ALIAS SMITH AND JONES

by Kylie Brant

  The gold pen was threaded through those long narrow fingers. "I hope you recognize how fortunate you are. A lone woman escaping two dangerous criminals…" He shrugged. "It could have gone much differently."

  "The experience was harrowing. I realize how lucky I was."

  The conversation began to take on the aspect of a verbal tennis match. And as she warded off the questions she became convinced that this meeting was the real reason behind her presence here tonight. Perhaps she hadn't convinced Shala of her reasons for not going to the police the previous evening. Or maybe he'd failed to convince the king of her harmlessness.

  Or perhaps her imagination was working overtime and she was conjuring up problems where none existed.

  She sipped from her drink to ease the dryness in her throat, found it difficult to swallow.

  "Tell me, what do you do in Atlanta, Miss Smith?"

  "I run a small antique gallery," she lied. "I've been blessed with some modest success."

  His deep expressionless eyes reminded her of a shark's. "Ah, a businesswoman. I have always found the American career women to be very … pragmatic."

  It was another twenty minutes before the king rose, clearly dismissing her. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Smith." His dry voice sounded like the rustle of fall leaves. "I will leave you in Minister Shala's capable hands. I trust you will enjoy the rest of your visit."

  Overcome with relief, she murmured a goodbye and turned toward the door.

  "Icanno, I'd like a word with you before you leave. Perhaps you can have someone escort Miss Smith downstairs."

  Senses sharpening, Ana smiled at Shala and said, "I think I can find my way." His absence, even for a few minutes, might give her an opportunity to snoop around some of the offices on the floor below them for information on Sam.

  In the next moment that tenuous plan was dashed when the king said smoothly, "That won't be necessary." He leaned forward and pressed a button mounted on the side of his desk. Seconds later a man entered soundlessly, making Ana wonder where he'd been lurking earlier.

  "I won't be long, Ann." Shala turned to her, took one of her hands in his. "Jamal will return you safely to the party downstairs. I'll join you shortly."

  She followed the silent Jamal out of the room and down the hallway. But her attention wasn't on the stiff posture of the man before her. It was on the closed doors lining the hallways on the floors they descended before they reentered the formal gathering room. She looked at the unsmiling man and said, "I think I'll sit down and wait for Icanno."

  Her words were meant to send him on his way, but he remained at her side. "I will wait."

  Seconds ticked by. "That isn't really necessary," she said firmly.

  He didn't respond, but neither did he move.

  Ana mentally kissed away her plans for exploring the upper floors. There didn't seem to be any way to extricate herself from the stoic man at her side. She shot him a sideways glance. Unless…

  Pressing her hand to her stomach, she took a deep breath, arranged her features into a distressed expression. "You … you wouldn't be able to find me something for nausea, would you? I'm afraid that champagne on an empty stomach wasn't a good idea."

  Jamal looked at her, clearly torn between two equally distasteful prospects. He didn't want to rouse Shala's ire, but neither did he look excited at the possibility of having her throw up on his shiny black shoes.

  To help make up his mind, she raised her hand to her lips and gave a low moan of discomfort. Jamal swallowed hard, sidled away. "I will see what I can find."

  Ana watched him leave the room with ill-disguised haste, and mentally dusted her hands together. She'd stayed home from school more than once with that little play, until Cade had come home unexpectedly one day and found her eating chocolate-covered cherries while she danced to MTV. Her brothers had been a little more difficult to convince after that.

  Losing no time, she leaped from her chair and rushed from the room, hopefully leaving the impression of a woman in desperate need of the nearest rest room.

  When Ana got to the hallway she walked swiftly toward the stairs and slipped up them. If someone stopped and questioned her, she could always continue with her illness story.

  Since Shala had indicated his offices were on the second floor, it was toward that area she headed now. She half expected to meet him coming down, but the halls were empty and dimly lit. Her footsteps sounded loud to her own ears, the lone sound eerie in the near darkness.

