Stemp flicked a look over to where a small green light glowed in the case. Please let green mean ‘true’.
“Have you ever used any other name?”
“No.” Green light again. Maybe that was a good sign.
He asked a number of other relatively benign questions, and I began to relax while the green light flashed steadily. Maybe it was working. Maybe I could finally convince Stemp I was one of the good guys.
“Are you working for anyone besides Sirius Dynamics?”
“Um. Well, yeah, I have my bookkeeping business…”
“Yes or no, please.”
“It’s not a yes or no question, you know that,” I protested. “You’re just trying to make me say something that sounds like a lie.”
Dr. Travers spoke for the first time. “Do you own your own bookkeeping business?”
I turned to her with relief. “Yes.”
“Do you also work with Sirius Dynamics decrypting files and messages?”
“Yes.”
“Do you work for anyone besides Sirius Dynamics and your bookkeeping clients?”
“No.” I eased out a long, slow breath at the sight of the reassuring green light.
“Are you conveying information to anyone outside of Sirius Dynamics?” Stemp demanded.
“No.”
After what seemed like hours of the same questions phrased in every possible way, Dr. Travers turned to Stemp. “Everything indicates she’s telling the truth.”
Stemp shot her a glance before focusing his snakelike eyes on me. “Are you sure your instrumentation is working correctly?”
A faint flush climbed her cheekbones. “As sure as I can be under the circumstances. As I told you earlier, this is experimental technology.”
Stemp’s gaze bored into me. “Lie,” he commanded.
“No.”
“If you want me to be convinced, do it,” he barked. “Tell a lie!”
My ravelled nerves finally snapped. I jerked forward in the chair. “Fuck off! You’re just trying to trap me! I’ve jumped through your fucking flaming hoops so many times my ass is permanently scorched, and it doesn’t matter what I say or do, you won’t believe me. The instant I lie, you’re going to use that as an excuse to frame me. Stick it up your ass!”
I clenched shaking fists on the arms of my chair and glared at him.
Dr. Travers had recoiled at my outburst, and she stepped forward again to lay a placating hand on my arm. “Aydan, are you all right?”
“Fine,” I growled.
The light in the case glowed red.
After a long moment, Stemp laid his gun down and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Thank you, Dr. Travers, you may go. You never saw Ms. Kelly.”
We sat without speaking while she packed up and let herself out of the office.
I glowered at Stemp. “Now, I want Kane reinstated. I want my car back. And I want you to get the word out that I’m not really dead so my friends don’t have to suffer.”
Stemp’s expression didn’t change, but I got the distinct impression of fraying patience held in check only by a supreme effort of will.
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” he said evenly. “Your car has been totalled. Crashed and burned. We will replace it with a different one. You will remain officially dead for the duration, because it’s the only way to divert Fuzzy Bunny’s attention away from you and away from this project. Nothing you do or say will change that.”
I stood, holding onto my temper with all my might. “Then I guess we’re done here.”
“Sit down.”
I stood my ground, fists on hips. “No.”
“So you’re refusing to do any more decryptions.” His voice was still emotionless.
“Yes.”
“In full knowledge of the suffering it will cause.”
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” I said, and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
I wheeled to face him again. “Home.”
“You can’t. You’re dead.”
“No. I’m. Not,” I snarled.
“Yes. You are.”
God, he was fast. I’d been watching his gun hand so intently I hadn’t even noticed his other hand, concealed by the desk until he jerked it up.
I registered the sound of the gunshot at the same time the almost-painless impact pitched me backward. The ceiling flashed by.
My final instant burned with white-hot rage.
Chapter 7
I woke. That was a hell of a surprise.
I had expected harps, pitchforks, or nothing at all, but I hadn’t expected to find myself still alive, lying on a bed in a white room. I braced for the pain of a gunshot wound, but none came.
After a moment, I blinked away the last of the dizziness and sat up to take stock. When my blurred vision cleared, I realized the bed was bolted to the wall. Seatless, tankless toilet. Camera on the ceiling in the corner. Nothing else in the featureless room.
Slow certainty dawned, and I peered down at the large red stain on the front of my sweatshirt, the gelatinous remains of the ballistic tranquilizer gun’s paint pellet still embedded in the fabric.
I held panic in check with the fierce heat of anger. Fucking rat-bastard. Trank me and lock me down, will you? We’ll see about that.
It was only an eight-foot ceiling. I managed to catch hold of the camera on my first jump. I swung for a moment before it tore out of its mountings, and the broken wires spat brief sparks.
Camera in hand, I stood eyeing the wires. Too bad the live ends were up too high for me to do anything with them. Not that I had any brilliant ideas anyway.
The sound of the sliding door made me swing around. I was pretty sure I was being held by the good guys, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.
And if I got the opportunity, I planned to give Stemp a camera suppository. Pointy end first.
My arms were already stretching into a backswing when the report of his tranquilizer gun made everything dissolve again.
The next time I woke, I smelled food. I dragged myself into a semblance of sitting position and leaned my back against the wall. There was a covered tray in the corner, obviously the source of the aroma.
