Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels)

by J. A. Konrath

  But now it was live and in her face, and it scared her so badly she felt light-headed.

  Fleming sucked in a deep breath. She noticed that her hands were trembling, and when she clenched them together, Fleming realized how cold they were.

  “OK, I’m afraid,” she said to herself. “I don’t want to fall again.”

  Acknowledging the fear was the first step. The easy one.

  The second step was harder. Getting back on the horse that just bucked you off.

  “I don’t want to fall again,” Fleming repeated. “So I won’t.”

  She remained where she was.

  “Action, then motivation. Do it. You won’t fall.”

  Fleming clenched her jaw and began the climb.

  Her abused muscles already exhausted, her fear making her bladder seem like it was half her body weight, each rung gained on the climbing stick required an Olympic effort. Fleming tried to distract herself with her thoughts, her observations about dragonflies, the challenge she’d thrown at Lund, her feelings for Tequila, or at least her memories of the sex. It worked for several rungs, then romance and loneliness and conflict no longer pushed back the pain and fatigue and fear, but instead it all blended together until she couldn’t tell where physical pain left off and emotional longing began.

  “Almost there,” she said through clenched teeth. “Don’t look down. You got this.”

  Fleming reached for the next rung, only three from the top. Her sweaty fingers curled around the aluminum tubing—

  —and slipped.

  For a moment, Fleming hung there in open space, her entire being reduced to mindless, animal panic.

  And then her greatest fear was realized, and Fleming fell.

  Lund

  Lund tried to focus on outfitting Fleming’s chair, but struggle as he might to occupy his mind with motorcycle parts and weaponry, his thoughts kept worming their way back to Chandler.

  He couldn’t figure her out. How could he feel like he knew her one minute, and the next she was a stranger? How could everything feel so right between them last night, and today Chandler acted like she didn’t care?

  He and Val had gone through their difficulties, but no matter how many times she’d pushed him away, told him she might never be ready, at least she’d never pretended that the feelings between them didn’t exist. What kind of a person did that?

  And why was he hooked on her nevertheless?

  Lund really needed to have his head examined. Or at the very least, go for a long run until the frustration burned out of him and he was too tired to think about her anymore.

  The prospect of running in boots wasn’t pleasant, but he’d almost decided to try when his cell phone rang. He yanked it from his pocket and checked the readout.

  The name of the caller was blocked.

  He answered, disgusted with himself that more than anything, he wanted it to be Chandler. “Lund.”

  “Is this that fireman?” a scratchy male voice asked.

  “Who is this?”

  “Kasdorf.”

  Great. The guy had probably decided he wanted more money for the weapons he’d sold them. Lund prepared himself for dickering. “How did you get my number?”

  “Asked to talk to the fire inspector. Fire station gave it to me.”

  He’d have to talk to Nancy about her habit of giving out his cell number to anyone who asked. “What is it?”

  “This morning you were here talking about Badger Ammo. Thought you might want to know what I saw.”

  “What?” Lund was leaning forward now, like a kid trying to make his sled move faster. Unfortunately the technique didn’t work when it came to pulling information out of Kasdorf. “What did you see?”

  “Helicopters.”

  “Helicopters fly in and out. We talked about that. I’ve seen them, too.”

  “Not like the ones flying earlier today.”

  “Today?” A dose of adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream. Chandler hadn’t said anything about activity at the site. Did she know? When she, Tequila, and Fleming arrived, what would they find? CIA? Soldiers? “How many?”

  “Hell if I know. A bunch. And they were bringing in soldiers. And one of them, it wasn’t the usual black chopper without tags. It was an Apache, with a thirty-millimeter, front-mounted chain gun. Those things can cut through a brick wall.”

  Cold rushed through Lund, then a wave of heat. By the time he found his voice, Kasdorf had ended the call.

  He didn’t pick up when Lund called back.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Lund stared at his phone, every cell in his body vibrating. There was nothing he could do. Chandler hadn’t given him the number for her new phone, and had taken his truck. Val wasn’t accepting his calls, and there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to let him near the horses, not that he wanted to drag her or the horses in deeper than he already had.

  He was powerless to help, inadequate, useless. Chandler was walking into a compound filled with soldiers, and he was stuck at this godforsaken farm.

  Unless…

  Chandler

  “Take what you can get,” the Instructor said. “Then take even more.”

  It was like kissing a tree. Tequila didn’t so much as flinch. No lip action. No tongue fencing. No arm around my waist, snugging me close.

  I pulled back, confused. Never kissed a guy before who didn’t kiss back. “Everything OK?”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Coming on to you. That’s not obvious?”

  “Why?”

  The passion I’d felt a moment earlier was rapidly becoming annoyance. We’d been sparring, working up a healthy sweat, and we obviously had a connection. So what was his deal? “A girl can’t get horny? Only men are allowed?”

  Tequila stared at me, his face a stone mask. I pulled away to arm’s length.

  “What’s your problem, Tequila?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not the one with the problem.”

