The Seduction of Lucy

by Kris Rafferty

  She opened her eyes and saw it was near pitch-black in the helicopter’s compartment. The pilot was flipping switches on his instrument panel, but other than that there was no activity. Then she saw the whites of her crew’s eyes, and they were watching her. She winced from embarrassment.

  Troy was watching her, too. Everyone seemed to be waiting to see how she’d explain this turn of events, herself included. It was impossible to roll back years of deriding Troy and then convince her crew they were an item. She had no idea what to say. Their embrace couldn’t be unseen. Any explanation would sound weak and make her look as if she were playing an angle.

  Maybe she was. Screwing Troy to get him out of her system had sounded like a great idea, but it had been a dismal self-delusion. They hadn’t screwed, they’d made love. She’d been a fool to think a night between the sheets wouldn’t make life more complicated.

  She pushed off Troy’s chest and stood, stepping into her heels. A quick glance at her watch had her heart racing. “Go time,” she said, turning on a red lamp overhead.

  She buckled in for landing, acutely aware that Troy sat opposite her. Though she kept her eyes averted, she couldn’t help but be distracted. He was impossible to ignore. She’d warned him and Barrett about this. When she’d assigned Troy to watch her back, she’d been as serious as a heart attack. His presence had her off her game. It was his fault, so it was only fair he make it his problem.

  The helicopter set down with a thump and they hustled to the transport truck. The facility was twenty minutes ahead at high speed, and then they’d have to hoof it the last half mile. Lucy switched her heels for boots and stuffed them into her gear bag for later.

  She held out her hand to Troy and wiggled her fingers. “Give me your phone.” He looked amused and unwilling. “Your phone, or I cancel this op now.” She was not shitting him. “I control everything about this op or nothing. You’re along for the ride. When the helicopter took off, I owned you. Now give me your phone.” He pulled it from his pocket and placed it in her hand, saying nothing while his expression roared volumes.

  “Phil.” She handed Troy’s phone to her security guru. “See if he’s being tracked.”

  Phil opened the phone and pulled a loupe from her pocket, affixing it to her right eye. Studying the inner workings of the phone, she poked around a bit, slipped a pair of tweezers from her pocket and plucked a miniscule microchip from inside the phone. She held it up for Lucy’s examination while she studied it through her loupe. Lucy pinched it between her fingers and tossed it out the truck’s window.

  Troy did not look happy. “You should have saved it for analysis.”

  She exchanged knowing looks with her crew. “That was Agency generated. They put bugs in all the agents’ phones. If there’s a mole, once we’re off the truck, we have a chance to hide our exact location. They’re tracking our ops somehow, but we don’t need to make it easy for them.”

  “Good point,” he said.

  Lucy smirked. “I’m beginning to think Barrett hired you because you’re so pretty.”

  Troy gave her a put-upon look. “Thank you.”

  Lucy fought a smile. “The bugs have gotten smaller and sneakier, and sometimes we can’t find them, so we decided not to bring phones on this op.” She watched Phil store her delicate tools. “Who has he called in the last six hours?” Phil hooked the phone to a device the size of a deck of cards with an LED screen. Lucy could see Troy was curious as to her chosen time frame, but was unwilling to ask, so she put him out of his misery. “Two hours prior to our departure. I figure if you’re colluding with someone to have us canceled while off-site, you’re the type to confirm arrangements. Phil?”

  Phil’s blue eyes widened. “No calls.”

  Lucy hated that she was surprised. She’d been positive he’d have a call in to Barrett, at least. The woman had it in for her, and Troy was her attack dog. When he’d pulled her from her seat on the helicopter, she hadn’t known what he was about, so it had scared her, but then he’d gotten all tender and caring. She couldn’t figure out his angle. “Check the last twelve hours.”

  “Nothing.” Phil disconnected the phone from her hardware. “It’s a new phone, Lucy. Clean.”

  “It is,” Troy said. “It came in my gear bag.”

  Lucy didn’t like that. She grabbed the phone from Phil and threw it from the car. “Better safe than sorry.”

