by Wendy Byrne
"All I know is I came back from Afghanistan and walked into the mess of being followed, then people trying to kill me, and you hired to keep me safe. None of it makes sense."
"Is Afghanistan where you got the bullet in your shoulder?"
She nodded. "Yep. They left part of the bullet inside—something about deep into the tendons or something. Wasn't supposed to bother me much, but most times it hurts like hell." Admitting she was a bit of a wimp at times felt good. Keeping up the tough-chick persona was wearing thin, especially after the last few days.
"I say the CIA wants to help you. You say they want to kill you. How do we figure out which is right?"
"I have no idea. That's the hard part of this whole thing."
"I've got a simpler question. Did they take your C-4?"
She nodded. "Yep, I checked the bag. And I feel positively naked without it. Which reminds me, I've got some stuff I need to get at. Where did you stash my bag?"
"I'll tell you if you let me help you." He gave her a goofy smile. "I've got mad skills."
"I'm sure you do, but I don't want to get you any more involved than you already are."
"Don't you think it's a little too late for that? They'll figure out who I am pretty soon."
She knew she had to tell him something, since he'd been sucked into the situation whether he liked it or not. The thought of having another body on her conscience did not make her feel any better. "I know something I'm not supposed to."
"What?"
"I don't know." She chewed her lip as her mind went through some possibilities, coming up with zilch. Except for the cryptic note, she had nothing.
Not necessarily true. She had something, but it was stuck inside her brain somewhere. And the memory of Alex pleading for her life was nothing more than she would have expected from a best friend.
"You've lost me."
She huffed. She needed to break this off with him, and go on her own. It was the only safe way to play this. Being alone had always been how she did her best work. "Pretend you didn't find me the other night."
"Yeah, that whole rescuing thing was a figment of their imagination. Too bad there's a couple of bad guys with some major knee problems to discount that theory." He eyed her as if waffling over what he wanted to say. "I had the clean-up crew get rid of the evidence, but there's going to be some fallout, and it's going to happen soon. I've already packed your backpack and my go bag for a road trip."
"Taking me with you on this excursion will be a liability, believe me. While I still haven't figured out who these people are, I know their type. They'll be like rabid dogs once they've got the scent."
"If it's not me, they'll hire somebody else from The Alliance to help you out. And I don't like to brag, but I'm the best of the lot. But don't tell my sister." He glanced around the room. "I'd tell you to pack up your stuff, but luckily you and my sister are about the same size, so I asked her to bring some stuff, and she already put them in your backpack. No sense wasting time by stopping at the store."
"I guess this means you're saying we're stuck with each other until I die, or until we figure this whole thing out."
"You're not going to die, and neither am I."
He said it with such conviction she almost believed him.
CHAPTER NINE
"Hungry?" Jake thought she still looked like hell, but at least she was alive and moving, which was better than she was twelve hours ago. He hoped she wasn't lying about the blood thing.
"Starving, but give me a minute or two to dry my hair a little."
"No problem." He walked with her into the bathroom and pulled the dryer out of the cabinet. "You look like you're feeling better." The deathly pale that had usurped her complexion had dissipated. Maybe it was still the glow from her thirty-minute shower, but her face had color again.
"Like a new woman." She smiled. "Even though I have some aches and pains, I found a couple of Motrin in the cabinet after my shower, and now I'm good to go. But a little shaky."
Her hair flew all around her as the dryer did its job, before she pulled it into a braid.
"You probably need something to eat. I cooked some eggs when I heard the shower go on, but put them in the warming drawer. Which is good, since you were in there pretty much forever. Are you up for that and some coffee?"
"Sounds wonderful."
"Do you want to eat in the kitchen, or do you want me to bring it in here?"
"Kitchen. I'm moving kind of slow, so it might take me some time to get there."
After he helped her onto one of the stools aligning his kitchen counter, he pulled both their plates from the warming drawer, put some English muffins in the toaster, poured coffee into two large cups, and placed them on the counter between them.
"I'm curious. How did you end up at the CIA?"
She stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth and gulped down some coffee before she responded. "They recruited me in college."
"But what drew you to them?"
She chewed her lip. "I guess they offered me something that was missing in my life. I wanted a place to belong. I'm an only child. My mom died in a car accident when I was in college. My dad abandoned us before I was born." From the downcast shift in her eyes, he'd guess she hadn't planned on divulging quite so much—or maybe there was some information she still left out. Most of what she'd told him he knew already. "What's your story?"
"I craved stability after two years of begging or stealing for food." Some of his best and worst memories were with his siblings. They'd endured a lot together before and after Petrovich. It was like a milestone when they'd crossed into a whole new world. One that offered security and hope, followed up by regret in the end.
"What do you mean?"
"After our parents died, my siblings and I lived on the street. A man named Goren Petrovich took us in, which is a whole other story altogether." Why was he telling her all this? Anything he might share could potentially lead him into trouble. But it could also allow her to trust him as well.
"I don't understand. What happened?" She folded her hands in her lap and gave him her full attention.
