Never Say Spy (23 page)

Spider nodded and packed up his laptop.  He rose and turned to leave, but turned back to give me a troubled glance.

“Good night, Spider,” I said gently.

“Good night.”  He bobbed his head uncertainly and left.  Germain followed him out, leaving me alone with Kane.

I propped my elbows on the table and rubbed my hands over my aching face, feeling my hair crunch stiffly.  “I need a shower,” I said, repressing a shudder at the memory of my attacker’s hands on my body.  I wrapped my arms around myself.  “I really need a shower.  Can I go back upstairs?”

Kane gave me a sympathetic smile.  “No need, we have showers down here.  I’m sorry I can’t offer you a change of clothes other than spare T-shirts, though.  And we’re not going back to the farm tonight.”

“What about my workout clothes?  I left my bag in your SUV.  I could rinse them out and at least have something clean for tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” he replied, pulling out his phone to punch a speed dial button.  “Webb.  You still here?”  He paused.  “Good, could you please bring Aydan’s bag from the Expedition?  Thanks.”  He hung up.  “Webb will bring it down.  The shower is this way.”  He rose.

I pushed my chair back and eased myself upright, leaning heavily on the table.  He took a quick step toward me, his hands reaching out, but he stopped without touching me.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“No, thanks, I’m okay.  I just stiffened up from sitting still.”

He nodded and led the way down another corridor, stopping at a doorway.  “There’s no surveillance in this room,” he said.  “You’ll have complete privacy.  Are you all right?  Do you want me to wait outside?”

“I’m fine.  Towels and shampoo?”

“Inside.”

“Thanks.”  I went in and closed the door, sagging against it while I absorbed a few precious moments of safety and solitude.  The tremors started again and I wrapped my arms around myself, fighting off the need to sink to the floor in a quivering heap.

After a few long slow breaths, I pulled myself up straight again and painfully pulled off the oversized shirt.  When I turned to the mirror, I realized why Spider had been so upset.  Even after my rough cleanup at the hospital, I still looked like hell.

The hair around my forehead was dark and spiky with dried blood, and there were rusty streaks at the sides of my face.  My nose was swollen, and dried blood still clung to my skin here and there.  Vivid red handprints splayed across my left cheek.

Below the neck, I looked even worse.  My bra and the tattered shirt were liberally soaked and smudged with blood, now dried and darkened.  My torso was smeared and streaked with rusty stains, and my jeans were spattered, too.  The bruises and scratches looked like an overdone Hollywood makeup job.  I could only imagine what I must have looked like before the cleanup.  No wonder Linda had reacted with horror.

I sighed and picked at the knot holding my shirt together.  After a couple of tries, I abandoned the effort as a waste of time.  I pulled my jackknife out of my waist pouch and cut through the shirt.  It wasn’t like I was going to wear it again.

I eased out of the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower, setting it hot.  For a long time, I stood in the comforting spray watching the rust-coloured water swirl down the drain.  When it ran clear, I reached for the shampoo and took my time.

By the time I stepped out of the steamy shower, I felt almost human.  I regarded my crusty bra with distaste and decided not to put it back on.  It went into a sink full of cold water and shampoo instead.  I combed through my wet hair and put on Kane’s big T-shirt, then reluctantly pulled my stained jeans on underneath.  I debated briefly before putting on my socks and shoes again, too.

I wasn’t sure what to do next, so I made my way back to the main meeting area.  Kane was working at one of the terminals that lined the walls, and he glanced up as I came in.

“You look better.”

“I feel better.  So, James, now what?”

He gave me a half-smile.  “It’s John, not James.”

“John Bond.”  I grinned at him.  “Nope, it’s not working for me.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face, and I wondered how much sleep he’d had in the past few days.  “It’s just John Kane,” he said quietly.  “And we need to talk.  Why don’t you sit down?”

I hovered indecisively.  “First I need to ask you something.”

He raised his eyebrows and gestured for me to continue.

“Am I a prisoner here?”

“No.  You’re not a prisoner.”

I moved toward the door.  “So I could walk through this door right now, and you wouldn’t try to stop me.”  I rested my hand on the handle.

He went still, his face smoothing to an expressionless mask.  Cop face.  “I would try very hard to convince you that this is the safest place for you right now.”

My pulse quickened, my muscles tensing.  “So you would keep me here against my will.”

“Aydan,” he soothed.  “You’re not a prisoner.  If you need to leave, you can leave.  You don’t need to escape.”

I stood still for a long moment, staring at my hand clenched on the door handle.  Common sense told me to stay here, protected and safe.  Animal instinct screamed that I was buried underground, no windows, no light of day, no escape.

Trapped.  My knuckles whitened.

