“No.” She studied his expression, wondering if he knew something he wasn’t telling. She stepped closer, close enough so Frank could wonder what it would feel like to touch her. His eyes widened. “Try to remember, Frank,” she said. “When the shit hit the fan and everyone was yelling at one another in the transport truck, what was said?”
Frank licked his lips and leaned toward her. “Are you interrogating me, Lucy? Because I kind of like this.”
Lucy smiled, helpless against his charm. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
His eyes revealed how much he wanted to impress her. “For you, I’ll put myself out on the limb.” Lucy stilled, scenting a lead. “Troll got a good look at the guy. Said he was from the Agency.”
“That’s impossible.” Lucy studied his expression, looking for signs that he was bullshitting. “It wouldn’t be the first time Troll blew smoke up your ass.”
Frank didn’t look happy about sharing this prime piece of information—in fact, he looked decidedly unnerved. “Barrett will straighten him out in debrief,” he said, looking as if he was hoping she’d agree with him. Frank trusted her. He wouldn’t have revealed so much otherwise. Trust like that got you killed.
He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers. “Sure you don’t want that drink?”
Lucy forced herself to consider it, but realized she’d be wasting their time. She was still swollen from sex with Troy, and the thought of another man’s hands on her made her skin crawl. It was a pity. Frank seemed like such a nice guy.
Why couldn’t she go for someone like him? Naïve, trusting, probably good in bed. After all the shit she’d gone through over the years, she deserved a lapdog like him, someone to cuddle up to in her quarters at night after a long day in the field. Relationships between agents weren’t prohibited—in fact, the Agency encouraged it. Opiate of the masses. But no, Frank hadn’t destroyed her world and therefore wasn’t capable of rocking it.
“I have to sleep,” she said. “If I can.”
Frank was kind enough to look devastated that she was, once again, taking a pass. When he saw his supervisor wave him over, he sobered. “Got to go, sweetheart. Remember, you promised me a rain check.” He winked as he hustled away.
Lucy walked to the elevators, taking her time, not wanting to go back to her quarters. Her heels echoed in the cavernous garage. Though this facility worked 24-7, it was near silent. A far cry from the chaos just minutes ago when they’d had back-to-back fatalities. With no destination in mind, she stepped into the elevator, walked to the back and ignored the group of agents holding a hushed conversation. She didn’t push a floor button. There was no place to hide from her thoughts. As the last of the agents left the elevator, the door remained open onto the training floor.
Lucy stepped off the elevator, squeezing through the closing doors, and looked around. The scent of coffee and fresh pastries wafted toward her, and her stomach noisily reminded her she hadn’t eaten since before the mission. She made a beeline toward the tables, only half-conscious of the brutal sparring matches mere feet away. Pastries and muffins lured her forward, littering the training room’s tables. She filled a plate and got a mug of coffee, wandering to a plush chair to view the recruits. She took a grateful bite of chocolate-dipped biscotti and washed it down with her decaf.
Two recruits, one man and one woman, squared off on the center mat. Neither paid her any mind, which was a good sign. They understood their lives were on the line and they needed to perform. Agents weren’t recruited by accident, Lucy’s case being the exception. Each had done something to earn their rank in this particular level of hell, and the Agency had scooped them up and given them one last chance to survive. But it was only that. A chance. If they couldn’t prove their worth, it was nothing for the Agency to discard them. Recruits were made to understand this immediately, even before they were issued uniforms or given a bath. They were worth nothing unless they proved otherwise. So these recruits knew if the opposing recruit didn’t kill or maim them, they still had to worry about impressing the onlooking agents. If they failed, they’d disappear. There would be no mercy. Lucy was looking to be impressed.