  She tried the knob on the first door. Locked. Moving on, she tried the next ones, and hit pay dirt on the third. Easing it open, she slipped inside before closing it behind her and leaning her shoulders against it. Now it was her heartbeat that sounded raucously in the darkness. It felt as though it were practically jumping out of her chest.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached into her bag and fumbled for the penlight flashlight. She hadn't been quite sure what she'd need for this excursion tonight, so she'd thrown in anything she could think of that might he helpful. It took several moments before her fingers found the flashlight and she withdrew it, clicking it on.

  There was no way to tell who the office belonged to. Not wasting any time, Ana went to the desk, knelt before it and began pulling open the drawers and rifling through them.

  A few minutes later she called it quits. The office obviously belonged to someone in charge of city services. There would be no information about Sam to be found here.

  Snapping off the flashlight, she eased the door open a fraction, listened carefully. Not hearing anything, she peeked out and saw nothing but darkness. She pulled the door shut behind her and headed for the next one. To her surprise, this one was unlocked, too. Blessing her good fortune, she slid inside and closed the door behind her. This time she had a little more luck. The correspondence on the desk indicated its occupant was connected to the military. Hadn't Shala indicated that the military was engaged in the search for Sam?

  The top drawer yielded a thick sheaf of pages labeled Sécurité: Rapport du Incident. With shaking hands, she withdrew the document. Ripping it open, her euphoria quickly turned to dismay. It was written in French. She sighed. She might have known. And her high school French was certainly not up for the task of interpreting it.

  Unwilling to give up, she skimmed the pages, picking out stray phrases she recognized. The more she read the more certain she became that the document denoted the efforts to find Sam.

  She had to piece together the information she could glean from her limited French. There was a date noted that matched the day after Sam had come to the island. She understood the words capitol, intrus. Risque was risk. Ana puzzled for a moment over la recherche de la ville. It meant search of the city, she finally decided. Aucun signe was no sign. And then the word dangereux. She gave a silent laugh. If they thought Sam was dangerous, he must have inflicted some damage on the men he'd fought with.

  She flipped to the last page and scanned it. They appeared to be concentrating their search to the jungle now. Ana dropped the papers back in the drawer, dread mingling with relief. It was good having proof that the government had no idea where her brother was, but she was no closer to knowing how to find him and help get him off the island.

  Her reverie was shattered when she heard a noise outside the door. Ana's head snapped up. Were those voices?

  She cracked the door open and peered out. Three figures, men, were coming down the hallway toward her. Only one voice could be heard, and it was speaking rapid French. From the odd words she caught, the speaker wasn't happy.

  "Idiot négligent!"

  Tension spiked through her limbs. Something about the voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't waste time figuring out who it belonged to. The footsteps were drawing nearer. What if they were headed for this office?

  Pulling back into the room, she shut the door silently. Looking around wildly, she considered possible hiding places. There were blinds rather than drapes at the sliding-glass doors, but a quick look out
side showed a tiny terrace that she could use. Unlocking the door, she opened it enough to slip through if the door to the office should begin to open. With held breath, she waited as the footsteps came nearer, drew even with the door … and then moved on.

  Relief swam up in a dizzying flood. Ana bent over, drawing deep breaths into oxygen-starved lungs. After a few moments she closed and locked the sliding-glass door and crossed the room, pressed her ear to the office door. When she didn't hear anything she eased the door open, looked both ways. Seeing no one, she swiftly exited the room, intent on making an escape.

  Except, to return the way she'd come she'd have to walk by whichever room the three men had gone into. Surely, she reasoned, there had to be more than one stairwell in the place. Logic said there'd he another on the opposite end of the corridor.

  As silently as she could she made her way down the hallway. But she'd gotten no more than a few feet before a door behind her suddenly opened, and light spilled out.

  "Arrêt!"