  Troy shook his head. “You’re being paranoid.”

  “Six agents have been executed in the last week. What I’m feeling isn’t paranoia.” Lucy wondered what piece of information was rattling around in his skull that could save their lives. She was tired of being scared, terrified of losing another crew member. She had to be ready. Their lives depended on it. Until her head hit the pillow, she’d be waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it would be nice if she could see where it was coming from.

  The transport truck drove them down a dirt road that ended abruptly. Everyone filed out and strapped their gear bags on their backs. With a quick nod to the driver, she indicated he should head out and wait at the assigned meet. As they hustled into the woods, following Patrice and her GPS coordinates, Lucy prayed they didn’t have to exit hot. Two detected ops in a row was a failure she couldn’t explain away. She didn’t want to make it any easier for Barrett to cancel her.

  Patrice took point, Cat, then Phil and finally Lucy and Troy took the rear, running as quietly as they could through the brush and undergrowth. The facility was a half mile out. With Patrice’s help, they avoided the reconned security cameras, trip wires and sentries along the way. When they had a visual on the building, everyone quietly tested their comms for the last time.

  * * *

  Troy watched as Lucy dropped her gear bag, shucked her boots and donned her heels while he assembled his rifle with thermal scope and silencer. When she slipped on a pair of tortoiseshell glasses and then applied dark red lipstick, he found himself feeling things totally inappropriate on an op. Because he was staring, he noticed an almost imperceptible signal between Lucy and Patrice. It put him on alert. Before he could question it, everyone split up. Phil sprinted ahead.

  Nothing was going to happen until Phil deactivated the exterior alarms, but his mind wouldn’t let him stop worrying about Lucy and Patrice’s silent communication. His guesses had him nervous. Watching Lucy through his scope, he covered her as she approached the building. Phil was decoding the lock. Lucy’s heels made traveling the distance from woods to building trickier. She arrived at the side entrance later, just as Phil cracked the code. He watched her slip into the office building undetected.

  “I’m in,” she said over the comm.

  Using his scope, he scanned the parking lot, the roof of the building, the sentry posts. Patrice was using satellite heat sensor technology, and he knew the Agency was seeing a similar feed on their end. There would be no surprises on this op, nothing to support Barrett’s belief that Lucy was behind the deaths. He’d make sure of it.

  The sentries in view stayed at their posts. The guards that secured the building’s perimeter were where Lucy had timed they’d be. Unless guards were as thick as bees on a comb, there were ways to sneak past them, as Lucy, Cat and Phil had just proved. Three agents, undetected, were in house and bitch-slapping their security protocols. He glanced at his watch. They’d been inside for three minutes total. He visualized Lucy, disguised as an office worker, hiding in plain sight as she downloaded the information she’d been tasked to steal. She should be waiting for the download now.

  Looking through the crosshairs of his scope, Troy waited, sweat dripping down his forehead into his eyes. He wished it were him in the building. He wished he could think of Lucy as just another agent. He wished he could trust her. Most of all, he wished keeping Lucy alive wasn’t such a juggling act.

  Damn, he thought, blinking sweat out of his eyes. He was getting too old for this shit.

  Chapter Seven

  One minute more turned into thirty seconds left
. Time crept as Troy scanned the area, looking for inconsistencies in the guards’ movements. All seemed to be as expected, yet he still had to stop himself from ordering Lucy to hurry the hell up.

  “Download complete.” Her voice was barely loud enough to be detected by the comm. “Cat. You’re up.”

  The building and parking lot went dark. What seemed like an eternity later, he saw Lucy exit the building, kick her shoes off, retrieve them and run toward him. He saw activity at the sentry posts. Tactical lights flashed on, their beams crisscrossing the parking lot. Expected activity.

  He wouldn’t panic.

  Troy lost sight of Lucy as the guards’ lights played havoc with his scope. He wiped the sweat off his brow and tried again. When he found her through his scope, she was at the wood’s edge and two guards were shouting at her. Damn. She’d been detected.

