A Spy For a Spy Read online

“I will. Thanks, Dave. You, too.”

  Seconds after I hung up, I realized I’d let him use the word ‘mission’ without denying I was a secret agent.

  Shit.

  I knew he’d been harbouring a fantasy about me as Jane Bond, secret agent, but I had been sure Stemp’s debriefing after our last adventure had convinced him I was nothing more than a protected witness. Obviously I’d been wrong.

  Well, too late now. And I could trust him. Dave would keep his mouth shut.

  I called Nichele back and told her to expect Dave, and then hung up again, sinking back onto the couch with a sigh.

  “Everythin’ okay now, darlin’?” Hellhound sat down beside me and laid an arm across my shoulders.

  I stared at the latest text message blinking on my phone.

  ‘Call home’.

  The white text didn’t look any different from any of my other messages, but the two words practically vibrated with fury.

  “No, not quite everything.” I rubbed my aching forehead and hauled myself up to get another phone out of my suitcase. “Sorry.”

  I shot Hellhound an apologetic glance, and he shrugged. “No problem, darlin’.”

  He stepped out into the hallway again, and I sank back onto the couch and tucked my cold feet up under me before poising my finger over the phone.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the button.

  “Ms. Widdenback.” Stemp sounded pissed.

  “Um, hi. Sorry about before.” I shook myself and summoned up what I hoped was a crisp, professional tone. “I had a situation. It’s fixed now. What do you need?”

  “I need you back at Sirius Dynamics as soon as possible.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I don’t know how long I’ll be. The roads are bad and my truck isn’t great on ice.”

  “Call when you’re about half an hour out.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and collapsed slowly forward to bury my face in the sofa cushions. The warm lassitude of Hellhound’s bed was already a distant memory. Why couldn’t I just have one day? One lousy day…

  I huffed a sigh, spat out the cat hairs that found their way into my mouth as a result, and dragged myself off the couch to let Hellhound back into his own apartment. Again.

  “I’m comin’ with ya.”

  I reached up to kiss Hellhound. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. We’ve had enough drama with people out on the highway today.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m comin’ with ya.” He dropped his duffel bag by the door and tenderly tucked his guitar into its case. “I know ya take good care a’ your vehicles, darlin’, but that truck’s almost as old as you. An’ it’s rear-wheel-drive, an’ light in the back. It’ll suck on ice. I’ll follow ya in my Forester, just in case. ‘Least I got four wheel drive.”

  “But it’s a two-hour drive even if the roads are good. It’ll be a lot longer today.” I stuffed my feet into my boots. “Just stay here where it’s warm and safe…”

  He silenced me with a kiss. “Shut up, darlin’. It ain’t always about you. I gotta go see Kane. He’s chewin’ horseshoes an’ spittin’ nails, an’ ya gotta have some way to talk to him so he doesn’t get court-martialled.” He shrugged into his parka and dropped another kiss on my lips. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I grabbed my suitcase and followed him out, secretly relieved.

  By the time we got close to Silverside, my shoulders were aching with tension. I slowed, braking cautiously and steering into the skid as the truck slithered to a skittish halt beside the road.

  Prying my stiffened hands loose from the wheel, I delved into my pocket for the last of Stemp’s phones.

  A tap on my window made me jump, nearly dropping the phone. I hurriedly rolled down the window when I saw Hellhound outside, snowflakes already beginning to collect on his beard.

  “Everythin’ okay?” he asked.

  “Fine. I just have to check in with Stemp. I figure we’re about half an hour out now. I have to go straight to Sirius Dynamics when we get there.”

  “Okay, darlin’, when we get to town I’ll just head over to John’s. Call me when you’re done at Sirius.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned out the window to plant a kiss on his already-cold lips. “Get back in your SUV where it’s warm.”

  He grinned and strode away, and I thankfully closed the window on the bitter wind.

  I didn’t spare any pleasantries when Stemp answered my call.

  “I’m about half an hour out.”

  “Good. Use the back entrance.”

