How Spy I Am (47 page)

Shit. Guess they
hadn’t stopped searching after all.

“I didn’t do anything
to her, I swear!” The guard’s eyes were round in his pale young
face. “The dog grabbed her ankle, that’s all.”

I groaned. The dog’s
teeth. A pain stimulus to drag me out of the network and into my
usual hell.

I couldn’t summon up
any panic. My head felt dangerously close to exploding, and my body
throbbed as though I’d been stomped by a team of giants. After a
moment’s garbled thought, I revised that evaluation. My body felt
as though I’d fallen about six feet onto a concrete floor. That
would definitely do it.

The tall bald man
stooped and snatched my trank gun from my waist holster to train it
on me.

“Th-that’s the gun she
shot me with,” the young guard stammered. As if remembering his own
sagging weapon, he pointed it in my general direction again. I
suppressed a flinch, hoping his shaking hand wouldn’t pull the
trigger accidentally.

“Yes, she’s a
dangerous terrorist,” Baldy said smoothly. “Go and sit over there
while we question her.”

The guard backed away,
fumbling one-handed at his radio. “I have to call this in…”

“Don’t!” The heavy-set
man’s bark made the young man jump, and I couldn’t help twitching
when his gun jerked. The man’s voice slid into soothing tones.
“Just let us talk to her first, and then you’ll be able to give
your office a full report. You need to pull yourself together
anyway before you call it in.”

The guard nodded
slowly before tottering over to sink into one of the chairs in the
lab. The dog loomed a couple of feet away from me. Its low,
continuous growling wasn’t exactly reassuring, but its immobility
told me it had been well-trained, thank heaven.

Panic arrived a second
later. Shit, Sam had probably told the Knights about my pain
reaction if I was forcibly removed from the network. They couldn’t
know I’d been in there.

I contorted my face
into an expression of panic and tried to scream. My breath caught
in a prison of pain, but the resulting strangled cry was enough to
make them all twitch.

I flapped my arms
feebly, hoping not to upset the dog unnecessarily while still
convincing my human audience I was hysterical.

I tried another
shriek. “Get it away from me! I hate dogs! Get it away!”

A bit more squeaking
and thrashing, and the tall bald man spoke in the resonant tones
I’d heard earlier. “Murren. Come and get the dog. And give me your
gun.”

“O-okay…” The young
guard came over and collected the dog, relinquishing his gun to the
tall bald man with obvious relief. Baldy trained the gun on me with
a steady hand, and the Knights waited in silence while the guard
tethered the dog to a desk and sank down beside it, petting and
mumbling to the dog.

They really were
amateurs. They hadn’t even searched me. I could still feel the
weight of my Glock in my ankle holster. Not that it helped. Baldy
could pull his trigger long before I got to my weapon. Assuming I
was still capable of bending enough to reach it in the first
place.

Baldy waved the
guard’s gun at me. “Ms. Kelly, I presume?” he inquired.

“Brewster, Rousseau,
and Plissol, I presume?”

His twitch as I spoke
the second name told me I was on target. So Baldy was Rousseau, the
stout man was Brewster, and I’d already pegged Plissol. For all the
good it did me. We’d all be dead in about ten minutes unless I
could get back into the network.

Not quite what I’d
planned, but it would still work. I swallowed my fear. At least the
Knights would be stopped, and Stemp would get my emailed
explanation in the morning.

The three Knights bent
over me, and I thought better of trying to sit up. Let them think I
was incapacitated.

“What are you doing
here?” Rousseau snapped.

“I… uh… God, I can’t
feel my legs! I think I broke my back!” I widened my eyes in
not-too-simulated terror.

“You didn’t,” Brewster
said. “You were thrashing around like a fish out of water. There’s
nothing wrong with you. Answer the question, or your back will be
the least of your worries.”

“I… uh… I was looking
for you. I want to join you.” The lame excuse tumbled out of my
lips before I could think of anything more convincing.

The Knights exchanged
glances before Brewster focused on me. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I need the
money.”