  There was no hiding this. He knew the Agency’s technicians were watching in real time and even now were making the call to Barrett’s office. His finger itched to shoot the guard that stepped within Lucy’s critical distance, thinking, In for a penny, in for a pound, but she beat him to the punch. When the guard stepped close enough for her to drop him, she swung at his head, embedding the heel of her pump in his temple. A back kick slowed the second guard, but he came back at her, aiming his gun. Troy took the shot. The guard fell with a bullet between his eyes and Lucy’s knife protruding from his throat.

  She turned in his direction and thrust out her middle finger. He sighed.

  Lucy retrieved her knife and cleaned it on the guard’s uniform, waiting, crouched, looking at the building. He knew she was wondering where Cat and Phil were. On schedule, they ran at top speed toward her, settling in a crouch next to her and the bodies.

  “You two grab the one holding my shoe,” she said. “Troy, get your ass down here. We need to cover this mess up.”

  Troy was here in a supervisory role, so he said nothing and dismantled his rifle. He stuffed it into his gear bag, strapped it on his back and was at her side in under a minute.

  “Patrice. How’re we doing?” Lucy scanned the woods. Patrice was somewhere out there, keeping tabs on every player on radar.

  “Good to go,” Patrice said through the comm. “But hurry up, will you?”

  Troy shook his head. They were not good to go. The Agency would have their collective hides for these kills. Lucy’s, in particular. He hauled the dead guard over his shoulder and led the way as Cat and Phil carried the other one. Lucy followed, hiding their trail. She retrieved her gear bag and hopped around, putting her boots back on.

  “Patrice,” Lucy said, “satellite feeds between us and the Agency still down?”

  “Affirmative,” Patrice said. “Since go time at the office building.”

  Troy stopped abruptly. Excuse me?

  The tree to his left exploded, showering him with bark and splinters. His hesitation saved his life. Without missing a beat, Lucy tackled Troy to the ground, the dead guard a shield between him and the shooter. Her body draped over his, all five feet seven inches of her. She grabbed his cheeks, looking panicked. “Are you hit?” She ran her hands roughly down his torso and arms.

  Troy tugged her head to his chest. “Will you stay down? The shooter is still out there.”

  “Patrice,” Lucy said, still pressed to Troy’s chest.

  “I see him.”

  Troy’s heart raced and his mind calculated all sorts of nasty scenarios. He’d find that shooter and rip him limb from limb.

  “Capture, not kill, no exceptions,” Lucy said. “Troy, you have to let go of me.” He hadn’t realized he’d had such a vise grip on her.

  “Roger that.” He rolled her to the side so he was between her and the shooter. He saw the crew scurrying, rushing for alternative cover.

  “Where the hell is he?” Lucy hissed.

  Troy shrugged off his gear bag and rummaged inside until he found his scope. Peering through it, he calculated the trajectory of the bullet and aimed the scope in that direction. He saw the heat signature of a large male, carrying a rifle, running away from them.

  “I’m sorry, Lucy,” Patrice said.

  Troy grimaced. “It was my ass that almost got smoked because you didn’t do your job. Apologize to me.”

  “I didn’t see him,” she said. “I’m sorry. Somehow he’d cloaked his heat signature.” Cloaking only worked if the shooter didn’t move. The shooter had to have known exactly where they’d be, and he’d lain in wait. Patrice was flat on her back on the dirt and brush, her hands shaking as she studied the device inches from her face, keeping track of the shooter’s movements.

  “What’s his heading?” Lucy said.

  “Northwest,” Patrice said.

  Troy watched Lucy split the side of her skirt to reveal a knife and sheath strapped there, then she snapped a silencer on her gun’s muzzle.

  “Lucy.” He low crawled toward her, not liking how this was playing out. “Let me—”

  “He’s on the move,” Patrice said.

  Lucy took off after the shooter at a sprint, dictating orders through her comm. “Troy, Cat, Phil, get those bodies on the transport. Give me ten minutes. If I’m not back, return without me. I’ll find my way back alone.”

  “Bullshit,” Troy said, pushing off the ground to catch up with her, but someone grabbed his shoulder and toppled him to the ground.