  He disconnected, and I glared at the phone before rolling down the window to fling it out into the ditch. Not exactly an environmentally responsible method of disposal, but I had to get rid of it anyway. And it eased my irritation to pretend it was Stemp freezing his ass off in a snowbank. Jerk.

  In Silverside at last, I slid to a stop at the traffic light, red as usual. Hellhound’s Forester pulled up beside me, and he waved before turning down the side street that led to Kane’s house.

  The truck’s tires spun, the rear end fishtailing slightly as I feathered the gas to get moving again. A few minutes later, I pulled thankfully into the parking lot behind the dilapidated bowling alley.

  Easing my hands off the steering wheel, I turned the truck off and sagged for a few moments in the seat, taking slow breaths and letting the tension unwind from my shoulders. Only one more short drive, and then I’d be home again. All my friends safe. Thank God.

  Shooting a cautious glance around the deserted parking lot, I slid out of the truck and hurried over to let myself in the back door of the bowling alley. Inside, the din of machinery and clatter of pins made me stuff my fingers in my ears while I traversed the walkway behind the lanes.

  I was reaching for the door to the electrical room when a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me whip around to face the masked, black-clad figure.

  I almost got to my gun in time.

  Chapter 22

  I woke in blackness so profound that I blinked wide-eyed in momentary terror that I’d gone blind. I gasped a couple of shallow fearful breaths before logic reasserted itself. Blindness wasn’t black. Tammy’s memories were good for something, at least.

  My relief was short-lived. When I tried to move, I realized I lay on my side, my wrists bound behind me and my ankles tied together. Icy terror drenched me when I tried to move and my knees and hands bumped against constricting walls. Rearing my upper body, my shoulder struck a hard surface only inches above me.

  Coffin! I was in a coffin!

  Panic seized me, my heart drumming so hard its rhythm burned behind my straining eyes. My breath whistled shallowly in my throat.

  Exerting every ounce of my self-control, I prevented myself from thrashing and screaming mindlessly.

  Don’t panic. Just breathe.

  This was real life, not a dream. The coffin wouldn’t shrink. There was air. I hadn’t suffocated while I was unconscious, so I wouldn’t suffocate now.

  Stay calm. Breathe. Think.

  I fought the surging adrenaline. Think. What happened?

  My captor had used a trank gun. But what had he done with me once I was unconscious? He must have dragged me back out of the bowling alley and into a vehicle. The only other ways out of the service corridor led through the public area of the bowling alley or into the secured area below Sirius Dynamics.

  And how long had I been unconscious? Hours? Days?

  Terror threatened to overtake me again, and I beat it back. No time for that, dammit.

  Don’t panic. Evaluate.

  I squirmed, stretching to full length. My feet touched bottom, and my hair brushed against a surface above me.

  CoffincoffinCOFFIN…

  Breathe.

  I concentrated on yoga belly breathing, fighting to control the jerky spasms that seized my lungs. Nice and slow. In. Out. Think about ocean waves rolling in.

  A few moments later, I succumbed to the urgency again.

  Out! I had to get out�
��

  Another exploratory squirm, and a surge of fierce elation parted the waves of fear. They’d taken my gun, but they’d left my waist pouch on.

  Stupid assholes. They’d regret that when I got out. And I would get out. I clung to the thought.

  I squirmed again, rotating my hips in the confined space. I bared my teeth in a grimace of triumph when I managed to wedge the pouch against the wall of my prison. Slowly, so slowly, I wriggled and twisted until the pouch rode up over my hip.

  Careful now. If the buckle let go, all would be lost.

  A whimper of fear escaped my lips and I clamped down hard on it. I could do this.

  I contorted my arms, straining against the ties on my wrists to grasp the belt of the waist pouch and pull it around to my back.

  Almost there…

  Almost…

  I gasped relief when I felt the zipper on the front pocket. Groping at the zipper tab, I managed to ease it open. My keys fell out, jangling to the bottom of my prison. I clamped frantic fingers over the pocket.

  Oh God, please, God, don’t let my knife fall out.

  I gulped, fighting to steady my trembling hands before twisting my fingers around to delve into the pocket.

