The Seduction of Lucy

by Kris Rafferty

  “You sell yourself short. I have a counter explanation for all of that, but let’s not waste time arguing.”

  Counter explanations. “You’re setting me up.”

  “I’m doing my best to save your ass.” He looked convincing, but then again, she wanted to be convinced.

  “Why should I believe you?” The question was more for her benefit than his, a reminder that loving him compromised her reasoning, crippled her survival instincts. She shouldn’t believe him, but for some reason, she couldn’t break the habit.

  He looked at the ceiling again, frowning. “It’s true. I’m in the dark here as much as you are.”

  Lucy stepped to the edge of the bed and looked down at him. He was studiously ignoring her, not to be obnoxious, but because he was trying to figure things out. She believed the confusion she saw on his face, and it scared her. She relied on Troy being in control. She had her issues with him, but she could always count on him having his shit together. Knowing that was no longer the case shook her up.

  “How can you be so calm?” she said. “Don’t you care that we just lost two agents? That Phil’s dead? I’m not suggesting you weep, but damn, how can you act as if you’re playing chess and all you have to do is find the right strategy to make everything better?”

  “Because life is chess, and the right strategy will make everything better.” He wasn’t smiling, but she saw amusement in his gaze. She wanted to slap him.

  “They’re dead. That has to bother you.”

  “Knowing who they were before they were recruited helps. I have that advantage over you.”

  Lucy sputtered. “So when I die, my past will justify my death?”

  Troy shook his head and then returned to frowning at the ceiling. “You’re an exception.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I bet you say that to all the agents.”

  “It’s true, to my knowledge, anyway. Are you going to let me think or what?” His frown turned into a scowl.

  “What you need can’t be found on that ceiling,” she said.

  “Really?” He looked exasperated. “And what do I need?”

  “A soul.”

  “Funny.”

  “I’m running.”

  “No.” He sat up with a stubborn slant to his pursed lips. “No. That’s not how this will play out.” He shook his head. “We need to clean up and get out of here.”

  “You clean up.” She wanted to find her mum and make sure she was all right. She didn’t stop to grab her gear bag but walked to the door.

  Troy put his hand on her shoulder, intent on stopping her, but instead triggered her training. She squeezed his knuckles and flipped his hand over, locking his wrist. Troy countered, bent his elbow to save himself, tried to slap her off, but Lucy was already elbowing the back of his hand. He gasped in pain, slammed his palm on her chest, pushing her back, freeing himself before she could break his wrist.

  “Stop,” he shouted, hip checking her against the door. He shook his hand out, glaring. “If we’re going to survive, we have to work together.”

  “We need to run.” Before she was dead like Phil. Like Raven. Like her mum’s fiancé.

  “I can run,” Troy said. His words stopped her cold, reminding her who she was, who had stolen her life. In a month, without the drugs, she’d be dead.

  “Well, shit,” she said.

  “Yeah. Shit. Now sit your ass down and let’s figure this out.”

  But she couldn’t sit. She was too antsy. She stripped, stepping out of her boots and clothes, and walked into the dingy, tiny bathroom. For one moment, one tiny moment, she missed her bathroom back at the Agency. She turned on the shower and stepped into the freezing spray. Slowly, it turned warm, and then hot, burning her skin.

  Troy sat on the toilet watching her. “Want company?”

  “I’m covered in the smoke of dead bodies. Phil’s. The driver’s, whatever his name was.”

  “Gary.”

  Gary. Something about not even knowing the driver’s name triggered a pain in her stomach. She felt the tears coming and her chest ached from suppressed sobs. Then she couldn’t hold anything back. Crying, soaping up, desperate to be clean again, Lucy scrubbed herself raw, covering her face, neck, arms and chest, anywhere the oily smoke clung to her.

  “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

  He wasn’t looking at her, so she had no idea which horror he was apologizing for. She had so many to choose from. She stood under the spray, waiting for something else from him. A plan, maybe? She didn’t know. She was out of her league. “What do we do now?”

