Third Strike (32 page)

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Authors: Zoe Sharp

Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Bodyguards, #Thriller

BOOK: Third Strike
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“Did I miss anything exciting while I was asleep?” I said around a furred tongue.
Vondie smiled without looking up from her study, as though I wasn’t worth any greater response. I waited in silence, muscles shivering, while she played her games, knowing I’d been through this before, or something very like it, and emerged more or less intact.
When I’d been undergoing my Special Forces training, they’d allowed the full-fledged boys to have first crack at interrogating us. It was a matter of pride that they broke us, as they’d been broken in their time, and though I’d held out longer than most, they got to me in the end. They got to everybody in the end.
Vondie finished reading her page and looked up with a smile.
“Your record’s impressive, Charlie—in places,” she said. “Shame you didn’t make the grade for Special Forces, though. That must have stung—being one of the dropouts. The failures. Tell me, were you really raped, or were you just hoping you could screw your way to a pass? Should have started with the instructors. Oh, wait a minute—” She glanced back at the page briefly, raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “You did.”
“Why?” I asked, still breathless from the constriction in my chest. “Is that how you managed to make it?”
Her smile didn’t waver, but something tightened around her eyes. “I passed out in the top five percent of my class,” she said, and there was no mistaking the pride.
“Yeah,” I drawled, aiming for languid as I rolled my head round a few times, trying to work out the giant kinks. “I’ve heard that can happen in a slack year.”
Vondie let her breath out fast. She closed the file, held it over the arm of her chair and let it go, very deliberately, so it hit the floor with a sharp smack.
Of no further interest.
I blinked a few times. I don’t know what they’d given me, but it was dispersing fast. I’d lost the muzzy feeling in my head and my vision was almost clear.
“Where’s my mother?” I said. My mind revolted at the thought of them doing this to her, treating her like this. She didn’t have the resources, the resolve, to cope. It would finish her.
Vondie got to her feet and came closer, the limp I’d given her in Cheshire almost imperceptible now. She was smiling broadly. “Well, well, I have to admit that normally it takes my interviewees a little longer to cry for their mommies,” she said, making a big show of looking at her platinum wristwatch. “Congratulations, Charlie—I think that’s a new record.”
I stopped forcing my eyes to lock onto different distances around the bare room and focused totally on her instead.
“If you’ve hurt her, you know I
will
find you and I
will
kill you,” I said with utter calm. I’d never meant a promise more, but I felt nothing. No emotion, no anger. Just certainty. Utter, cold, glittering, diamond-tipped certainty.
Vondie flinched before she could control it, saw that I’d registered her involuntary reaction, and damped down a scowl. Instead, she began to circle, lips pursed, eyes flicking up and down my body in slow, deliberate insult.
“I kind of thought you’d be in better shape—someone in your profession,” she said in a beautifully disparaging tone.
I didn’t respond. She disappeared out of my field of view and I forced myself not to move my head to try and follow her path. But I couldn’t stop myself tensing up, like seeing the fin slice under the surface of the water and waiting for the first crushing bite from the depths.
When it came, her touch was almost a caress, and far more creepy because of that. I felt a cool finger very softly trace the ugly scar of the bullet wound in my right shoulder blade and forced myself not to twist out from under it.
“Got it in the back, huh?” Her voice was soft, too, and very close to my ear. “Running away, were you, Charlie?”
I let my head come up a fraction, just enough to reinforce the memory of the head butt that had smashed her nose. I heard her quick sidestep, the little gasp the sudden movement provoked, and knew I was walking a very dangerous line here.
She stalked back round to stare me in the eye—but not too close. “What a pity you took Don out like that,” she said, her voice regretful. “They’re still not sure if he’ll lose the arm.” She paused for another dismissive visual sweep. “He would have had such fun with you … .”
“Like to watch that kind of thing, do you?” I said, ice in my chest now, flooding my limbs with such cold I struggled not to tremble. “Is that how you get your kicks?”
She smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “You can indulge yourself in this little round of bravado all you like,” she said. “But it’s all going to be for nothing. News flash, honey, this is a pharmaceutical company. They got stuff here that will have you screaming for mercy and spilling your guts—in every sense of the word—in minutes.”
She gestured to my left. I twisted my head and noticed, for the first time, that someone had wheeled in a little trolley, on which was a steel tray containing several sets of latex gloves and a number of hypodermic syringes. I had no idea what was in them, and even less desire to find out.
I felt my chin come up. “So, what’s keeping you?”
She sat down again, smoothing her skirt as she did so. “We want you to suffer, not to die,” she said casually. “We took a little blood while you were out and the lab boys have been running a full tox screen, just to make sure there’s no danger of anything
unexpected
happening to you.” She checked her watch again and shrugged. “You’ve been out for a while. They should be back with the results any time now. Soon as they are, we can get this party started.”