“Aydan.  Aydan, look at me.”  His deep voice was compelling, and I met his eyes.  “You can trust me.  I’ll show you all the exits.  Just stay here.  Please.  You have nothing to fear from me.”

Common sense won.  I took a deep breath and let go of the door handle.  “I’m not afraid of you.  I’m just claustrophobic.  Normally I deal with it all right, but I’m feeling a little twitchy tonight.”

The cop face faded.  “Understandable.”

“Will you give me the grand tour now?”

He nodded and rose from his chair, his movements unhurried.

I smiled at him.  “You do that ‘stay calm’ thing very well.”

He smiled back, his broad shoulders easing.  “I’m glad it worked.  I wouldn’t want another wild chase tonight.”

We walked through the complex and he pointed out the exits, three in total, explaining where they came out on the surface.  We finished up back at the meeting room.

“Will you sit down now?” he asked.

I nodded, sinking gratefully into a chair when my knees wobbled.  I must have been out of my mind to think about running away.

“I’m going to go and get a coffee,” he said.  “Do you want anything?”

“You must have an iron gut,” I teased.  “I can’t believe how much coffee you drink.”

He gave me a rueful grin.  “Normally I don’t drink this much, but I need to stay awake.  How about it?”

“I’d love a hot drink, but nothing caffeinated.”

“I think Webb keeps some herbal tea here.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

He headed for the kitchenette, and I reflected he must be taking a huge risk bringing me here.  Maybe that meant he was starting to believe me?

When he returned, I inhaled chamomile scent from the steaming mug he placed in front of me.  I picked up the mug and hugged it to my chest, breathing deeply and relaxing.  When I looked up, Kane was watching me with a half-smile.

I smiled back.  “You said we needed to talk.”

He nodded.  “First off, I need to ask you something personal.  What happened between you and Hellhound?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

He ran a hand through his hair.  “Normally, nothing.  It would be none of my business.  But you’re under my protection now, and Hellhound is a team member.  I know you traded some innuendos with him earlier, and you stayed the night at his place.  I need to know if he has done or said anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”

I shrugged.  “He offered.  I declined.  We’re both fine with that.”

His gaze searched my face.  “I saw the way he touched you earlier.  I’ve seen this happen before.  It’s all fine to start with, and then something happens and there’s a sexual harassment charge.  I don’t want that to happen.  It’s my responsibility to make sure it doesn’t.  Say the word, and I’ll talk to him and tell him to back off.”

I met his eyes.  “Are you telling me he might not take no for an answer?”

“No!”  Kane shook his head, frowning.  “No, I didn’t mean that at all.  He’d never cross that line.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” I said mildly.  “I’m a big girl.  I can take care of myself.  If Arnie and I need to have a talk for some reason, I’ll deal with it.”

He exhaled slowly.  “All right.  I had to ask.  Remember that if anything changes, you can come to me.”

I nodded.  “Got it.  Can we move on?”  He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders easing.  “You really look out for him, don’t you?” I asked.

“I try to look out for all my team members.”  Old pain flared briefly in his eyes.  “Sometimes I do a better job than others.”

I mentally replayed the conversation I’d overheard between Webb and the ERT guy, remembering Kane’s insistence that I should leave him and escape.

“I have it on good authority that you couldn’t have done anything differently,” I said softly.

His head jerked up.  “What do you know about that?”

“I don’t know anything.  I overheard Spider talking to one of the ERT guys.”

He frowned.  “Webb talks too much.”

“What happened?”  I knew I was prying, but seeing his hurt, I had to ask.

He crossed his arms and sank his chin onto his chest, his eyes staring into the past.  We sat in silence, and I didn’t think he’d answer.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and even.  “Henry was one of my team.  The two of us used to partner up for a lot of ops.  One day the op went bad.  I took a bullet.  I was down for the count.  I told him to leave me and get the hell out of there.  Instead, he dragged me to the pickup site under fire and got me into the helicopter.  He was hit just as he was climbing in after me.  He died instantly.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the grief behind the unemotional sentences.  “You would have done the same for him,” I said with certainty.

He shrugged.  “But I didn’t.”

“You had no choice in the matter.  You try to take care of your team, but sometimes you have to let them take care of you.  That’s why it’s called a team.”

He met my eyes.  “Look who’s talking.”

I straightened painfully in my seat.  “Hey, this is me accepting help.  I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He laughed softly.  “True enough.  So let me help you.  Tell me what your role in this really is.  I think you’re deep undercover, and I believe we’re working toward the same goal here.”

“I’m not undercover.  I’m just a civilian.”

