Model Spy

by Shannon Greenland

  3:23:17.

  Did they have him yet? Had David been reunited with his dad? They were probably hugging at this very second, sharing a moment. Wished I could be there to see it.

  3:24:05.

  Oh, yeah. In under a minute they’d be back. We’d be off through the woods and on a plane to the States. Any second now I’d be meeting Mr. Share.

  A twig snapped behind me, and I let out a relieved breath, then immediately caught it. Wait a minute, they wouldn’t be coming up from behind.

  “Don’t do anyzing stupid.”

  I froze.

  “Get up.”

  Carefully I pushed to my hands and knees, my heart banging so hard it’d probably break a rib. With my hands raised above my head, I slowly turned around. Two giant goons stood with feet braced apart, aiming matching guns at my head.

  One grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him. He pressed a gun to my side, and we charged off into the woods.

  I yanked back. “Helllp!”

  The goon behind me shoved me forward. “Quiet.”

  They dragged me around trees and over downed limbs.

  This isn’t supposed to be happening! I dug my heels in. “Helllp!”

  He jabbed the gun into my ribs. “Ooowww!”

  “Shut up.”

  I hit a pile of muddy leaves and slid to my butt.

  He jerked me up. “Stupid girl.”

  Wait, I should scream. Surely by now my team was outside the modeling school and would hear me. I took a breath, ready to let loose with a loud one.

  “Don’t”—the goon ground the gun into my ribs—“even zink about it.”

  I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder, couldn’t even see the dim lights of the buildings. What if my team was still inside the modeling school? They wouldn’t even know I’d been kidnapped. Of all the time for them to be running late, this was not it.

  “GiGi,” TL whispered through my earpiece.

  My earpiece! I’d forgotten I was wearing it. I tried not to react to TL’s voice so as not to tip off the goons.

  “Don’t fight them,” he continued. “You’re wearing a tracking device. We know exactly where you are.”

  That’s right. Under my cotton shirt I still wore the freckle on my neck from Romanov’s party, and my watch linked via satellite. The whole IPNC knew my GPS coordinates.

  “We’ll get you back safely.” David. His voice made my breath hitch. “I promise.”

  The goon jerked me from the woods and across the street to a waiting black sedan. He opened the car door. I tugged at his grip. “Nooo.”

  He shoved me inside, pushing in behind me. The other goon took the front seat, and the car peeled out.

  I scooted over as far as I could. Where were they taking me? When would my team find me?

  The goon grabbed my wrist and tore off the watch.

  Ow! “Hey . . .” That hurt.

  He rolled down the window and hurled out the watch. I watched in shock as it sailed into the night. How’d he know to take it off of me? Were these GPS watches standard for both good guys and bad?

  Leaning across, the goon briskly frisked me, running his hands clumsily along my legs, arms, front, and back.

  Shoving me over, he secured my wrists behind my back with industrial tape. He pulled a black hood from his pocket and fit it over my head.

  He and the other goon exchanged words in Ushbanian. The car cut a corner, and I slid off the leather seat onto the floor. He yanked me back up. A few seconds later, he began a one-sided conversation, presumably on a cell phone. Probably talking to Romanov about what to do with me. I heard him say Jade January. Well, they knew who I was.

  Underneath the hood, I closed my eyes. Somehow the darkness of my lids didn’t bother me as much as the blackness of the cloth.

  Calm down, GiGi. Calm down. Think code. That always settles you.

 

 

  Unfortunately it didn’t work this time. I sniffed. I won’t cry, I promised myself as a tear slid down my cheek.

  In, then out. In, then out. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to stay as calm as possible. Trying not to imagine all the things they might do to me before my team rescued me.

  I still wore my tracking freckle and ear transceiver. With my hands tied, I couldn’t access my collar talk button, but at least I would hear my team if they spoke. At least they knew my coordinates.

  It could be a whole lot worse.

  That’s what I told myself. Convinced myself of, really.

  The car slowed to a stop. Based on the time we’d driven, I’d say we were probably in the country at Romanov’s castle.