  “Who has the problem?” I asked. “Fleming? If it’s my sister, she said this was OK. She even encouraged it.”

  “I like your sister, Chandler. And I like you.”

  OK. So what was the problem? I cozied up again, running my palm down his washboard stomach, fiddling with the top button of his jeans.

  “I like you, too,” I said, giving him a naughty smile.

  “But I’m not an eraser.”

  My smile vanished, and I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “What Fleming and I did last night, that was healthy. We were celebrating life. Right now, you just want to use me to erase Lund from yours.”

  I wanted to say he was wrong, but of course, he wasn’t. I put my hands on my hips. “So what if I do? That’s a bad thing?”

  “You don’t want me, Chandler. You want him. But you won’t get him if you sleep with me. You don’t want to get laid. You want to punish Lund so he hates you. And I won’t help you screw your life up more than it already is.”

  Annoyance became anger. “Who the hell are you to tell me my life is screwed up?”

  Tequila put his hands on my shoulders and held me in a vise-like grip.

  “You’re a train wreck, Chandler. You kill complete strangers for the government. You’ve almost died half a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours and haven’t stopped once to think how fucked up that is. I’m not sure if you’re constantly putting yourself in danger to punish yourself, or if you truly have a death wish, but when you go down, everyone around you is going to go down as well. I don’t want to be one of those people.”

  I broke his grip and tried to slap him. He caught my wrist.

  “Grow up,” he said.

  Grow up? This munchkin was telling me to grow up? Furious now, I went to knee him in the crotch. He gave me a double-handed push, knocking me onto my ass.

  OK, you want to play? We’ll play.

  I kipped up to my feet, pivoted my hips, and went for a spin kick. He caug
ht my leg, leaned back, and tossed me aside, sending me twirling to the ground.

  “What are you trying to prove, Chandler? You want to kick my ass, because you think then I’ll sleep with you? Or do you think that will make you right? Give me a break.”

  I stood up again, fists clenched, and began to bob and weave. I threw a jab, Tequila blocked it, but I did the spinning backhand move and caught him on his chin, hard enough to make him stagger backward.

  Quick learner? Damn right I was a quick learner.

  I followed up with another kick, and he caught my foot between his knees before I had a chance to punt his balls out through his nose. Then he slapped my cheek, open-handed, released my leg, and hit me in the gut so hard I wound up on all fours, throwing up my cheese sandwich.

  “I don’t know your background, Chandler, but let me guess. Abusive parents. Flunked out of school. Got arrested young. Learned to use sex to get your way. Never had a stable relationship in your life. You know you’re good at your job, but being good at killing isn’t how you’re supposed to help yourself.”

  I spat, then screamed at him, “So how the hell am I supposed to help myself!?”

  My words echoed out over the compound, making me sound tinier than I already felt.

  “Quit,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to reply, but wasn’t sure what I was going to say.

  Quit?

  Could that be the secret to happiness?

  Could it really be that easy? Just leave all this behind me and start fresh?

  “I had a sister, once,” Tequila said. “She died. In this line of work, you can’t let people get close. But living without people in your life…that isn’t living.”

  “But you’re still in the game.”

  He shook his head. “I retired. After she died. Except for an odd job now and then, or a favor to an old friend.”

  I let the fantasy play out. If I wasn’t an assassin anymore, I could be anything. There were endless possibilities. I had enough money socked away to take my time in choosing a new career. One where I didn’t get shot at. One where I didn’t have to kill people.

  One where I could have an honest-to-goodness steady relationship.

  Being with Lund, while I was an operative, was impossible.

  But if I was no longer in this business…

  “Your sister? Is that what made you quit?”

  He surprised me by shaking his head.

  “So what did it?” I asked.

  “I realized something. Every time I hurt someone, or killed someone, the person I was really hurting and killing…was me.”

  I felt strange, as if his simple statement had drawn my anger out like poison from a snakebite, and something akin to melancholy had taken its place. What he was saying made sense. “Tequila, you’re…right.”

  Tequila’s look remained skeptical. “Seriously?”

  “I’m a quick learner, remember? Although you probably just saved me half a million dollars in psychotherapy.”

  “So you’re quitting?”

  Could it really be that easy? Maybe it could. I wouldn’t know unless I did it. “We need to see this mission through to the end.”

  He folded his arms.

  I couldn’t leave the Instructor at the mercy of Hammett. It wasn’t due to any nobility or even loyalty on my part, not to him. But it was important to Fleming, and I was not going to let her down. “But when it’s over, Tequila, I’m done.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not just saying this because you’re still trying to sleep with me?”

  I laughed. “Please. You’re cute, but that was so five minutes ago.”

  Tequila walked over, held out his hand, and helped me to my feet.

  “Thanks,” I said. “If you’ve got anything else you want to teach me, I’m a willing student.”

  “About 52 Blocks? Or life?”

  “Either.”

  He rubbed his chin, apparently thinking. “There’s a move called Spitting Razors, but it’s dangerous.”

  “What does it involve?”

  “Spitting razors.”

  “Show me.”