“It’s a trap.” Plissol
shot me a fearful look. “She works for the government. We can’t
trust her. They’re probably closing in on us right now…”

“Get real.” I summoned
up a contemptuous sneer. “I don’t owe those assholes anything.
Didn’t Sam tell you how they treat me? Working day and night seven
days a week, getting beaten and tortured, and last week they blew
up my car and took all my assets. I need money, and I want
revenge.”

“Why sneak in then?”
Rousseau bent closer, frowning. “Why not just contact us?”

I channelled Kasper’s
annoying personality with all my might. “You’re not very bright,
are you? I’m under constant surveillance. I couldn’t risk
communicating with you.”

“That… makes sense…”
Brewster agreed hesitantly.

“Of course it makes
sense.” Keeping a wary eye on Rousseau’s gun, I eased slowly into a
half-sitting position and slumped against the pallet, my pulse
hammering in my ears. I held my voice steady. “You know how
powerful a mage I am. Imagine what we could do together.”

I resisted the urge to
look at my watch. Only about eight minutes left…

The Knights stared at
me for a moment before Rousseau spoke. “We’ll discuss it.” He
raised his voice to call to the security guard. “Murren, come
here.”

When the young man
sidled over, Rousseau handed him the gun and jerked his head toward
the offices. “Take her into the copy room and keep her covered
while we call the police.”

The young guard paled
and backed away a pace. “You said she’s dangerous. What if she
attacks me?”

“Shoot her, of
course.”

“I c-…” Murren squared
his shoulders. “All r-right. Move.”

The wobbling gun
described a perilous arc, and I discovered that the only thing
scarier than being held at gunpoint by a professional gunman was
being held at gunpoint by a terrified, incompetent gunman. I raised
my hands very slowly

“Okay, I’m just going
to stand up now,” I soothed.

Murren nodded and
stepped back another pace, his knuckles whitening on the
handgrip.

I struggled onto one
knee and straightened carefully, drawing a breath of relief when
the pain in my ribs actually eased a fraction. “Okay, I’m standing
up now…” I got my feet under me and leaned against the boxes for a
moment, panting shallowly.

“Hurry up,” Rousseau
snapped, and jerked my arm in the direction of the copy room.

I staggered, groaning,
and took a few faltering steps.

“Oh, for… Take her.”
Rousseau gestured to Brewster, who grabbed my other arm. The two
men dragged me to the copy room and flung me inside, and I let
myself fall to the floor with a pitiful cry.

“Don’t forget how much
I can help you in the network,” I reminded their retreating backs.
“And I know how to find Sam, too.”

They whirled to stare
at me for a long moment before disappearing into their office,
muttering tensely among themselves.

I considered my
options, my mind racing. Too risky to go back into the network with
the guard watching. He’d probably yell if he thought I’d passed
out, and the Knights would know immediately what I was doing. I was
running out of time, dammit. I rolled over and sat up slowly.

“Stay calm,” I said to
the young guard’s wide-eyed stare. “It’s Murren, right?”

“Yeah… No! None of
your business.” He glared, his attempt at ferocity belied by his
trembling gun. “Don’t try anything.”

“I won’t. I just want
to talk to you.”

I held his frightened
gaze with mine. The poor damn kid was scared shitless and he was
about to die for no good reason, doing a stupid, shitty, low-paying
job.

“Listen, Murren, those
guys aren’t calling the police. I’m an undercover agent, and
they’re terrorists. You should get out of here. They’ll kill you
for being a witness.”

“Y-you’re lying…” He
eyed me uncertainly. “They’re just a bunch of harmless old farts.
Our company has had this contract forever. They always put the new
guys on it because it’s so boring…”

He tightened his lips
and straightened, raising his wavering gun. “I know what I’m doing.
I have all the training…”

“Ow.” I groaned and
drew up my knees slowly, reaching carefully for the ankle where I
could feel the burning sensation of broken skin. “Your dog is a
monster. Look what he did to me.”

I pulled up my pant
leg and concealed my disappointment at the few small drops of blood
on my sock. I’d been hoping for something a little more
spectacular.

I rolled down the sock
and was gratified at his indrawn breath. At least that was one
advantage to the fragile fish-belly-white skin that came with my
red hair. Angry crimson welts made the sparse oozing of blood look
much more serious.