  “We go back,” he said. “Hurry up. I need to clean up, too.”

  She rinsed, stepped out of the shower, and took the lone towel off a wall rack. “White coats. That’s what we’ll find if we go back, and blue juice. Not Pentothal this time. It’ll be blue juice. Canceled.”

  Troy stripped, stepping out of his boots and into the shower’s spray. He dumped shampoo directly on his close-cropped hair and soaped himself while Lucy dried off and reluctantly admired him. Men like Troy had no business being this handsome. It was unfair.

  “That won’t happen,” he said.

  “Like you have a say.” She was unimpressed. Troy turned toward her as he rinsed, and the look he gave her told Lucy he was confident. Well, Lucy didn’t share his confidence and wondered what she was missing. The thought came to her in a flash. Was Troy behind the deaths at the Agency? If anyone could do it, he could.

  “It’s you.” She tucked the towel between her breasts to keep it in place and stepped back, pointing at him as if there were doubt about whom she meant.

  “What?” He turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, dripping wet. When she stepped back again, he followed her and tugged the towel off her body, ignoring her slapping hands.

  “You’re engineering a coup. You want to be at the administrator of the Agency, destabilizing it so the Powers That Be fire Barrett and put your ass in her chair.”

  “No.” He acted long-suffering and it made her want to slap him.

  “I don’t believe you.” But she did. Troy would never waste agent lives. He’d find a different way.

  “It’s not the first time you’ve been wrong.” He dried his hair and then snapped the towel at her ass, making her squeal. “Get dressed. We have things to do.” He looked her up and down and didn’t hide that his body had grown hard with arousal. That he could so disassociate himself from the horrible events of the last hour infuriated her.

  “Dammit, Troy. Phil just died,” she said.

  “Well, I’m not dead. And neither are you.” He stepped into his uniform, pulled it up to his hips and then pulled on his sooty T-shirt. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Lucy followed him into the bedroom. “I just don’t get it.”

  Troy sat on the bed and stared at her body, practically smacking his lips. “Get what? If you stay naked, I’m getting naked.”

  Lucy scowled at him, quickly stepping into her dirty uniform and gear. “Why are you acting like you’re on my side? Like you give a shit if I live or die.”

  “Because I do.” Troy didn’t look happy about it. “I am on your side. I know it may not seem that way, but once I got you involved with the Agency, it became my responsibility to be on your side. Then it became something more.”

  That’s how he gets you, she thought. He makes you want what he’s selling. He encouraged her to pretend things were true when they weren’t. To think he loved her when he didn’t. She was in the Agency and therefore was nothing. She was nothing to Troy. How had she allowed herself to need him so much?

  “See?” Her chin quivered and she was afraid she was about to cry again. “Now you’ve gone too far.” She tugged the uniform up her legs and over her butt, zipping the fly. She pulled her T-shirt over her head, struggling to adjust it to her hips. “You weren’t on my side yesterday when Barrett interrogated me. In fact, I recall you getting in on the act.”

  “I was being interrogat
ed as much as you were. Do you think she tortured you for the information you had? Which was nothing. She was trying to read me.”

  The guy was smoke and mirrors, she thought. “And five years ago? Were you on my side when you arranged for me to bring a suitcase filled with coke into that hotel room?”

  Troy shook his head, looking weary. “I can’t change that.”

  “You ordered everyone in that hotel room to be killed,” she said. “Why not me?” She studied his face, trying to see past artifice but saw sorrow. “I remember standing, terrified in the center of the room as bullets tore through the furniture, the walls. The people. Everyone was screaming, and no one else got away.” Troy looked as if he wanted to speak but was stopping himself. She saw it in his eyes, and Troy didn’t reveal anything unless he wanted to. He wanted her to know he was still keeping secrets. Screw that. “Why was I the only one left standing?”