The blond guy looked scared. Of what, Lucy wasn’t sure. That’d he’d kill his opponent? Maybe. The woman was slight of frame and had the look of a person at peace with death. This must be Blondie’s first fight, she thought, and looked away. Their tableau triggered intrusive thoughts of her first fight. She’d been beaten unconscious. Later someone had told her Troy had intervened, which was unheard of. It had saved her life, but the damage she’d sustained took a week to bounce back from. Luckily, she’d eventually regained sight in her right eye, and though the concussion gave her chronic migraines, she’d survived, probably in good part because of the drug therapy.
Lucy sipped her coffee, knowing it was laced with the stuff. It kept her fit, healthy and feeling more alive than she ever had prior to consuming it. She shook her head, trying to dispel thoughts about the drugs. She’d dodged a bullet tonight. The last thing she wanted to think about now was her mortality.
Blondie stepped forward, egged on by the impatient agents on the sidelines. He wound up a punch, looking conflicted, and before the blow landed, the at-peace-with-death girl kicked him in the balls and punched him in the throat. Blondie went down hard and the girl walked off the mat and took her place at the end of the line, patiently waiting for her next fight. Medics dragged Blondie off and the next set of recruits stepped up.
Lucy nibbled on her biscotti, savoring the flavor. She was one crew member down. She felt grief and loss press down on her chest. She’d allowed herself to care about Raven and now she was miserable.
Stupid move, Lucy. Should have known better.
Agents died. That’s what they did. So why all the fuss? She’d pick another recruit, train them to survive, and life would go on—until it didn’t. She had to save guilt and self-examination for later. Raven was dead and Lucy was breathing. Survivor’s guilt was a bitch, but there were worse things to suffer from.
Troy.
She’d have to tell him what Frank had said, that Troll thought the shooter was Agency. That wouldn’t go over well. Maybe she could avoid it altogether and wait until Troll was debriefed. Let him tell Troy and Barrett the bad news. Lucy wanted nothing to do with any of this, but that never mattered. Troy’s insistence that she bug Barrett’s office had her up to her neck in it.
When Troy sat at her table an hour later, she’d already watched Death Girl fight two more times, and she was up at bat again. He studied the recruits on the mat, irritating her just by being there.
“If a punch lands,” he said, “it’ll kill her.” He leaned back in his chair, studying the girl.
“She’s fast.”
“Against this bunch. These recruits aren’t trained.”
“Neither is she.” Lucy sipped from her second cup of coffee. She was tired, irritated and thinking about changing to caffeinated. She’d spent the last forty minutes trying not think about him and now he was here.
“You’re brooding, Lucy. Stop it.” He took his time studying her. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
She scowled. “So now you’re my mum?” Just referring to her mum tested Lucy’s composure. Her chin quivered, but she held back the tears. The last time she’d seen her mum, she was dressed to the nines, going out with one of her boyfriends. That latest one was very generous. He’d been paying for Lucy’s college. It was hard to believe, but five years ago, Lucy’s life had been dancing, dating, studying English with the express purpose of finding a husband. She’d had friends. She’d had fun. But even if she could go back, she wouldn’t fit in there now. She might as well be walking the earth with the mark of Cain on her forehead. She was a killer.
* * *
Lucy was avoiding his gaze, keeping her line of sight on the recruits. She didn’t flinch, never showed emotion no matter the brutality on the mat. Troy suspected she was punishing herself because of their moment on the elevator. Not
the classiest move he’d ever made, but damn, it had been hot. It made him second-guess his decision all those years ago to distance himself from Lucy. Sure, she got under his skin, but the level of sexual compatibility they enjoyed was like lightning. It never struck twice.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.” She didn’t move; instead, she nodded toward the mat.
“They suck. More than usual.”
He leaned back in the chair and gave the recruits a cursory appraisal. “They’re new. Most people spend their lives vulnerable, relying on the rest of the world to not take advantage of it. New recruits reflect that.”
“You’re fucking Confucius now?” She glared at him. “I’m telling you, they suck.”