  The urge to flee was strong, but logic won out. Even as ice filled her veins at the command, Ana stopped. A woman who'd lost her way searching for a bathroom was much less suspicious than one who ran away.

  Quelling her screaming nerves, she turned quizzically, recognized Shala in the doorway. Making an immediate decision, she retraced her steps, saying querulously, "Honestly, Icanno, I've been looking all over for you. I'm feeling ill and haven't been able to find a rest room and…" The rest of her spiel slid down her throat as she drew near enough to catch a glimpse of the man ducking behind Icanno.

  It was the man from the courtyard. The one who had threatened her with a knife.

  For an instant nobody moved. Her blood went glacial when she saw the grim purpose on Shala's face the instant before he lunged for her.

  Ana whirled, ran back the way she'd come. There was no effort to quieten her steps now. She ran as swiftly as she was able, ignoring the shouted commands behind her. When she came to a corner she dodged around it, hoping it wouldn't lead her to a dead end. Where was that damn staircase? The frantic thought pounded in her temples as she passed the darkened doors without a sideways glance. There had to be one around here some—

  Ungentle hands yanked her backward, a hard arm was crossed over her throat and a callused palm slapped to her mouth. Without ceremony, she was dragged into one of the darkened rooms.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  "Scream and we're both screwed." The man's whisper was no less fierce for lacking volume. He released the arm around her throat, kept the hand over her mouth as he reached out to lock the door. In the next instant he was stifling a curse as nails raked the back of his hands, and her elbow found his gut. He'd forgotten those self-defense moves of hers.

  Spinning her around with a cautious grip on both arms, he shoved his face close to hers. "Dammit, knock it off or I'll shove you back out there and let them have you."

  Her voice, when it came, was uncertain. "Jones? What are you doing here?"

  "Looks like I'm saving your ass." He didn't see any reason to sugarcoat it. Whatever she'd been doing up here was about to land them both in a whale of trouble if they didn't get out of there, fast.

  Hauling her by the arm, he pulled her over to the sliding-glass door, unlocked it and slid it open. The voices could be heard outside the door. It was only a matter of minutes before they were discovered. He didn't intend to wait for that to happen.

  Shrugging swiftly out of his backpack, he unzipped it and withdrew a long cable with a hook on one end. It had provided his access to the building, but he'd never considered having to use it to get them both out. Securing the hook to the wrought-iron railing around the small terrace, he tossed the cable over the side. Ana came closer, watched it tumble into the darkness, and swallowed hard.

  "I hope you're not going to suggest that we climb down that."

  Grabbing her bag, he shoved it into his pack, rezipped it and shoved his arms through the straps. "Unless you know how to fly, we're using the cable." He pressed his hand to the small of her back to urge her closer to the railing. She remained stubbornly in place.

  "I think there's something you should know," she began.

  But he really wasn't listening to her. He was focused on the sound of footsteps racing by the door. It would be only moments before the men discovered that Ana hadn't gone down the stairway, and then they'd be back to search every room on the floor. He was going to make damn sure they weren't there when that happened.

  "The cable will hold both our weight, but we don't have much time." His voice was pitched to an urgent whisper. "I'll go first, then you climb right in front of me. Once you've got a good grip I'll let the line out. Ready?"

  "I don't think so." Her voice was thready, but there wasn't time to coddle her, even if he'd felt like it. He jumped nimbly to balance on the edge of the railing, then gripped the cable in both hands and swung his body around to slide down it about three feet. He stopped then, waiting. He'd need to remain as close as he could to the top so he could reach the release button.

  "C'mon."

  Her figure was rigid. "I can't."

  Precious seconds were ticking away. "Look if you're not wearing underwear or something, don't worry. It's dark. I'll never see a thing."

  "Underwear!" The word was strangled. "It's not that, I'm just…"

  Jones could hear the voices again. Damn. They were either coming back already or the men had split up. They'd just run out of time.