  Gripping my arm, the goon pulled me from the car into the frozen night. He led me along a path, and we entered a warm, musty building. We descended 102 steps. I counted them like TL taught me. Be aware of everything, he’d said.

  Something metal creaked in front of me, like a door being opened. The goon ripped the hood from my head and shoved me forward, slamming the door behind me.

  I gritted my teeth in anger, pleased to feel that emotion over fear. They didn’t have to be so rough. I’d go on my own if they’d ask.

  Dimly lit, the square room was approximately twenty by twenty feet. One single metal chair sat dead center on the cement floor. No way I’d sit in it. That’s where the bad guys tied the good guys while torturing information from them. The drain under the chair probably made for ease in washing away blood. Although no red remnants stained the sterile room.

  Where was this place? The dungeons of Romanov’s castle? A deserted building? Maybe they’d driven me around to make me think we were going someplace else, and we were actually still at the modeling school.

  Starting in the corner, I paced the perimeter. With my hands still tied, I could only visually inspect the cinder-block, windowless walls. I didn’t see any cameras. Not to say they weren’t hidden somewhere. Surely they wouldn’t put me in here without monitoring me.

  Minutes rolled by and I continued pacing.

  The door unbolted, and I spun around right as a goon tore a hood off someone and shoved him inside. David!

  Relief hit me hard, and tears burst free. The bravery I’d talked myself into, the irritation at being roughly handled, gushed free. Only euphoria at not being alone and comfort at seeing someone familiar flooded my senses.

  The goon slammed the door, closing David and me up. With his hands tied behind his back, he covered the short distance between us. No one had ever looked so welcoming as he did at this very moment.

  He pressed his cheek to mine. “Shhh . . .”

  I sniffed, but more tears fell. All the fear at being kidnapped and not knowing what would happen flowed from my soul. All the warm support of his cheek against mine made me want to sob. Yet sobbing was the absolute last thing either of us needed.

  Questions ping-ponged through my brain as I slowly regained composure. What’s he doing here? Did the bad guys get TL and Jonathan, too? Where’s David’s dad?

  Sniffing, I wiped my cheek on my shoulder. David leaned back with a slight curve to his lips, which made me smile. “What happen—”

  David placed his lips against my ear. “Stay in character,” he murmured. “Not sure how much they know. They’re watching and listening. Remember that. Got caught on purpose. Didn’t want you alone. Help’s on the way.”

  Got caught on purpose. Didn’t want you alone.

  My stomach fluttered at his meaningful words. Shifting, I pressed my lips to his jaw. This might be the last kiss of my life, I thought, taking in his warmth, enjoying his stubble brushing my face.

  The door unbolted, and we reluctantly moved away from each other.

  Petrov, the GQ guy from the party, came into the room. He’d been so nice. I couldn’t imagine him harming anyone.

  Romanov followed, and dread settled in. He didn’t strike me as the type to play nice. Quietly, he approached us, coming to a stop right in front of me. He studied
me through black, soulless eyes.

  Keeping my back against the wall, I fought the urge to fidget, to swallow, to hide my eyes from his evil gaze. The longer he scrutinized me, the more aware I became of my thundering heart and irregular breaths.

  He lifted his hand, and David took a step forward. “Leave her alone.”

  “I vill”—Romanov didn’t take his eyes off me—“not hurt her.”

  He caressed a finger down my cheek. His creepy softness scared me more than his goons’ brute force. “I do not vant her touched. Such beauty should be vorshipped.”

  The do-not-touch order gave me a flicker of faith.

  Romanov brushed a thumb over my black eye. “Seems like my statue did great damage to your delicateness.”

  He pressed my black eye just enough to make me cringe, killing off the flicker of faith. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  “A model who knows how to extract information from a microsnipet. Hmm . . .” Romanov patted my cheek. “So tell me, how long have you been a spy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His lips curved into a creepy smile. “Ah, you vill tell me in time.”

  In time? How long did he plan on keeping me?

  He turned and strolled from the room, Petrov following. They closed and bolted the door, and I blew out a long, shaky breath.