  He removed a pack of double-edged razor blades from his front pocket, and unwrapped one. Holding it between his thumb and index finger, be began to bob and weave, but also somehow juggled the razor blade at the same time, tossing it into the air, snatching it with the other hand, slashing, tossing, switching hands, going around the back with it, and then he threw the razor blade up by his face—

  —and sucked it into his mouth.

  Before I could say, “No fucking way,” he’d spit the blade out from his lips into his empty right hand and was holding it to my neck.

  “You keep the blade flat on your tongue, and then sort of spit and blow at the same time, shooting it to either hand.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “It’s the ultimate move of Jailhouse Rock. All the best fighters know it.”

  Tequila tossed the blade to his other hand, then tossed it back inside his mouth, catching it in his teeth and grinning. Plucking the razor out with two fingers and offering it to me, he asked, “Want to try?”

  I nodded. What was the worst that could happen?

  Fleming

  “Often the difference between survival and death,” said the Instructor, “is keeping a clear head when the shit hits the fan.”

  Fleming dangled by one hand for half a second before she fell.

  Then gravity took over, a sensation she remembered all too well. She flashed back to Milan, the raw fear as she plummeted, the pain when she hit, the physical and emotional agony of rehabilitation.

  Fleming cried out, weightless for a heartbeat, then her legs slammed the rungs below, braces clanging, pain jarring up her spine, panic threatening to push her into madness.

  Not this time. Not again.

  Not. Ever. Again.

  Fleming stifled the cry and stretched out her arms, seeking to snag them on a branch.

  Her shoulder gave a painful jolt, and she came to an abrupt, jaw-jarring stop, hanging around a thick tree limb by her armpit.

  Fleming looked around, blinking away the tears assaulting her eyes, struggling to get her bearings. She swayed against the trunk, her leg braces clacking against the aluminum climbing pole with each swing.

  “There. That wasn’t too scary.”

  Setting her jaw, mastering her fear, Fleming grasped the rungs, unhooked herself, and resumed climbing, hauling her useless and screaming legs behind her. She reached the spot and tried setting up the stand, but the braces were so awkward and clumsy, it was obvious within a minute that she needed to rethink this plan.

  She shrugged the tree stand off her shoulder and hooked it on the climbing stick’s top rung, then started unbuckling her right leg. Fleming followed with the left and dropped the braces down to the base of the tree, flashing them the finger as they clattered to the ground.

  Her legs still hurt like hell, but without the braces it was easier to move. She resumed setting up the stand, balancing it on a branch, positioning the contraption to one side and a little behind the trunk. When she’d finished her adjustments, she climbed into the seat and removed the laptop from its case.

  Waiting for it to boot up, Fleming rubbed her sore shoulder and positioned her weapon’s barrel on the brace. She could keep this posture for hours, if need be, or at least she had been able to back when she was in the field. It felt good. Familiar. But despite the rush another taste of the life brought her, she couldn’t help feeling something was missing, too. That whatever it was that used to sustain her just wasn’t quite enough anymore.

  She suspected Chandler felt the same way, when she allowed her feelings to squeak through. But what did that mean for either of them? She honestly couldn’t say. However, of the many memorable things the Instructor had said, one that stood out was, “If you’re thinking it might be time to quit, it’s time to quit.”

  Bringing herself back
to the moment, she peered through the scope and did a sweep of the compound. The air was warmer than yesterday and growing more humid, clouds starting to form in the sky. The building across from the cannon testing area was to the right; the water treatment plant, which housed the secret prison, loomed slightly to the left; and by the water reservoir, farther left, she spotted Chandler and Tequila in what looked like an intimate embrace. Fleming searched her feelings for jealousy, and didn’t find any. But something still didn’t sit right. It took her a moment, but Fleming realized what it was: she didn’t like Chandler hurting Lund.

  Tequila was fun.

  But Lund was something else. Something serious. And Chandler shouldn’t piss that away.

  Fleming thought about radioing them to interrupt their tête-à-tête, but then saw that they were sparring, not making out. Maybe her sister was wiser than Fleming gave her credit for.

  She took two more sweeps, spotted no activity, checked the laptop, and brought her walkie-talkie to her face.

  Chandler answered, sounding out of breath. “In position?”

  “Yes. And everything looks clear.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “The park has tighter security than the White House.” An exaggeration, of course, but still. “And I’m not as good at climbing trees as I used to be. You OK? You’re lisping a little.”

  “I cut my lip. Tequila just superglued it.”

  That must have been the embrace Fleming saw. “I have a bead on our psycho sister.”

  “Visual or via computer?”

  “Computer.” She studied the blip on the screen. “She left Badger and is heading north to the Dells. I hope she didn’t take the Instructor with her.”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  “Guess so. You ready to rock and roll?”

  She could almost feel Chandler’s smile. The line was one Fleming had used all the time when she was Chandler’s handler.

  “Ready, Sis. Let’s blow this thing and go home.”

  Fleming laughed. Home…it was sounding better and better. “Star Wars, huh, Chandler? You’re such a nerd.”