A moment later—so soon I swear Vondie must have orchestrated it—there was a tap at the door. They’d hung me with my back to it so, when anyone came in or out, I’d have the fear of anticipating their identity and purpose to add to the humiliation they were already putting me through. A nastily sophisticated little touch.
Vondie threw me a triumphant glance as she rose to meet the new arrival. I didn’t see who it was. Male, by the tonal frequency of the voice. Harried—shocked, even. I let my body droop slightly, like I was really hurting until I heard the door close again. Not much acting involved.
I expected Vondie to regain her seat for a leisurely read, but she stayed behind me at first, so all I heard was the rapid flick of turning pages.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Charlie,” she said at last, apparent pleasure in her tone. “According to the lab boys, you have Vicodin in your system. Something hurts, huh?”
This time when it came, her touch—in the deep scar at the back of my left thigh—was a sharp jab. My leg buckled and I swung precariously, gulping down the pain with enough air to swallow the noises I was desperate not to make.
By the time I’d staggered upright enough to have my feet and my breath back under me, she was seated again, watching.
“Not enough of it for you to be addicted,” she went on, as though there’d been no interruption. “But we could soon change that.”
She smiled at my frozen expression for a moment, milking it, then dipped her eyes back to the lab report. She’d almost scanned right to the bottom of the page when she stopped abruptly.
I saw her shoulders stiffen, the paper quiver as her fingers did the same. My gut tightened the same way, like we had some kind of visceral connection.
She looked up again, eyes glinting. “So, tell me, Charlie,” she said softly. “Who’s the father?”
 
“What
?”
I jolted like she’d hit me with that damned TASER again. The single word was torn out of my throat as the implications rushed in through the shattered hole. “You’re bluffing,” I said, and couldn’t keep the shake out of my voice.
She has to be bluffing. I can’t be! No way! Can I … ?
She watched me flounder for a moment, head on one side. “You had no idea, did you?” She smiled thinly. “Well, in that case, let me be the first to congratulate you, Charlie. You think you’ll get to keep it?”
“You’re bluffing,” I said again.
Better. No wobble this time.
“It’s too early for you to be showing any signs, but give it another few weeks and those hormone changes will be kicking right in. You won’t be able to ignore them. The mood swings, the nausea, the cramps and the cravings. Before you know it, you’ll blow up like a goddamn whale.”
She rose, taking care to smooth down her skirt, emphasizing her slender figure, and gave me another malicious smile.
“I assume that bastard Meyer is the lucky guy,” she said. “Seeing as you’re listed as cohabiting. Unless you’ve been fucking your new boss on the side, just to hedge your bets. Parker’s a cutie, isn’t he?”
I clamped my mouth shut and said nothing, but she didn’t need to be a mind reader to see the slur of wild emotion tumbling behind my eyes.
“Shame you’re gonna lose that flat stomach you’ve worked so hard on but, hey, you won’t have much else to do in the slammer other than work out.” She smirked. “That and try to prevent some big butch gang of lady truckers from raping you in the showers. Still, that’ll be nothing new to you, huh?”
That punched me out of shock, brought me scrabbling back to the surface, relit the fire. “You sound like you’ve been there, Vondie,” I threw back at her. “Miss it?”
“It’s
Vonda,
” she growled. She took a breath, got a grip. “So he really doesn’t know?” she murmured. “Pity. We could have used that.”
I tried a laugh that came out more as a gasp. “You have no idea what you’ll be letting yourself in for, if you try hitting Sean with this … .”
“Screw what he’ll do to
me,
” Vondie dismissed. “What’s he going to do to
you
? Consider a hypothetical for a moment. Even supposing by some miracle you get out of this, what happens to your precious so-called career now?”
She waved a careless hand towards the manila file that was still lying on the floor next to her chair. “Can’t go risking your life every day, being a bullet catcher, when you’ve got a kid, Charlie.”
“I—”
“And what’s Meyer’s reaction
really
going to be, huh?’ She tapped her fingers against her lips. “Is he still going to be so keen on you when you’re just the little wifey at home with the squalling brat? Right now, you think you’re
somebody,
huh? Working for Armstrong’s outfit in New York—and what about Parker? God, the ink’s not dry on your green card yet.”
She shook her head, as if bemused by the turn of events. “What happens when you don’t have that anymore? When you spend your days up to your neck in unwashed diapers and puke? Is Meyer still going to even
want
you—holding him down? Holding him back?”
She smiled again, warming to her theme. “Being able to blow some guy away at sixty feet isn’t exactly the kind of skill that will impress the local neighborhood PTA. And there isn’t much else you’re good for, is there, Charlie? Of course,” she added, her expression turning sly, “there’s nothing says you have to keep it.” She nodded towards the surgical tray, towards the loaded syringes. “We could do you a favor there.”
“You bitch,” I said, ragged, losing it as the rage fizzed the edges of my vision. “You utter fucking
bitch …
”
Vondie laughed out loud. “Oh, Charlie, your mother would be so shocked—what a potty mouth!” she said, her voice rich with delight. “Speaking of mothers, I seem to remember from our file on Meyer that
his
ma comes from a long line of good Irish Catholics. He may not go to Mass every Sunday, but I’ll bet it’s gonna go
way
against the grain, finding out you’ve aborted his kid.”