Talking about the time they'd spent in Petrovich's care was never easy, but if he gave a little, she might give him a little as well. Figuring out where Tessa was coming from would ultimately help both of them survive, and it would get him closer to figuring out if she was an innocent victim or a calculated killer.
"Our parents were killed when I was eleven. My brother Max was twelve, and my sister Sabrina was seven. We thought we were big, tough, and worldly at the time. But Sabrina missed my mom something awful. She cried every night and kept asking about when her mom would come home. They had this ritual together. Every night at bath time, my mom would wash and comb Sabrina's hair. She would let her wear her ruby necklace and tell her stories of strong women being in charge. We never found my mother's necklace. It had my mom and dad's initials carved into the back."
He cleared his throat as the rush of emotion crept inside. Thinking about then, even as an adult, was scary. Now he could imagine all the horrible things that could have happened. Getting taken in by Goren Petrovich, despite the fact he'd trained them to be assassins, was a godsend in many ways. It could have been so much worse.
"Before we were taken in by him, we were in survivor mode. We got pretty good at knowing when the bakeries tossed out their bread. We could spot an easy mark for a handout or to pick a pocket." He couldn't help but smile. "And even as a child, my sister could charm the socks off anybody, which worked in our favor. But it got tiresome each night when we worried about where we could find shelter. Fate intervened when Sabrina got sick. Max and I knew we had to do something. We were worried she might die. We were kids. We had no idea how to take care of her."
"I can't imagine." He could have sworn he spotted tears in her eyes when she shook her head. "You were still children yourselves."
"Sometimes we stayed in a barn with the cows, sometimes it was outside, sometimes a sh
opkeeper would have pity on us and let us stay inside. Petrovich offered us a roof over our heads, some medicine for Sabrina, a warm bed, and food on a consistent basis. In the beginning, it was tutoring he offered, in subjects from literature to physics, but as we gained in strength, he taught us what he called survival skills, which was him turning us into killing machines. He convinced us it was them versus us, that the people he'd targeted were the bad guys, the ones that were responsible for our parents' deaths. It gave us the motivation we needed at the time."
"He brainwashed you." The words she spoke came out in a puff of air, as if the reality of it still was sinking in. She reached over and pulled him in a hug. "Thank you for telling me all that. I didn't expect"—when she separated from him, a slight blush crept along her face—"you to be so forthcoming, I guess."
He smiled to temper her embarrassment. Either she was a world-class actress the likes of which had never been seen, or she was the victim, not the aggressor, in this situation. "Did we just have a moment there?"
The blush deepened. "I guess we did."
"Trying to lay it all out on the table for you." He thought about the lie that held. In truth, he'd been shielding himself from others for as long as he could remember. Odd that he chose to tell her his story. Maybe he sensed they had a lot more in common than he originally thought. Both of them were looking for something missing in their lives.
"My mom and I were close, as you might expect given the circumstances. We never had a lot of money, but it didn't seem to matter. She pushed me to do my best, and I wanted her to be proud of me. When she died, it tore me apart. I was a couple of months shy of graduation, but I wasn't sure I could think, let alone finish what I needed to do. Then the CIA swooped in like guardian angels." She laughed. "Yep, I was naïve, thinking of them as guardian angels."
Before he could respond, the intercom cackled to life. "Jake, there's a couple of cops headed your way, if you know what I mean."
"Thanks, Hank. I owe you one." He ran into his room, grabbing his bag and her freshly stocked backpack. He'd expected this sooner or later. It came a little sooner than he'd anticipated.
"They're not cops, are they?"
"Doubt it. I haven't done anything illegal in at least a month. And there's no way they would be here looking for you unless somebody tipped them off, which I doubt." He helped her off the stool to a standing position. At least they'd finished most of their breakfast before this happened. He stuffed the computer in his go bag and put it over his shoulder. "Nothing like a little adrenaline to get you going in the morning."
Before she could respond, someone pounded at the door and shouted, "Police. Open up."
He grabbed her arm and ushered her out the window. "It's time." When he'd chosen this apartment, he'd been calculating. He needed to ensure there would be adequate time to make an escape if necessary, with both a fire escape and roof access simultaneously. Having two options is always better than one—yet another Petrovich adage.
When she started to go down the fire escape, he stopped her and motioned up. "Rooftop. Then we'll jump to the next building."
"Are you crazy?" Her eyes drew wide. This was the first time he saw fear.
"Easy as pie. I've done it at least a dozen times." He pushed her up the stairs, rounding onto the roof a hair's breadth before he heard the sound of them bursting inside.
She stopped at the edge of the roofline and made the mistake of looking down. "This is crazy."
"Want me to jump first?" he offered once he saw the terror-filled look in her eyes. She looked shaky. He wasn't certain she had the stamina to make the leap. "It's about two feet." He tried not to rush her, but it was only a matter of time before the bad guys figured out they'd gone up rather than down.
"No, I'll go." She handed him her backpack and paced backward to give herself a running start. Wheeling her arms back like a practiced long jumper, she ran hard then took the leap.