  Careful.

  Slow and careful…

  My shaking fingertips found the knurled grip and teased it closer.

  Easy now…

  Seconds later, I clutched the glorious hardness of my folding knife.

  Sweat prickled my body while I struggled with terrible slowness to open it without dropping it. At last, I managed to manoeuvre the blade against the binding on my wrists. A few moments of sawing, and I blessed my obsession with sharp knives when my arms sprang free.

  Clutching the wonderful knife, I heaved my hands in front of me and reached into the pouch again for my tiny LED flashlight. Its beam made me clamp my eyes shut, clenching my teeth on the screams that tried to rip from my throat.

  My shrill keening might have been suppressed screaming or the whistling of my breath in my too-tight throat. After a few moments I wrestled myself into silence again.

  Darkness was better. In the darkness I couldn’t see the walls of the crate inches from my face…

  I clamped down on my panicked panting again.

  I was fine. The walls weren’t caving in. There was air. I had a knife. I could get free. Just as long as I stayed calm.

  Just stay calm.

  Okay. I’d take another look. I needed to know how long I’d been imprisoned.

  I braced myself. I’d just look at my watch. I wouldn’t look at anything else…

  I flashed the light on and squinted awkwardly past my chest, twisting my wrist to see my watch. Before I had a chance to panic again, I flicked the light off.

  Quarter after three. But was it three in the afternoon, or three in the morning? Was it still Monday?

  If it was still Monday afternoon, I’d been unconscious for only about an hour. Somehow that felt right. If I’d been lying on my side for over twelve hours, I’d be in a lot more pain than I was. And I’d probably have peed my pants.

  I squirmed, wishing I hadn’t thought about that.

  Unless I’d been out for who-knows-how-long, and they’d put me into the box right before I woke up.

  Do. Not. Panic.

  I shook my head, trying to awaken some useful plan. First things first. I strained to reach my feet, knees jammed against the wall of the box, shoulders grinding into the other side. At the extreme tip of my knife, I felt something that might have been the tie on my ankles.

  Sweating and shaking, I picked at the tie one tiny nick at a time. My body screamed disapproval of the contortions, but I kept at it, focusing all my will on the task.

  No time to panic. Pain doesn’t matter. Just keep working on that tie…

  At last, I strained my legs and the binding gave with an audible snap. I collapsed, panting, my beloved knife clenched in my hand.

  Forcing myself to concentrate, I lay in the blackness, pretending with all my might that I wasn’t in a box.

  Think.

  Who had captured me? And why?

  The black-clad figure had been taller and bulkier than Doytchevsky. Could it have been one of Fuzzy Bunny’s men?

  I fought down panic again.

  Stemp would know by now that something had gone wrong. He’d have found my truck in the parking lot, maybe discovered some drag marks in the snow. If there was any evidence to be found, he’d find it.

  My fingers toyed with the empty space that should have held my cell phone. Why would they take my cell phone out of my waist pouch, but not take my knife? And why hadn’t they just taken the whole pouch? That was stupid.

  A faint sound made me freeze. Had it come from outside? I strained my ears.

  Another faint sound, then a scraping noise so close to my head I jerked away instinctively. Another scraping noise from the foot of the box. Was that the sound of…

  …latches?

  When the first sliver of light appeared above me, I was already in motion, lunging up to slam the lid open.

  Light half-blinded me, but not enough to obscure the blurry dark shape stumbling back from the box. A scything sweep of my knife hand ended in meaty impact and a heavy dragging sensation before my blade flew free.

  A scream tore the air and I blinked tears away from my burning eyes to see a black-clad man tumble to the floor. He screamed again, writhing and clutching his leg. A bright jet of blood fountained from his upper thigh.

  I pounced on him, clamping my hand over his mouth, jamming my blade against his throat. “Shut up.”

  He froze, quivering violently, and the smell of shit filled the air. My stomach lurched.

  Screams and blood and shit. I fought the flashback with all I had.

  “Put pressure on it.” My voice was an unrecognizable rasp. “Get your hand on it, asshole. Put pressure on it!” His shaking hand moved to obey. “More. More, goddammit!”