  “I gave the order. I told you that already. Barrett told you that.” He didn’t look repentant. “Killing them saved thousands of lives.”

  “They were replaced overnight.” Lucy had no illusions it was otherwise.

  “That’s not my concern. Well, it wasn’t at the time. I had a job. I completed it.”

  “But why not me? Why am I alive when they died on your order?”

  Troy approached her, and though he didn’t touch her, he stood so close his breath fanned her cheeks. “I can’t answer that. I’m sorry. But know that I regret many things about that day. Saving you isn’t one of them.” She saw his pain, his regret, but it wasn’t enough.

  He was asking for forgiveness. He was asking for too much. Forgiving Troy would deflate the rage that got her out of bed in the morning, and kept her sharp and fearless when her life was on the line. She was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t have that rage. She couldn’t let it be one more thing Troy took from her. Lucy grabbed her gear bag and headed for the door.

  “If we’re going, let’s go,” she said. She was almost to the point where she’d welcome the damn medics and their blue juice. Almost. She was in the mood to take a few people down with her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucy stole the fastest car parked outside a loud, busy nightclub and made Troy sit shotgun because she knew that would piss him off. She and Troy had forty minutes to hash out everything they knew, suspected and feared was going on at the Agency before reaching the garage.

  When they stepped out of the Audi sportster and the place fell silent, Lucy went on alert, thinking the worst was about to happen. The medics must be on their way, because everybody looked shocked to see them. Instinct told her to get back into the car. She turned to give Troy the sign, but he was already walking to the elevators, acting impervious to the slack-jawed gawking.

  “Lucy!” Phil ran to her.

  Lucy’s heart dropped to her stomach when she saw her, and then she was running. “You’re supposed to be dead!” She grabbed Phil around the waist and swung her around and around. “I thought you went up in smoke!”

  Phil slapped Lucy’s shoulders, trying to get away. “You’re hurting me!”

  Lucy dropped her, stepped back. “What’s wrong?”

  Phil bent at the waist and held her side. “Shit. A damn Dumpster broke my rib.”

  “How are you even alive? You were in the truck with George.”

  “Gary.”

  “Oh, sorry, yeah,” Lucy said. She pushed aside guilt, smiling.

  “I was hungover.”

  Lucy laughed, giddy with relief. “I know.”

  “I had to throw up and didn’t want to do it in the truck, so I went behind the Dumpster. Then bam! While I was hurling, the truck blew up, almost knocked me out cold. Moved the damn Dumpster, which hit me in the side.” She stood tall, touching her ribs and making faces. “Broken ribs. They taped me up. I’ll be fine.”

  “You lucky bitch,” Lucy laughed, shoving Phil back a foot. “I cried for you!”

  Phil blinked, stepping out of range. She didn’t even try to hide her surprise.

  Cat hurried to Lucy’s side, stopping short. “What,” she said, out of breath. “What did I miss?”

  Lucy laughed, resting her hand on Cat’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Split lip from your boyfriend over there—” She glared at Troy’s retreating back. “I was knocked unconscious and next thing I know the gorilla is smacking me around.”

  “We were in a rush and we couldn’t leave you sleeping on the job.” Lucy scanned the onlookers and indicated that Cat and Phil should follow her out of the garage. “Things happened on the op you don’t know about. In truth, I thought guards would greet us when we arrived.”

  “What’s going on?” Phil was looking at Lucy as if she’d lost her mind.

  “My mum was marrying the target.”

  Cat blinked a few times and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m a bit slow. I got a concussion when the truck blew up. Did you just say your mom was the target?”

  “Her fiancé was the target.” Lucy kept her voice low. “I looked through the scope, lined it up with the target and then saw Mum in a wedding gown, on his arm. They were getting married.”

  Cat covered her mouth, horrified. “Did you take the shot?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I couldn’t. Not only that, when Troy tried to, I stopped him.”