He reined in his impatience. “Do I need to remind you of your inadequacies as a recruit?” Lucy never allowed emotion to color her interactions with him. She had to be overstimulated, probably overwhelmed. He should make her sleep, he thought. Sleep always centered him.
“I remember a lot about that time, but never that you thought I was inadequate.”
He knew she was referring to their three-month affair when she’d first been recruited. It wasn’t unusual for a trainer to take a recruit to bed. It helped smooth out the hard edges, kept the recruit motivated. It was unusual for the sex to turn into something dark and obsessive. Troy had come to crave her. He’d worried about her incessantly, thought about her to the exclusion of all else. It had affected his performance, risked his objectivity. It was intolerable. Feelings between recruit and handler had no place in the Agency. He would have broken up with Lucy if she hadn’t beaten him to the punch. He was almost positive of that. Almost.
“You were no better than any of them,” he said. “Worse, maybe.” Until he’d trained her. He’d originally needed her to survive for the Agency’s sake—still did—but at some point it had become about her. The threat of Lucy dying had cost him many a night’s sleep. Once in a while he still woke in a cold sweat when she was out on a mission. “If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d be dead.”
“You’re why I was on the mat. Chicken and the egg, Troy. You’ll get no gratitude from me.”
He’d finally confirmed her suspicions today, and she’d make him pay for it. He’d known that would probably happen when he told her that he was responsible for her recruitment, but he’d needed to defang that particular piece of intel for a while now. “Your shooter’s DNA came back from forensics.”
Lucy finally looked at him.
“Inconclusive. No match in the database. A ghost.”
“He was corporeal enough to put up a fight,” she said.
Just thinking of how fierce that fight must have been was enough to chill him to the bones. The shooter’s blood had been all over her gear. “Your description doesn’t give us much to go on.”
She smirked. “You all look alike to me.”
“Excuse me?” He lifted a brow.
“All you tall, dark and handsome types.”
“He was handsome.” Troy logged his reaction in the curious column, refusing to believe the tightness in his gut was because he was jealous of a foe Lucy killed.
“Oh, yes,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Sexy, too.”
Now he knew she was shining him on.
Someone put a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked up and saw a galley crew member walking back to the buffet, replenishing supplies. He sipped the hot brew and noticed it was prepared as he liked it, hot and black.
“Handsome and sexy,” Troy said. “What does that look like?” He could see she was smiling behind her coffee cup. It almost made him smile.
“Black, short hair,” she said, “hundred and ninety pounds of muscle, wore an abbreviated version of our gear, no identification on him, no noticeable tattoos or scars, beautiful blue eyes with thick eyelashes. Sound familiar?”
She’d just described him. All Troy’s scars were hidden.
“Size thirteen, maybe fourteen, shoe and, oh, he had a particular fondness for calling me a bitch.” She put her coffee cup down and turned her attention back to the fighting recruits.
Troy saw her focus and impatience with the recruits’ inadequacies. The same impatience she had for her own. She was so damn beautiful.
He wished she wasn’t.
“Frank says Mountford’s shooter was Agency.” She licked her lips and then wiped them with a napkin. “I’m sure it will come out in the debrief, but I heard it on the floor, so I figured you should know.”
“The driver? How would he know? He wasn’t there.”
“Said he overheard Troll and the crew.”
“So this is unreliable information.”
“All information is unreliable until it isn’t.” She was watching him as if she could read his mind. Troy wouldn’t put it past her.
“We’re dead in the water until we capture and interrogate one of these shooters. I have my people scouring the back channels to see if there are whispers of who’s responsible. So far, nothing. Whoever it is isn’t crowing about their successes.”
“Whoever it is has a mole inside. They know where to find us.”
“It could be we’ve just had shit luck. It’s not like we don’t have plenty of that around here to spare.”
“You don’t believe that,” she said.
