“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“What have you done to my daughter?” His voice was raw agony, the gun shaking in his hand.
He understood Doug Kane’s pain better than I ever could. I couldn’t believe I’d done this to him. Making him suffer wouldn’t atone for the pain of the people I cared about, it only made things worse. More suffering in the world.
“I haven’t done anything,” I told him shakily. “Katya is fine. Anna is fine. Nobody knows they exist. I’ll never tell anybody they exist. They’re safe. I never said I’d done anything. You just assumed.”
I sucked in an unsteady breath. “I thought I wanted you to suffer the way you’d made others suffer. I was wrong. It was petty and vicious and I’m sorry. I would never, ever hurt a person by hurting somebody they love.”
He sank back into his chair, breathing heavily. We watched each other in silence.
At last, he drew a long breath. “Why stop torturing me so quickly? You warned me you’d make me pay. You would have killed me without a qualm if you’d had bullets last week.”
“I thought it was necessary last week. I’ll do what has to be done, but I can’t... won’t... cause unnecessary suffering.”
“Neither will I.” We met each other’s eyes again, and his face composed itself into its usual emotionless mask. “That was stupid,” he said.
“Yes. It was. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean it was stupid of you to want me to suffer. That, I understand.” He put his gun away. “I meant it was stupid of you to admit you hadn’t hurt them. And it was stupid of you to admit you’ll behave honourably no matter what. You just gave up all your leverage.”
I slouched down in the chair and rubbed my aching temples. “Leverage is useless if you don’t have the balls to use it. I obviously don’t.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad trait,” he said quietly. “But you realize your knowledge of my weak spots gives me another reason to make sure your project, and you, get terminated as soon as possible.”
I blew out a long, exhausted breath as I got up and turned toward the door. “You don’t need another reason to kill me. This is just a reason to enjoy giving the order.”
His voice stopped me as my hand touched the doorknob. “I won’t, you know.” He sounded very tired.
I turned to face him. “Won’t what?”
His weary eyes met mine. “I won’t enjoy giving the order. When the time comes.”
I thought that over for a moment and gave him a short nod. “Thanks.”
I let myself out.
A Request
Thanks for reading!
If you enjoyed this book, I’d really appreciate it if you’d take a moment to review it online.
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Want to know what else is roiling around in the cesspit of my mind? Drop by my blog and website at http://www.dianehenders.com, vote for your favourite character, and don’t forget to leave a comment in the guest book to say hi – I love hearing from you! Or you can connect with me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authordianehenders. See you there!
Books in the NEVER SAY SPY series:
Book 1: Never Say Spy
Book 2: The Spy Is Cast
Book 3: Reach For The Spy
Book 4: Tell Me No Spies
Book 5: How Spy I Am
Book 6: A Spy For A Spy
Book 7: Spy, Spy Away
Book 8: Spy Now, Pay Later
Book 9: Spy High
Book 10: Spy Away Home
Book 11: To be released early 2016
Humour by Diane Henders
Probably Inappropriate
Definitely Inappropriate
Totally Inappropriate
More books coming! For a current list, please visit www.dianehenders.com
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About Me
By profession, I’m a technical writer, computer geek, and ex-interior designer. I’m good at two out of three of these things. I had the sense to quit the one I sucked at.
To deal with my mid-life crisis, I also write adventure novels featuring a middle-aged female protagonist. And I kickbox.
This seemed more productive than indulging in more typical mid-life crisis activities like getting a divorce, buying a Harley Crossbones, and cruising across the country picking up men in sleazy bars. Especially since it’s winter most of the months of the year here.
It’s much more comfortable to sit at my computer. And hell, Harleys are expensive. Come to think of it, so are beer and gasoline.
Oh, and I still love my husband. There’s that. So I’ll stick with the writing.
Diane Henders
Since You Asked…
People frequently ask if my protagonist, Aydan Kelly, is really me.
Yeah, you got me. These novels are an autobiography of my secret life as a government agent, working with highly-classified computer technology… Oh, wait, what’s that? You want the truth? Um, you do realize fiction writers get paid to lie, don’t you?
…well, shit, that’s not nearly as much fun. It’s also a long story.
I swore I’d never write fiction. “Too personal,” I said. “People read novels and automatically assume the author is talking about him/herself.”
Well, apparently I lied about the fiction-writing part. One day a story sprang into my head and wouldn’t leave. The only way to get it out was to write it down. So I did.
But when I wrote that first book, I never intended to show it to anyone, so I created a character that looked like me just to thumb my nose at the stereotype. I’ve always had a defective sense of humour, and this time it turned around and bit me in the ass.
Because after I’d written the third novel, I realized I actually wanted other people to read my books. And when I went back to change my main character to not look like me, my beta readers wouldn’t let me. They rose up against me and said, “No! Aydan is a tall woman with long red hair and brown eyes. End of discussion!”
Jeez, no wonder readers get the idea that authors write about themselves. So no, I’m not Aydan Kelly. I just look like her.
Bonus Stuff
Here’s the beginning of Book 4: Tell Me No Spies
I suppressed a curse and furtively shifted the concealed holster to a more comfortable spot at my waist, rearranging my sweatshirt over it. A tension headache pounded sullenly at the base of my skull.
The vibration of my phone made me start, and I snapped a glance over my shoulder before I snatched it up.
I could barely hear the whisper on the other end. “Aydan, can you stall him for a few more minutes?”
“How long?” I hissed. “What’s wrong?”
“We just need a few more minutes to get everybody into position.”
“I’ll try.” I punched the disconnect button with more force than absolutely necessary. Why the hell did I let myself get sucked into this?
I knotted my fists in my hair and tugged, but quickly desisted when the door latch released behind me. Trying to look relaxed, I leaned back in the chair and stretched my legs out. The security guard glanced my way and I gave him a quick smile, heart thumping.
At the sound of footsteps, I turned my smile toward my quarry as I stood. “All finished?”
“Yes.” He stretched, grima
cing. “Long day.” He made for the door.
“Hang on a second,” I blurted.
“What?” He shifted from foot to foot, obviously eager to leave.
“Um...”
Goddammit, what could I say to stall him? My mind was completely blank. The silence began to stretch. His forehead creased ever so slightly and his eyes darted toward the door.
Think, think, dammit!
Absolutely no inspiration came to mind.
Shit!
I did my best sheepish laugh and slapped my forehead. “Forgot what I was going to say. Sorry, you’re right, it’s been a long day.”
He let out a short laugh and turned away again. “See you.”
As he disappeared out the door, I whisked my phone out and hit the speed dial. Still attempting nonchalance, I wandered out of the building, raising a farewell hand to the security guard.
The phone rang interminably at the other end while I muttered, “Pick up, dammit, pick up!” When I finally heard the whisper on the other end, I snapped, “He’s on his way!”
“Crap! Can you get here before him?”
“I’ll try.”
When I was sure nobody was watching, I launched myself into a silent sprint toward my car.
I lunged into the driver’s seat and swore violently when the door slammed on my long hair and nearly dislocated my neck. I wasted precious seconds opening and closing the door to free myself. The tires chirped on the still-warm asphalt as I stomped on the gas.
Minutes later, my car skidded to a halt in the gravelled alley and I dashed through the twilight to let myself in the back gate. I spun at the last second to catch it before it banged behind me, then flew across the yard. As I reached the top step, the door to the darkened house opened. A disembodied hand yanked me inside.
My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dimness, and I allowed myself to be towed rapidly through the house. A jerk on my arm made me duck behind the sofa just as the scrape of the front door key sounded, loud in the listening silence.
***End of Tell Me No Spies, Chapter 1 excerpt***
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