  David came to me. “You okay?”

  Okay? I was far from okay. Kidnapped, locked in a dungeon, shoved around by goons. No telling what came next. I nodded, though. “You?”

  “Fine.”

  Roughly ten minutes later, the door unbolted again, sending nausea straight to my mouth. Nalani stepped in. Not her, too. I really liked her.

  “Come quick,” she whispered.

  [13]

  I glanced at David.

  What if this was a trap? What if Nalani worked for a different bad group and was leading us straight to them? What if she was only pretending to help us as part of some twisted game Romanov was playing?

  David nodded. “It’s all right. She’s one of us.”

  She’s one of us? Why hadn’t he told me?

  “I’ll tell you later,” he said, reading my mind.

  With a pocketknife, Nalani sliced the duct tape binding our hands. We followed her silently from the dungeon through a maze of narrow, dark tunnels. Jogging soundlessly, barely breathing, making as little noise as possible.

  We came to a slim, steel door. She dug a key from her pants pocket and quickly unlocked it. Frosty air gushed in as we rushed out. The three of us bolted over frozen leaves and dirt toward bordering woods.

  I peeked over my shoulder but didn’t recognize the house. Small, neat, and tidy. Who would ever guess it contained a dungeon? Behind the house, in the distance, loomed the castle. We were on Romanov’s property.

  We sprinted into the dark woods. TL and Jonathan emerged from the shadows, and I nearly leaped for joy.

  Nalani gave David and me quick hugs. “Be safe. I’ll see you in a while.” She dashed off in the opposite direction.

  Leading the way, TL ran through the woods, and we followed, with Jonathan in the rear. A gazillion questions zinged my brain. Where were we going? Where was David’s dad? Who was Nalani? What about Romanov and his goons? Had David known Nalani would rescue us?

  We emerged from the woods and came to a skidding stop.

  There stood Romanov, seven goons looming alongside him.

  Uh-oh.

  They must have heard us because they all turned at once. TL, Jonathan, and David moved lightning quick before I blinked or Romanov’s men registered what was going on. Fists and feet shot out in calculated, high-flying kicks and swings. Bones cracked. Blood flew. Men grunted. Within seconds, three goons lay passed out on the road, or maybe dead, and my team moved on to the next set.

  Snapping from my shocked trance, I quickly recalled self-defense training and ran toward the mob. Bruiser popped into my mind. For the first time in my life, I wished I was a small, redheaded, freckled girl with killer fighting capabilities.

  In my peripheral vision, I caught Romanov slinking back into the woods. Wimp.

  Petrov charged me. I spun and roundhoused him in the stomach. His face registered disbelief as he stumbled backward.

  That’s right, buddy, disbelieve this.

  I stalked his stumbling body, gaining ground, and upper-cut him in the nose. Blood and curses gushed from him. His shocked expression transformed to squinty eyes and hard jaw. Like he was thinking, Zere’s no way zis female vill vin.

  Yeah? Well, he’d never fought a possessed genius until now.

  I chopped him in the Adam’s apple, ignoring the popping sound, then whipped around and smashed my heel into his kneecap. Gagging, he grabbed hold of his throat and fell to his knees.

  Scowling at his hunched form, I circled behind him. I put him in a headlock, my right arm around his throat and left pressing the back of his neck. He jerked against my hold, clawing at my jacketed arm, wheezing for breath. Seconds later, he went limp.

  I released him and stepped back, resisting the urge to dust my hands in victory. Ready to take on my next opponent, I glanced up. TL, Jonathan, and David stood with their feet braced apart and arms folded, watching me. On the ground around them sprawled Ushbanian goons in various passed-out positions.

  My team broke into matching grins and applauded.

  Smiling in return, I gave in to the urge to dust my hands, and they burst out laughing.

  Just then a windowless, black van came barreling down the dirt road. Great, more bad guys.

  TL started toward it. “Ride’s here.”

  My shoulders drooped in relief. That meant an airplane back to the States was mere hours away. I was actually excited about getting on a plane. Go figure.