The dizzy grogginess didn’t abate this time, and I blinked heavy eyes at my watch. After a moment of slow bewilderment, I realized I wasn’t wearing it anymore.
My apathetic gaze wandered to my feet. I was tethered to the bed by a chain around my ankle. It looked long enough to allow me to reach the toilet, but just. Shoes gone, too. I pulled listlessly at the chain. Any minute now, I’d completely freak out at being trapped and restrained.
I waited patiently, but no particular emotion surfaced.
My brain struggled through the sludge to gradual comprehension, and I squinted at my arms. Sure enough, a reddened dot marked the entry point of a needle on my left forearm.
Drugged.
My stomach growled, and I wondered how long I’d been held. And how long Stemp intended to hold me. I slithered numbly down the wall to lie on the bed again and turned my face to the wall.
Time oozed by, blurred by drugs and punctuated by the small, flat report of a trank gun. Several food trays came and went while I was unconscious, but I ignored them. Sooner or later, Stemp would decide this wasn’t working. With any luck, he’d be lulled into believing I was drugged into passivity. And I’d be ready.
My eyes opened on a different room. Sensing a presence beside me, I blinked the blurriness away to discover Mark Richardson seated in a chair beside the bed. My heart slammed into my ribs and I flinched away from him before I could stop myself.
“Aydan, it’s all right, you’re safe,” he said hurriedly.
I shot a wild glance around the room. “Wha… Is this a sim?”
“No. This is the safe house.” He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair, eyeing me with concern. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”
Could this be another of Stemp’s mind
fucks? I peered at Richardson’s empty hands and the space under his chair, unable to control my shudder. No visible instruments of torture…
His face twisted as if in pain. “Aydan,” he murmured. “I promise you can trust me. I promise I won’t hurt you. You’re safe here. Please believe me.”
I gulped down the bad memories and reached for calm. “Sorry, Mark, I believe you. It was just the surprise that got me.”
Get over it. He was one of the good guys. He had been more upset over burning me than I was. He wouldn’t hurt me. I knew that, dammit. Just let it go.
The dull, drugged sensation had diminished, and I drew a deep breath and took a less hurried evaluation of the room, willing the tension out of my body.
I sat in a queen-sized bed with soft pillows and a fluffy duvet. Definitely not prison-issue. The walls were a warm taupe colour, and there was a dresser in the corner. No camera. No seatless toilet. The bedside table held a glass of water.
Following my gaze, Richardson picked up the glass and offered it to me. “You should drink something. They gave you IV fluids while you were unconscious, but you’re probably still dehydrated. And you must be starving.” He eyed my tremors as I fought to remain sitting up. “Lie back for a bit. I’ll get you some orange juice.”
He vanished down the hall to return moments later with a small carton of orange juice. I sucked in a mouthful, and the acidic sweetness brought a choking rush of saliva. I sputtered and gulped, and Richardson leaned forward, his brow furrowed.
“Take it slow,” he advised. “You have to work up gradually after a three-day fast.”
I swallowed hard a couple of times and stared suspiciously at him. “Three days?”
“Nearly four, actually.”
I sipped some more, mind racing. “Why did he let me go?”
Richardson shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the corner of the room. “You weren’t eating…”
“And…” I prompted. No way Stemp would let me go out of tender regard for my health.
“Well…” He hesitated. “I guess you should be flattered. He thought you’d find a way to escape unless you were drugged and restrained. And he wanted to make sure your funeral went off without a hitch.”
“My… funeral…” I gaped at him for a second before fury ignited my blood. I lunged off the bed. “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the fucker…”
The room cartwheeled wildly before blackness claimed me.
I lurched upright, fists clenched.
Richardson jerked back, his hands flying up defensively. “Aydan, it’s okay, you fainted. You’re in bed in the safe house. It’s okay.”
I fell back onto the pillows and lay panting, my heart hammering. The room turned lazily around me.
Richardson’s worried face hovered above me. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I mumbled.
He eyed me doubtfully before handing me the orange juice again. “Try some more orange juice. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
He left and I dragged myself semi-upright to slump against the pillows, sipping juice and pondering. If he was telling the truth, I’d been effortlessly outmanoeuvred. Everyone thought I was dead.
But Stemp still couldn’t force me to decrypt any messages. And he was bound to be getting antsy if four days had passed while files piled up in the system. God, four days. If an agent really had been captured…
I gulped hard. Please let him be lying about that. My stomach knotted and I curled around it with a groan just as Richardson returned bearing a plate.
He quickly jettisoned the plate on the bedside table and knelt beside the bed. “Aydan? Are you okay? Did you drink the juice too fast?”
I uncurled. “No, I’m fine. Have you heard anything about an agent being captured in the last few days?”
He rose, frowning. “No. I don’t hear about all our ops, but word usually gets around when something like that happens.”
“Thank God.” I sucked in a deep breath of relief. “So Stemp was lying. Thank God.”
His frown deepened. “He told you an agent had been captured?”
“He said the agent was being tortured and the only way to save him was if I decrypted some files.”