He sighed.  “All right, we’ll play it your way.  If you’re just a civilian, why did you refuse to access the network, even under torture?  Most women... never mind; most civilians, male or female, would be begging for mercy.  You just sat there and swore you couldn’t do it.  Even when you knew what was coming.”

I twitched an irritable shoulder.  “I’m not most women.  And if I’d thought crying and begging would have helped, I might have tried it.”

“Might have,” he echoed.

“That’s what those guys get off on.  I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction if I could help it.”

“So why not just access the network?  You were already injured.  You knew it was going to get worse.  Why refuse?”

I stared at him.  “That’s a pretty funny question coming from a guy like you.  Besides, I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t, why?”

“I just couldn’t.  I don’t know why.”

“I saw you do it seconds later,” he countered.  “When I asked you about it, you said you’d lied about not being able to access the network.”

“It was just an expression.  I really couldn’t get in at the time.”

He gazed at me, clearly unconvinced.  “Really.  And where did you learn to shoot like that?  You looked very comfortable with that handgun.  I didn’t see anything in your firearms license about owning restricted weapons.”

“I haven’t shot a handgun since I was a kid.  They weren’t regulated then.”

He nodded encouragement.  “Because so many little girls play with handguns instead of Barbie dolls.”

I gave him a dirty look.  “Funny.  I meant, since I was a teenager.”

“Uh-huh.  Because so many teenage girls...”

I cut him off with an impatient wave of my hand.  “I’m a freak.  The sooner you get used to the idea, the happier you’ll be.  My dad liked guns.  I like guns.  He taught me how to shoot.”

“What did you shoot?” he asked.

“Six-shot revolver.  Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum.”

Kane eyed me with curiosity.  “What did you say your father did for a living?”

“I didn’t say, but he was a farmer.  Well, to start with.  Later he worked for the government.”

He frowned.  “So your father, who worked for the government, also carried a .357 Magnum.  And taught his daughter to shoot.”

“Yeah.  No!  Jeez, when you say it like that...  No, he worked for the Department of Agriculture.  He just liked guns for fun.”

Kane nodded.  “And I’m an energy consultant.  Tell me, when you haven’t shot in thirty years, how you could miraculously pick off two men with a single shot each.  And don’t tell me it was just luck.”

I didn’t like the direction this was taking.  “I never claimed it was luck, and I never claimed I hadn’t shot in thirty years.  I just haven’t shot a handgun.  I’m used to shooting moving targets when I shoot trap.  When I’m competing in an archery tournament, I’m aiming at a spot that’s a little smaller than a penny at twenty yards.  I’m an instinct shooter.  My first few shots are always my best.”

He regarded me, his grey eyes piercing.  “And how do you feel about those two good shots tonight?”

I met his gaze squarely.  “I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m devastated.  That might come later, after I have a chance to process all this.”

He held my eyes for a few seconds.  “Aydan...” he said finally.  “I...  You realize I’m really out on a limb, here.  I think we’re on the same side, but all I’ve got to go on is my gut feeling.”

“We’re definitely on the same side,” I assured him.  “Just not in the way you think.  I’m just a civilian, and I’m just trying to stay alive and help you get this figured out so I can go back to my normal life.”

He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair.  “If you’re really just a civilian, then please explain something to me.  I’ve seen people with military training who don’t stay as cool as you did.  Under torture.  Under live fire.  But we haven’t been able to find any evidence of that type of training in any of your records.”

I shrugged.  “That’s just the way I react.  I told you I’m a freak.”

“Aydan.”  He met my eyes, his expression strained.  “Please.  I’m not asking out of idle curiosity.  I’m holding national security in my hands.  Do you have any idea how many lives depend on me making the right decision here?”

I blew out a long breath and dropped my face into my hands as every old defensive instinct sprang up.  But I couldn’t lie to him.  He was putting himself in a desperately vulnerable position.

I propped my elbows on the table and addressed my lap.  “No, I don’t have military training.  But I have years of practice at keeping my emotions bottled up and hidden.  When I was a kid, I was a tomboy.  When you play with the boys, you never cry, and you never show pain if you get hurt.  That’s the way I grew up.  Then I married my first husband.”

I paused.  So long ago now.

“What happened?”  His voice was quiet.

“I was young and naive, and that was before emotional abuse had a name.  I didn’t understand what was happening, but I found out that showing any kind of reaction made things worse.  So I learned to stay in control.  Hide every emotion.  And after years of practice, I got really good at it.”

I met his eyes, and immediately looked down at the table again, swallowing hard.  Nothing worse than sympathy.  Didn’t have much practice dealing with that.

“So the worse things get, the more you clamp down on your emotions,” he said gently.  “Because others can use your emotions to hurt you.”

I lifted a shoulder and we sat in silence for a few moments while I avoided his gaze.