  Cat was kneeling on his chest. “Her op. Her orders.”

  “Radio silence,” Lucy said. “And that’s an order, too. No one speaks but Patrice giving me coordinates.”

  He saw Patrice struggle to hoist the guard over her shoulder while still tracking Lucy on radar. Disgusted, yet unable to vent, he took the body from Patrice and ran toward the pickup coordinates, listening, promising himself if they survived, he and Lucy were going to have a conversation about risk management. He looked in the direction she’d run, never slowing his pace. She was out of visual, most likely close to the shooter. Cat and Phil followed him, having no trouble keeping his pace despite the weight of the second dead guard carried between them.

  “Veer to ten o’clock,” Patrice said. “Just ahead.”

  “I have visual.”

  * * *

  Lucy knew the moment the shooter was aware of her. He turned and aimed his rifle. That was his first mistake. It was time he didn’t have. Fear honed Lucy’s speed and accuracy, allowing her to shoot the arm holding the rifle. He dropped it unfired as she caught up with him, kicking his knee out. She tried to jump back, out of reach, but wasn’t quick enough. His body twisted and he lashed out, knocking the gun from her hand.

  The moon illuminated his face, and she saw his fear, a mirror of her own.

  Yet he was a hulking mass, and she looked ninety pounds soaking wet. His fear didn’t make sense. She didn’t know him, but she saw he recognized her and her reputation had preceded her. She lunged, punching his throat. The guy shrugged it off, surprising her, giving him the opening to kick her in the stomach and send her into the air, hitting a tree.

  The concussion blinded her, and when she dropped to the ground, the impact forced her breath from her lungs. She saw him advance on her through blurry eyes and flinched as he wound up for his punch, ducking in time to avoid it. His fist connected with the tree by her ear. He swore loudly enough to piss off a nesting bird above and then recovered too quickly for Lucy’s peace of mind. She scrambled to her feet in time to avoid a kick to the face. The man was fast, strong enough to kill her with a punch, and he was showing no pity. He reminded her of herself.

  He stood, his left arm hanging useless and bleeding at his side. He unsheathed his knife with his right hand, committing his second mistake. She needed him alive, and against a knife that was near impossible. Her first priority now had to be staying alive.

  He sliced at her. Lucy blocked, seized his hand and elbowed his face, and then wristlocked him until he dropped the knife, kicking his groin to facilitate a quicker result. She forced his face into the dirt and a heartbeat lat
er, had her knife buried to the hilt in his right shoulder. He tried to roll away, so she twisted the knife and pulled it out, prompting a scream she muffled by grinding his face into the dirt. She dropped her knee on his lower back, holding her knife to his throat.

  “Shut up or I’ll shut you up.” He went silent. Lucy pulled his hair so he had to crane his neck back. She still didn’t recognize him, but she recognized those dilated pupils. She saw them in the mirror every morning. “Who are you?” She owned him and he knew it—neither arm worked with the tendons cut, and her knee on his lower back pinned him in place. If he had any hope to survive, he’d negotiate.

  He tried to spit in her face but missed.

  She moved the knife so quickly he startled as she sliced his brow. Blood blinded him, making him sputter as it entered his mouth.

  “Let’s try this again,” she said. She pressed the knife to his throat until she drew blood. “Who are you? Who hired you?”

  “Lucy,” Patrice said over the comm. “The woods are crawling with guards. I calculate three minutes before detection.”

  “Give me a name.”

  “Just kill me.” He sounded resigned, as if it would be a mercy to die.

  She needed this guy alive and needed more time. “Tell me who you work for and I’ll let you go. You’re not getting a better deal than that.”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “I’m dead either way.”

  “Choose how you die then, kicking and screaming or quick and painless. Who do you work for?” Then she saw his comm unit and feared he could still be communicating with his people. She ripped it off his neck and threw it behind her. Then she grabbed his earpiece, replacing hers with it. Excitement rushed through her as she realized this might be her chance to finally know who was behind these deaths. Know, not suspect, and the least that would happen would be she’d have proof it wasn’t her.