  "Either I clip you on the jaw and take you down unconscious or you go under your own power. But make your decision now!"

  Maybe it was the certainty in his voice that decided her. But she finally scrambled over the railing, her breathing coming in harsh, ragged pants, and clung to the cable. One of her feet caught him in the jaw before she pressed her knees to the line, and he muttered a string of imaginative curses under his breath.

  "Hang on," he said between clenched teeth. She didn't appear to need the reminder. She had a death grip on the cable. He reached up to shove his night-vision goggles back in position before stretching beyond her to the release switch. He flipped it, and the mechanism's motor began to whir. He clamped his hands above Annie's as the cable made a descent to the ground two stories down.

  Scanning the grounds below for signs of activity, Jones wasn't unaware of the shudders racking her delicate form. He was practically wrapped around her. But though her breathing was loud and labored, she made no other sound.

  "When we get down, be prepared to follow me and run like hell," he instructed, sotto voce. "No questions, no arguing … just run. Got it?"

  She failed to respond, which didn't surprise him. All her effort seemed focused on their descent. The ground a safe foot below him, he let loose and jumped, waiting for her to join him. But he had to reach out and unwrap her fingers from the cable, even once she was standing on solid ground.

  "You okay?" he asked, a reluctant tinge of sympathy rising in him.

  Her head bobbed jerkily. He remained unconvinced, but they didn't have time to discuss it further. He picked up the end of the cable and flipped a button. The hooks keeping it secured to the balcony above retracted, and the line came tumbling down. Grabbing it, he thrust it into his pack with one hand, even as he grabbed her palm in his other.

  He started running, tugging her in the direction from which he'd breached the fence at the back of the property. He wasn't unwise enough to try one of the buildings on either side of him. There was no doubt in his mind that the government occupied those spaces, too. They were too close to be good security risks, otherwise.

  Annie was keeping up with him with a surprisingly long stride. He supposed adrenaline kept her going, and he wanted to put as much distance between them and the capitol as he could while it lasted. He had the experience to know that once the adrenaline faded, shock would take over.

  At that moment lights blazed throughout the building. Floodlights snapped on, sweeping the
property with their beams. Cursing, he reached behind him and pulled out the gun he had tucked in his waistband. Voices sounded in the distance a moment before a spotlight caught them in its glare.

  Annie stumbled, and he pulled her upright. The voices were joined by others, and the light remained fixed. He heard her gasp and knew she'd finally noticed what they were running toward.

  A ten-foot wrought-iron fence with pointed spikes topping each rail.

  "Jones," she hissed.

  But he already knew what she was going to say. "Hope you were a tomboy, sugar."

  "What?"

  There was a sharp crack, and then another. Dammit, they were shooting at them. And using something with a bit more range than the Beretta he carried.

  They'd reached the fence. The spotlight pinned them against the wrought iron, moths struggling against a certain death. He crouched down. "Step on my shoulders," he commanded. She didn't argue, but scrambled awkwardly up, one hand holding her dress in a ridiculous effort to save her modesty. He had the fleeting impression that modesty was pretty crazy, considering the fact that she'd all but invited him to her bed on more than one occasion. Or been in his.

  With a mental shake he dislodged the thought and secured her feet with his hands. "Hang on." He rose, staggered once, then righted himself. She was a featherweight, but he wasn't in the same kind of shape he'd been five years ago. "Grab the top bar, beneath the spikes. Got it? When I count to three, I'm going to heave you up. Swing your legs over the fence, and get them safely on the other side before you slide down. Ready?"

  From her strangled protest, it didn't sound as though she was anywhere close to ready, but they didn't have time for arguing. The shots were coming closer, the last near enough to kick up dirt three feet away.

  "Go!" He gave her feet a mighty push, and she took care of the rest. Once he was certain she'd cleared the top, he turned and raised his gun, fired off a round. He didn't kid himself that he would hit anyone at this range, but it might dissuade them from coming quite so close, so fast.