With her long legs, it should've been easy. But her weakened condition showed in the absence of power. It seemed like her body stilled in the air as she fought to stretch to make it.
His heart lurched inside his chest, landing somewhere near his throat as she teetered on the tip of the roofline. Finally the heels of her shoes caught on the edge. His stomach did a free fall while she fought against the momentum pulling her back toward the street below.
Damn.
What had he been thinking? Given her weakened state, and it being less than twenty-four hours after getting shot up with God knows what, and getting the crap beaten out of her, her adrenaline had to be depleted. He should have insisted on going first to grab her, but worried she might be overcome by fear. Just as he cursed his bad decision, she gained some momentum forward. Her arms braced her fall, preventing the smack of her face against the asphalt shingles. A few bruises to add to the many she had already surely beat splattering on the pavement below.
The sound of footsteps stomping up the metal staircase to the roof left him no option but to make the leap. Not that he hadn't done this same thing a time or two before, but the urgency of it rode up his spine. He jumped, landing on his toes.
He yanked her to a standing position before dragging her along as he thumped across the rooftop. His sixth sense pumped up his pulse, especially when he glanced in her direction. Her face went pale as she placed a hand to her lower back. The idea that her kidneys had been damaged flitted through his mind, but he had no time to worry. Another few seconds and they'd start shooting. He forced her to run. Seconds were all they had.
A bullet pinged off the chimney stack five feet away. Way too close. They had to move faster.
He did everything but carry her as they hurdled roof vents and smokestacks along the way. Her spike of adrenaline wouldn't last long.
They pounded down the stairs with him in the lead and her behind trying to keep up. "I stashed a car about two blocks from here. Can you make it that far?" He didn't bother to look at her but could hear her struggling for breath behind him. She needed a few more hours for her body to recoup, but that wasn't in the cards.
"Yes." The lone word came out with a whoosh.
He didn't have time to do anything but take her at her word and continue their descent. Getting out before they were captured or shot was going to be tricky. He'd been in worse predicaments before, but he'd always been alone. All things considered, this time felt riskier. He had to hope any guy they had stationed on the ground wasn't real quick or had chosen to wait on the other side. He jumped the couple of feet between the end of the fire escape and the ground. She leaped right behind him, but he held his arms out to cushion her fall, envisioning how much the roof jump had hurt her already-damaged body.
"This way." He pulled her behind him as he slipped in and out of buildings along the way.
This was his territory. He had this.
They were a block from where he kept his car when he spotted what was up ahead. At first he thought maybe the darkness was playing with the shadows, making the guy seem bigger. But as they got closer, Jake knew that illusion was a pipedream. The biggest, meanest-looking dude he'd ever seen blocked their path to the alleyway. "Holy crap, that's one big mother—" He stopped and glanced in her direction. "BMF."
Man, did he need a raise.
* * *
Tessa concluded that her lungs would explode any second. The woman who ran five miles most days was long gone. Whatever they'd given to her the other day had kicked her butt big-time and still seemed to be lingering heavy and hard in her system. In spite of what she'd told Jake, her back was killing her. But none of that mattered right now, as the behemoth standing before them overshadowed all her other worries.
Jake was a big guy. Tall and muscular. But the guy that stood before them towered over him by nearly a foot and had to outweigh him by well over a hundred pounds. She might have faith in Jake—he kicked some major butt getting her out of the warehouse—but this was a David and Goliath situation. Did he even stand a chance?
"What are you—" She couldn't finish as she took in the mountain of the man who blocked their path up close.
Jake turned around and winked at her. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall, right?"
In some ways, she had to admire his chutzpah. This was all kinds of crazy. But going back wasn't an option. It wouldn't take long for the others to figure out where they were. Obviously, the bad guys somehow knew where he kept his car. The others wouldn't be too far behind.
The big guy set up his position like a sumo wrestler, planting his legs apart, his gaze unwavering. His body language said badass to the max.
This was not going to end well. And even if she'd been in top form, she wouldn't be much help. For her, it was more like Goliath versus a feather. Just the thought of the pain he might cause made her heart flutter.
She'd seen guys like this and knew their confidence was strong due to their size. But also knew they were slow for the very same reason.
The shortcut between buildings didn't leave any room for negotiation, as the narrow confines prevented the ability to get around him. Going back seemed like a recipe for trouble. She searched her brain for a way around this obstacle. But everything seemed scrambled inside. Guidelines flew out the window in situations like this.
"Chances are he's right-handed, so you go to his left. I'll get him from the other side while you sneak past," Jake said into her ear as the guy started to grin.
Still feeling a little off her game, she moved to the giant's left while Jake went around to the right. He tossed their bags to her then illustrated a textbook powerhouse kick to the big guy's stomach. Except the man didn't even flinch. Instead, he laughed before lurching at Jake. He grabbed Jake by the collar of his leather jacket and shook him back and forth like a rag doll. When he let go, Jake went skittering across the asphalt, landing in some trash strewn along the back of a building about ten feet away. His head bounced against the brick on his way down.