“No. I guess not.” He saw the dark circles under her eyes and wanted to scold her. She needed sleep if she were to be any use to him. A glance at his watch showed they had five hours before the meeting with Barrett. He stood. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Her chair scraped against the concrete floor and she didn’t even try to hide her suspicion. It dripped from her and was enough to make him feel impatient. He led her back to her quarters. Once inside, he saw her shoulders drop. Whatever false energy the food had provided, her metabolism had eaten it and left her with nothing. He hated that he cared and clamped down on those useless emotions.
“Sleep,” he bit out. He knew he sounded angry, but couldn’t help it. She drove him crazy.
She stripped to her underwear and got under the covers. “I hate you.”
“I know.” It was true. He knew she hated him. He’d accepted it years ago. Sometimes he hated her back.
But not today.
Today he had to keep her alive. And tomorrow.
When they were safe, he promised himself he’d hate her again. He turned off the overhead light and sat in the upholstered chair next to the bed, a faint glow from the bathroom’s night-light the only illumination in the room. He rested his head back against the wall and concentrated on listening to her breathing. She was still awake.
“What the hell are you doing?” She sounded irritated, so normal.
“I could crawl under the blankets with you, but I don’t think we’d sleep, and you need sleep more than sex.” Visualizing that scenario had him hard as a rock.
“Go away.”
She was cranky, he thought, and not at all receptive. He knew it was for the best. What he wanted from Lucy couldn’t be appeased quickly. He’d have her up all night. Now that he’d had a taste of her, he wanted more, but he had to be practical. “You need sleep. I’m here to make sure you get it.”
“I can’t with you in the room.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust you. How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?”
It never failed to surprise him how little Lucy understood him. He wished he could say it was part of her charm. “That’s not my style. I’d do it with kindness.”
She was silent for a moment and then said, “You’re such an asshole. If you could, you’d control my breathing.”
He smiled in the darkness, but only because he knew she couldn’t see. Moments later, he heard her breathing regulate and knew she was asleep. He forced himself to relax and turn off his mind. He needed sleep, too. It would categorize and collate the information he’d gathered, and parse out the extraneous information and emotion Lucy inevitably dragged into his world.
Hopefully, he’d have a few answers in the morning—maybe even a plan.
* * *
At 0550 Lucy woke.
“The agent deaths aren’t random,” Troy said.
Lucy yanked her six-inch knife from beneath her pillow and bolted out of bed. Then she saw him and the scrambler device on her side table. He didn’t want to be overheard. “Shit.” As quickly as she went on alert, she deflated to irritable precoffee sluggishness. “You’re a machine. You sat there on standby until I woke. I know it.”
“I slept. I woke up. Did you hear what I said?”
Lucy thought he looked mighty refreshed considering he’d slept in a chair for five hours. “Yes, I heard you, and I never thought the deaths were random.”
“You rely on your gut. I had to know for sure.”
“Robots don’t have guts, huh?” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“The shooters could have wiped out all of the crew members, but they didn’t. Only one per crew. That isn’t happenstance. It’s a pattern.”
“Why tell me your great epiphany? Go report to Barrett.” When Troy remained silent, she looked at him. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “The bug.” Troy clearly wanted to know what Barrett knew before he confronted her with any suppositions. Two peas in a pod, she thought, schemers. It made her job as an operative seem wholesome by comparison.
“We have to go,” he said. “Barrett’s waiting. As soon as she hears Troll pointed a finger at the Agency, she’ll start pointing fingers where it suits her. She already has her eye on you and the other crew leaders.”
She put her knife back under her pillow. “Troll is a crew leader. Why would he say something to implicate himself?”
“He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
“Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe the shooters are Agency. Did you factor that into your analysis?”
Troy shook his head. “Troll will say what he thinks will get him off the hook. Get dressed. We need to get past all this finger-pointing and create a trap, bait a shooter and get some workable intel. Barrett is putting pressure on me to rescind the stay of execution on the crew leaders.”
The Seduction of Lucy Page 4