  The crimson stream slackened, and I eased my grip off his mouth. “Where am I? Who are you working for? Now, or I’ll slit your throat!”

  He vanished.

  A wave of vertigo seized me as the white walls of Sirius’s secured area bloomed around me.

  “Well done, Agent Kelly.” Stemp nodded approval from across the room. “Very well done indeed.”

  I lurched out of the chair, clawing at the back of my neck for the generic network access fob I was sure I’d find. Dr. Rawling flinched away, his face blanching as I pulled the small device free and flung it at Stemp with all my might.

  “You fucking asshole!” My hand slammed down on my empty holster.

  “You weren’t planning to shoot anyone, were you?” Stemp inquired, inclining his head toward the desk where my gun and waist pouch sat.

  “Aydan, I know you’re upset right now…” Dr. Rawling quavered.

  “Upset?” My voice cracked. “Upset? Fuck no, I’m not upset. I’m fucking livid!” I jerked back to face Stemp. “I’m going to rip your fucking head off and shit down the hole, you fucking sack of shit!”

  Stemp’s gun flicked up to point steadily at my chest. “Is that a fact?”

  “Aaaargh!” I whirled and seized the chair, flinging it against the wall with all my strength. Instead of shattering satisfyingly, it rebounded and crashed into my shin.

  “Aaaargh! Fucking goddamn sonuvabitch!”

  I hopped impotently, clutching my shin and swearing at the top of my lungs. After a few moments, the superhuman strength of adrenaline ebbed, and I trailed off to face Dr. Rawling’s white face and wide eyes. Beside him, Stemp returned my gaze impassively. I turned away to retrieve the chair and set it upright again. Trembling violently, I collapsed into it.

  “Here.” Stemp laid aside his gun and rose to offer me an insulated paper cup. The aroma of hot chocolate wafted from the small hole in its lid.

  I glared, and he sighed. “Take it. You need it.”

  “Fuck off.” I braced my feet wider against my tremors,
struggling to hold myself steady in the chair.

  “Drink it. That’s an order.”

  Slow breaths. I clutched the chair like a lifeline and fought the sobs that tried to climb my throat.

  He was right, goddamn him to hell. I did need it.

  I held out a shaking hand, and he pressed the warm cup into it. By clenching it in both hands, I managed to hold it to my lips, thankful for the spill-proof lid when the hot liquid sloshed inside.

  Stemp returned to his seat and shot a wry glance at Dr. Rawling. “Now you understand why I insisted on a virtual reality simulation instead of a real-life scenario. If that man hadn’t been a construct…”

  The doctor turned a still-pale face in my direction. “What if he had been there to rescue you?”

  That possibility was part of what was fuelling my tremors. I gulped another mouthful of chocolate, clutching the hot cup in icy hands. “I’d have patched him up and gotten him out. Somehow.”

  “And if he didn’t tell you what you wanted to know?”

  I avoided considering the answer by glaring at Stemp. “So what the fuck was that all about? Slow day at the office? You thought maybe I’d entertain you by crushing myself to death inside a sim?”

  “You couldn’t have crushed yourself. I programmed the sim externally so the parameters of the box were unalterable.” His level gaze measured me. “And this was necessary. Unlike Dr. Rawling, I don’t have the luxury of hours or days of psychological assessment to determine your fitness for duty. I needed to know if you were mission-ready today. Now I know you are.”

  “I told you that! If I say I’m fine, I’m fucking fine,” I snarled.

  He nodded, obviously unperturbed. “So you say.” He flicked a glance at Dr. Rawling. “Thank you for attending. You’re dismissed.”

  The doctor nodded wordlessly and rose, supporting himself on the back of his chair with hands that shook almost as much as mine. I indulged in a moment of vicious satisfaction. Talk to me about post-traumatic stress now, asshole.

  As he tottered out, whitefaced, my satisfaction faded into shame. The poor man hadn’t done anything to me. Stemp was the asshole.

  I transferred my scowl to its deserving recipient. “That was a shitty thing to do to him.”