And now that his
attention was diverted and my hands were near my ankle holster…

Time for some shock
value. I blew out an impatient breath. “These men are terrorists.
Professionals. You saw how he handled your gun. You need to get out
right now. This entire building is going to blow up in
minutes.”

“
What
?” He
gaped at me, blanching. His gun hand drooped, and I whisked my
Glock out of my ankle holster to train it on him.

The last of his colour
drained away and the gun fell from his trembling fingers. “God,
lady, don’t kill me! P-please don’t kill me…” He was practically in
tears.

I snatched up his gun
and stuffed it in the waistband of my jeans as I scrambled to my
feet, heart pounding. The Knights were still talking in the other
room, their voices rising and falling in heated argument.

“Move,” I hissed. “If
you make a sound, you’re dead. Go!”

He whimpered, tears
beginning to slide down his cheeks, but thank God he followed my
instructions.

“Into the office next
door. Hurry!” I hustled him around the corner and over to the
window. “Open it.”

He obeyed, trembling
so violently I was afraid he’d collapse. Jesus, please don’t make
me have to carry the poor dumb kid.

“Out through the
screen. Go, go!”

Murren stooped to
grapple ineffectually with the screen, and I planted a foot on his
rump and shoved hard. He toppled out the window accompanied by the
sound of tearing screen, but he kept mercifully silent.

Shock, I realized as I
stepped out the window nearly on top of him. He was curled into a
ball, rocking and whimpering quietly.

“Fuck!” I jerked his
collar, resisting the urge to shout at him. I settled for a fierce
whisper instead. “Get up, you moron! I’m not going to kill you, but
you’re going to die if you stay here. Run!”

He unfolded, staring
at me without comprehension.

“Come
on
!” I
stuffed my gun back into my ankle holster so I could use both hands
to drag him to his feet. “Run, you dumb fuck!
Run
!”

He took a few
stumbling steps, and my ravelled nerves snapped. My open palm hit
his cheek with a resounding smack, and his eyes snapped into
focus.

“Run!” I repeated, and
dragged him a few paces before letting go of him to run myself.
Maybe if he saw me doing it, he’d catch on.

I’d only covered a few
yards when I heard the sound of pounding feet behind me,
accompanied by high-pitched sobbing. Thank God.

I dashed for the
trees.

I tore the cardboard
off my bike’s headlight with hands that shook almost as much as
Murren’s. My aching chest heaved in an effort to suck in more
oxygen while I flung myself onto the machine.

Murren stumbled up as
the engine caught. I spun the bike in a tight turn, goosing the
throttle to launch myself into the open field.

I threw a wild yell
over my shoulder. “
Keep running
!”

The entire world lit
up, and God Himself roared and kicked me in the back.

I rolled over
painfully, my ears pulsing with a strange cottony fullness. In the
orange glow from behind me, I could see my dirt bike lying on its
side a few yards away. The headlight was still on, but I couldn’t
hear the engine running.

I struggled to my
knees, then crept to my feet. My body thrummed with pain, but
everything still seemed to be working. I staggered over to the
bike, picking up my helmet on the way. After an impact like that
it’d have to be replaced, but I hoped it would be better than
nothing.

I jammed it on my head
and bent my complaining body to the torturous task of righting the
bike.

Come on, it’s only a
dirt bike. Not that heavy…

By the time I had
strained it upright I could barely straighten around the spears of
pain jabbing my ribs. I swayed precariously for a few moments,
gasping shallow breaths. If the bike fell over again, I would, too,
and I wouldn’t get up.

I raised a shaking
wrist to peer at my watch in the fiery glow. Shit, I had exactly
twenty minutes to get to the park.

Somehow I managed to
sling one leg over the seat. Seconds later, I was bumping across
the field as fast as I dared.

The jouncing ride was
pure torture. My abused body screamed with every twist and jerk.
When I finally reached the truck I had to clear involuntary tears
from my eyes while I slumped over the handlebars. I was pretty sure
I was making some kind of snivelling sound, but I couldn’t hear it
yet. I hoped my hearing would come back soon.

Then the hammer blow
of realization struck me. The keys to the truck were in my waist
pouch.