered. The beans were still crunchy, and it wasn’t quite good, but it was edible.
“I offer a mean package deal.” He didn’t quirk a smile or anything, just stared at her mouth as though it required his full attention.
She appreciated the brevity, even if laughing was beyond her.
They continued in that manner. He had a bite. She had a bite. Over and over until they’d consumed the contents of the bowl.
“More?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her stomach was sated, her arm bandaged, and no one was shooting at them. This was probably the low after the adrenaline high. All those endorphins, the desperation to just hang on, were now gone. It stood to reason that she was now at the trough of that wave. At this point all she was good for was sleeping.
Andy slid off the bed and checked the stove, then the pots. The last pan of snow went on top to boil down.
“The soup should be better in the morning. There’s some seasoning in there to dress it up a bit.”
“How are you this much of a food snob?” She eyed the bed. Lying down would be wonderful, but the effort to get horizontal and manage her aching arm seemed like a massive undertaking.
“When you have to eat lots of freeze-dried shit, you learn to enjoy the good stuff when you can. Let me help you. Don’t want you straining those Steri-Strips.” Andy reached over, hooked his arms under her, and lifted. For a man with a license to kill, he could be so very gentle.
She was practically a helpless baby. He was doing everything for them both. Usually she’d be grumpy about needing so much assistance, but right now she was grateful. With Andy watching over her, she was alive. Safe. She actually believed him when he said he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
He helped her lie back on the bed, smoothing the blankets out so she was tucked in.
“There. Comfortable?” He knelt over her, the dim light of the lodge softening his face.
“Yes, thank you.” It had to be the endorphins or some sort of rescued-damsel syndrome, but she was so damn grateful for him. She just wanted to kiss him again, regardless of how disastrous that had gone last night.
“Good. Get some sleep.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to take care of the stew and water, then I’ll tuck in, too.”
Andy turned away from the bed, giving her what space he could at the moment. He moved around the little lodge, shuffling dishes and taking the water off before it boiled completely off. He was good at this. There was no hesitation about what to do next, how they’d make it, because there was already a plan. It was remarkable.
Despite the exhaustion weighing her body down, her mind was wide awake.
She stared at the wooden rafters, noticing for the first time the number of metal hooks.
Lodge.
Hunting.
She didn’t want to think too hard about that one.
Carol closed her eyes and breathed in deep. The scent of the soup, dirt of the earth, aged wood, the slightly musty fragrance clinging to the bed things, they all grounded her in the moment. Proof that they were lucky.
Any one thing could have killed them—or more likely her—today. If she hadn’t realized something was wrong when she did and checked the alarm, maybe they’d both be dead. The bullet that’d grazed her could have killed her. The explosion, the storm, the list of potential dead ends to their journey was limitless.
One thing it did prove was that they no longer needed to speculate about if there was a network of moles in the Company. There was one. Even if she’d been labeled a traitor, the means through which the CIA would go to find and recapture her wouldn’t be to use a death squad. Not when she was a company employee. They’d sweet talk her, try to get her to come in, talk things over, and when she did they’d snap the trap shut. Operational protocol dictated the killing came later.
Andy was right. Someone within the CIA was trying to kill her, and she owed Andy her life.
What happened from here on? What were her options? The files were gone; all they had were theories. The evidence was ash on the side of a mountain now.
“Need anything?” Andy asked softly.
“A glass of wine?” She chuckled. “Kidding. I might never drink wine again.”
“In moderation it’s a good thing.” He sat on the side of the bed. It was wider than a twin, but not as spacious as a queen. With two people it would be cozy, to say the least.
“I am sorry for last night. I…”
“It’s in the past. Don’t worry about it. At least not right now. We’ve got bigger problems. Mind if we share the bed?”
“No. Rest, please.” Her life might depend on Andy having a good night’s sleep.
Andy gathered the remainder of the blankets and spread them out over the bed. The mattress shifted with him. She scooted closer to the wall to give him more space, but even that seemed to zap the rest of her energy.
“Warm yet?” he asked.
“I can feel my toes.”
“But are you warm?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Lie on your side.” Andy rolled toward her.
Carol swallowed and turned her face toward the wall.
She had a good idea what he meant to do, but knowing and experiencing were still two different things. He wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing their bodies almost intimately close. The heat of him was enough to chase away the chill.
“If I snore, elbow me,” he said.
Carol chuckled. It wasn’t funny, but it was such a normal thing to say.
“T
he storm should blow itself out by midmorning. After that it’ll get warmer. We’re at a lower altitude now.”
“What then?” she asked, almost afraid of his answer.
“Depends. Do we want to play it safe, or do we want to take a chance?”
“How long do you think it’ll take the algorithm to run now that it’s been uploaded?”
“Not sure.”
“Do you think everything was destroyed?” Her dad’s shirt had been in there.
“Yes.”
She swallowed. Things could be replaced. The electronics weren’t special. The files could be reproduced. Everything that mattered had been uploaded.
“We should play it safe until we have something that is serviceable.” Even if that meant more time with him here in this lodge.
“We’ll sort it out in the morning.” Andy gave her waist a little squeeze.
“Thank you. In case I haven’t said it already, thank you.”
“It’s all part of the job.”
Carol wasn’t inclined to agree.
His original job he’d chosen to ignore was to kill her. Instead, he was saving her. His life was at risk for her.
It was the kind of thing a good man would do.
Maybe there were parts of Andy that were really Mark. Perhaps they were one and the same. She wasn’t certain Andy was that good of a performer. If that were true, then she’d have to deal with her still very real feelings for that part of Andy that would always be Mark.
…
Thursday, CIA Headquarters
Kristina sat at her desk, staring at her computer monitor.
It was beyond late. Usually she’d have gone home already. But how was she supposed to go home when the team hadn’t yet reported in? How would she know what they were doing?
She shook her head to try to lose the anxious fog.
No one in the CIA seemed to have noticed that their system was accessed remotely in Switzerland, likely because no one was looking. But they were.
Kristina hadn’t yet heard an assessment of whatever Carol and Andy were up to, but it couldn’t be good. For her or the rest of their network.
She could barely think, let alone work.
The first step would be putting Andy and Carol out of commission. Then Irene and Mitch. Hector had been taken off the table for whatever reason. He wasn’t her concern. The others were.
Assassin Games Page 12