  Stepping around Petrov, I followed the guys toward the van. Fatigue hit me hard, and my boots dragged in the dirt. I’d had little or no sleep since leaving California. Hard to believe so much had happened in the span of four days.

  From the driver’s seat, Nalani nodded as I passed by. I tripped as I did a double take, which made her smile. I bet she was the insider TL had told us about.

  TL opened the back door. “Let’s go.”

  I climbed in ahead of the guys, expecting to see Mr. Share, but empty cargo space met me instead. I took a seat on the hard floor, as did the guys, and Nalani drove off. A thick screen separated her from us, and I barely saw her profile.

  No one spoke, so I kept quiet, too, but jeez, I wanted answers.

  David sat across from me, his eyes closed, head lolling in pre-sleep. Beside me, Jonathan did the same. Next to David, TL dialed the satellite phone. A few seconds later, he began speaking in hushed tones. I made out the words plane, four people, twenty minutes, and coffin.

  Coffin? Oh, no, did that mean Mr. Share was dead? I shot a quick glance across the van, but David hadn’t moved a muscle. He would’ve told me by now, wouldn’t he? Yeah, right, not like we’d had any time to talk.

  How awful for him. To have just been reunited with his dad only to discover he was now dead.

  I looked at TL, hoping to learn something, anything, but he’d already ended the call and closed his eyes as well. How anyone could sleep in the back of a noisy, bumpy cargo van was beyond me. But I shut my eyes anyway . . .

  “GiGi.” Someone nudged my leg. “We gotta move.”

  My lids popped open in dead-asleep-to-wide-awake alertness. I glanced at my watch. We’d been driving for an hour.

  David knelt beside me. The van shifted as TL and Jonathan jumped out.

  I gripped David’s forearm. “Is your dad okay? I heard TL say ‘coffin.’”

  David shook his head. “That’s how we’re smuggling him out of the country.”

  “Oh.” I smiled. “I’m glad. Wait, can he survive in a coffin that long?”

  “In our coffin he can. Plenty of oxygen, snacks, and water. He’ll be fine. Come on, we gotta move.”

  We hopped from the van
into a dawning, icy morning. A forest surrounded us. We were, literally, out in the middle of nowhere. A small, wooden shack stood off to the right, hidden among towering pines. A limo and a hearse sat alongside the shack, looking so out of place I almost laughed.

  We crossed the short distance to the shack. David opened the creaky door, and the van cranked its engine. I whipped around.

  Nalani. She waved as she drove off through a rough-cut path.

  “Who is she?”

  “Tell you later.” He ushered me inside. “We’ve got only five minutes.”

  Already dressed, TL passed us on the way out. Jonathan followed, tucking in his shirt. They’d changed back into their bodyguard and modeling agent clothes.

  Except for our suitcases heaped in the middle, a camping stove in the corner, and a small window above it, the dark, wood shack stood dusty and empty. “What is this place?”

  “Safe house.”

  Safe house. Hmm. There was probably more to it than there appeared to be. Maybe a hidden hatch leading to an underground passage. Or a secret panel that opened onto a cache of tucked-away weapons. The whole structure was probably wired with microfilters and thermal thirystors. My pulse kicked in at the techie possibilities.

  A man emerged from the shadows, and I jumped.

  He smiled and held out his hand. “Mike Share.”

  My jaw dropped. “Oh, my goodness.” I took his hand. “It’s so great to meet you. I’m GiGi.”

  He pumped my hand. “I know.”

  David threw open my biggest suitcase, snatched the first thing he put his hands on, and threw it to me. “Hurry. You can use the bathroom.”

  Bathroom? I gazed in the direction he indicated. Sure enough, a door sat seamlessly in the wall. I hurried over and inside and came to an abrupt stop.

  Yuck.

  A filthy toilet, minus the seat, occupied one corner. Dirty water filled the bowl. A grimy sink stood beside it. Above that hung a mirror layered so thick in dust it prohibited me from seeing myself. No tub. And it smelled like . . . well, you can guess what it smelled like.

  “Hurry,” David shouted.