  Phil looked confused. “But the target is dead. It’s all over the news.”

  “We tracked them down and Troy finished the job.”

  “And your mom?” Cat stepped closer, increasing the intimacy of their conversation. Phil’s expression showed her sympathy, but she didn’t say anything, just listened.

  Lucy cared for these women and she believed they cared for her. The way things were panning out, her shelf life was near to expired anyway, so she decided to risk telling them everything. It was a relief to let down her guard.

  “Mum’s alive. Didn’t see me.” Lucy tried not to think about that. It was still too upsetting. “I think that’s probably for the best.”

  Phil shook her head. “Why would Barrett assign us to kill your mom’s fiancé? Even if the dude was a genocidal pedophile who kicked puppies, she should have assigned it to a different crew.”

  Lucy nodded. “You’d think. I can’t imagine Mum has any idea what a monster the guy is, or she’d never have agreed to marry him. I’m less concerned with the target dying than I am that Mum had to see it, to care about that creep.” She smiled at Phil. “But you’re alive, and not—” She thought of Raven and the blood and shook her head, trying to shed the image.

  “Dead.” Phil nodded. “Yeah. I’m pretty happy about that, too.” She smirked at Cat. “Next time you complain about my rotgut whiskey, I’m throwing this in your face.”

  Cat rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, primed to start a diatribe about Phil and her bad decision-making skills, but Patrice walked into view. She nudged Phil aside to get into the circle.

  “People are talking.” She indicated they should hustle to the elevators.

  Lucy glanced around the garage. Patrice was right. They were being talked about. As far as anyone was concerned, the op had been successful, if unorthodox. “Why does everyone look shocked?”

  Patrice lowered her voice. “We were told you and Troy died.”

  Lucy whistled low. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  They hurried onto the elevator. Lucy hit the button for the restaurant floor. “Drinks on me.”

  Phil nodded. “I can’t stay long, though. I have a date.”

  Cat laughed and shook her head.

  “What?” Phil scowled at her.

  Cat shrugged, avoiding Phil’s gaze. “Nothing.”

  Lucy laughed and wished she’d let her guard down years ago. It was heaven to share the stress load with friends. “I want to toast Phil’s horrible life choices, Cat’s ability to bounce back and Patrice for not making me worry once today.”

  Cat laughed. She kept her eyes on the floor numbers as they lit up.

 
Patrice smiled. “You worrying is something I’ll have to get used to. I always thought you were impervious to emotion.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Shoot me.”

  Phil looked uncomfortable. “If I’m ordered to.” Cat slapped her shoulder.

  “Well—” Phil grabbed where it hurt. “You know it’s true!”

  The elevator door opened and they filed out. The first thing Lucy saw was Troy walking toward her, and he looked intense. He indicated she should get back in the elevator.

  “Reality rears its ugly head.” Her happy mood immediately dissipated. “You girls have a drink on me. My treat.”

  Phil smirked. “Yeah. Right.”

  Patrice frowned. “Drinks are free, right? Did they start charging for drinks, too? This place is going downhill. Next thing you know they’ll be asking for rent.”

  Cat tugged Patrice into the restaurant. When the elevator doors closed, Lucy glanced at Troy’s face. The security camera was zooming in on them, so she didn’t expect an explanation, but hoped for a hint, maybe a frown indicating the severity of the shit storm coming.

  Nothing.

  He stared at the elevator floor lights and slammed the button for her floor. Lucy leaned against the wall and waited, impatiently, silently. By the time he led her to her quarters, her stress levels had risen and she was breaking into flop sweat. When the doors closed behind them, he pulled the scrambler from his pocket and activated it. Without a word, he stripped off his shirt and unbuckled his belt.

  “What are you doing?” Lucy thought Troy seemed angry.

  “I can’t think.” He unzipped his fly. “I can’t focus. All I do is think about you almost dying again.” He kicked off his boots. “Take your shirt off.”