“Oh.” He eyed me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I made you some scrambled eggs and toast,” he said at last. He passed me the plate and utensils. “Just take it slow.”
My stomach lurched in desperate hunger, and I used all my willpower to take a small bite and swallow it slowly instead of bolting the entire plateful in frenzied gulps.
“Tell me everything,” I demanded.
Richardson sank into the chair and sat rigidly, hands braced on his knees, staring straight ahead. “Stemp sent out a memo saying you’d been killed in a car accident. Everyone was sure it hadn’t been an accident, but they believed you were dead. We’ve always known you’d be executed as soon as there was an alternative to using you for decryption…”
He trailed off and met my eyes awkwardly. “Sorry. That’s probably a horrible thing to hear.”
I shrugged. “I already knew that.”
“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Uh… Doesn’t that… bother you?”
I swallowed another mouthful and bared my teeth at him. “No more than any other threat of impending death.”
“Uh. Okay… Anyway, after your funeral…” Richardson shot me an anxious look before continuing, apparently hoping I wasn’t about to kill the messenger. “…Stemp got Webb and the other analysts on the job to make sure the news of your death reached the right ears.”
When I didn’t react, he continued hurriedly, “And this afternoon Stemp told me I’d be assigned to your team and sent me here. He’ll come this evening to brief us both.”
I tried to hide my dismay. “But… what does that really mean, you’ve been assigned to my team? Does it mean Kane’s off the team for good? What…”
I trailed off at the sight of his tense shrug.
“I don’t know. I have orders to stay here and not to communicate with anybody else. Stemp will likely make us both vanish.” Richardson blew out a breath. “Rest for a while. You’re still shaking.”
He took the empty plate and left me to my anxious ruminations.
By evening I’d eaten a couple more small meals and made it out of bed to shower. I lounged on the sofa in the tightly-shuttered living room, staring at the TV while my mind picked compulsively at my few options.
Should I try to escape? Keep cooperating until I knew more?
I was feigning interest in a sitcom when a knock at the door made Richardson spring to his feet, gun in hand. “Bedroom,” he snapped. “If I yell for you to run, or if you hear gunfire, go out the window and get the hell out of here.”
I was already on my way down the hall, heart pounding, when I heard the sound of the front door and Richardson’s voice. “What are you doing here? Jeez, you still look like hell.”
The response came in a familiar rasp. “That ain’t news, I always look like hell. An’ what d’ya think I’m doin’ here? Where’s Aydan?”
My heart soared for an instant before plummeting in fear, and I wavered in the doorway of the bedroom, biting back the urge to call out.
Nobody could know I was alive. If Stemp intended to make me vanish, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who threatened his plan.
Even as the thought boiled through my mind, Richardson spoke again. “You know she’s dead. You were at her funeral.”
“Bullshit,” Hellhound snapped. “I know ya got her here. I wanna see her.”
Oh, shit, Arnie, you’re too smart for your own good. Please, just give up and go away.
“You’ll have to go now,” Richardson said firmly. “I have a protected witness here.”
Hellhound’s rasp sounded closer. “Yeah, I bet ya do. Lemme see her.”
“Stop right there.” Richardson’s voice was hard.
Hellhound’s growl held a world of menace. “Put that fuckin’ thing away or I’ll sho
ve it up your ass so far you’ll hafta open your fuckin’ mouth to shoot.” In the next moment, he limped around the corner, his leather-clad bulk filling the hallway.
My first impulse was to dive into the bedroom and hide, but it was already too late. His face lit up at the sight of me, and I abandoned any hope of saving him from himself.
Besides, I was selfishly overjoyed to see him.
“Arnie!” I flew down the hallway to throw my arms around him. He grunted and stumbled back against the wall, favouring his ankle as his powerful arms enclosed me. His gravelly laugh was music to my ears.
“Hey, darlin’,” he chuckled. “You’re lookin’ pretty damn hot for a dead woman. Gonna hafta rethink my objection to necrophilia.”
He pulled me into a long kiss, and I allowed myself to ignore everything else for a few moments while I floated in the bliss of his touch.
When we came up for air at last, Richardson was fiddling with his gun, pointedly avoiding eye contact. After a moment, he gave us an awkward glance.
Hellhound returned a hard stare. “How long’ve ya known she’s alive?”
“How did you know she was here?” Richardson countered.
Hellhound shrugged. “I’m a P.I. It ain’t like it was rocket science.” He steered me to the sofa with an arm around my shoulders and sank down on it, still holding me close.
I squirmed up to whisper in his ear. “Arnie, get out of here, fast! Stemp’s coming-”
He silenced me with a light kiss. “There’re surveillance cameras outside,” he said. “Stemp prob’ly already knows I’m here. No point runnin’.”
“Arnie…”
We locked eyes for a few seconds before I reluctantly gave in to logic. He’d been peripherally involved with Stemp’s covert operations long before I ever came along. Stemp and most of the other agents knew him. There was nowhere to go even if he did run.
I snuggled closer to hold him tightly, heart pounding. If Stemp harmed him…
Arnie’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Ya okay, darlin’? You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”
How Spy I Am Page 5