“He won’t.”
Because I won’t. Because I can’t … .
“Find out?” Vondie shook her head in synthetic disappointment, making tutting noises. “Oh Charlie, keeping those kind of secrets will kill any relationship stone dead,” she said with mocking sadness. “You know that.”
She stepped to the trolley and picked up one of the syringes out of the surgical tray. She held it against the light and tapped it with her fingernail, as if checking for air bubbles. The liquid inside was a dull yellow. I’d no idea what it was, only that I didn’t want it inside me. Or inside anything I might have inside me, either.
“Speaking of secrets, time to get you to spill yours, I think. Of course, there are a few side effects to this stuff I probably ought to warn you about,” she said, gloating openly now. This wasn’t work to her. “Birth defects, that kind of thing, but let’s not allow little things like that to worry us.”
She’d moved closer, unable to resist it as she taunted. She was within a couple of meters now, leaning forwards, shoving that smug smiling face into mine.
“I warned you what would happen if you hurt my mother, Vondie,” I said almost under my breath. I thrashed impotently against the restraints, an apparently useless gesture that allowed me to get the feel of them and made noise, so she had to come nearer still to catch my words.
Come on, a little closer. Just a little closer …
“Well, that’s
nothing
to what I’d do if I thought you were going to hurt my child,” I muttered. “Past having your own are you? You dried-up old hag—”
She took that last step, offense coloring her face as she caught the gist.
I bounced up, bunched the muscles in my arms to jerk my feet clean off the floor, scissored my legs and lashed out.
I tried to tell myself later that it was never intended to be a killing blow. That I wanted to cause enough pain to incapacitate her, no more. So I aimed for her face, for the nose I’d already broken once, intending to add insult as well as further injury. But at the last moment she jerked upright and so I gathered a little more momentum before I struck, a little lower than I’d anticipated. Or so I tried to tell myself.
My foot landed hard, side on across her throat. Above my own bellow of effort and pain and rage, I swear I heard the quiet pop as her larynx collapsed.
Vondie dropped the syringe and fell backwards, windmilling her arms. She crashed into her own chair, which tangled her legs and tripped her. Her shoe skated on the manila folder she’d so carelessly dropped, then her back hit the far wall and she slithered down it, clutching at her throat and gasping, eyes wide with shock.
“Top five percent, huh,
bitch
?” I said, breathing hard. “Like I said—real slack year.”
Instinct had her battling to rise, clawing for purchase on the smooth face of the blocks. I strained against the cuffs that held me, but I knew they weren’t going to give way. There was nothing I could do but dangle there, helpless, and wait for her either to die or to kill me.
Whichever came first.
Vondie made it upright by no more than sheer bloody willpower. She lurched for the trolley again, grabbed another syringe without caring which, and came for me.
I twisted wildly, kicking out. No technique involved now, just anything I could think of to stop her getting that damned needle into me.
And in the back of my mind was the deep, sick sense of panic that it wasn’t just me she was trying to hurt.
As she lunged, I jumped again, managed to get both feet up and punched them out into her stomach. The blow sent her reeling backwards. She hit the trolley containing the drugs she’d been intending to use on me, overturning it in a clatter of steel on concrete and shattered glass, and fell amid the ruins, gasping her last breath.
I waited, but she didn’t get up again. She’d been dead from the moment I’d crushed her throat. She just hadn’t known it.
It took me a minute or so to get my feet back under me, by which time my arms were shaking. Everything was shaking. I was colder than I could ever remember and weary to the marrow of my bones.
Another death on your conscience, Fox. Now what?
I hung like that for a while. I had no way to mark the passing of time, so I don’t know how long. It felt like forever, but in reality was probably no more than a quarter of an hour. Long enough. More than long enough for me to think a lot about life—the one I’d just taken and the one that might have just begun.
The sound of the door opening behind me made me start. I braced, but knew I didn’t have the energy to mount another defensive attack. I heard footsteps come in, two sets, which faltered as the new arrivals took in the scene of my destruction. It was only a momentary pause.
Terry O’Loughlin moved delicately in front of me, eyes flicking to Vondie’s body. The other person with her turned out to be the young security guard who’d put the restraints on me and my mother out in the lobby.
“Ohmigod,” he kept saying, trying both to look, and not to look, at my body and at Vondie while he did so. “Is she, like,
dead
?”
So elegant in life, Vondie was awkward and ungainly in death, limbs sprawling, her skirt riding up, revealing a surprisingly utilitarian pair of white cotton knickers.
“I bloody hope so,” I said. I met Terry’s eyes, saw the shock in them, but anger, too. I hoped it was pointed at somebody else, or my chances had not just improved. “Either cut me loose or shoot me, Terry,” I said tiredly, “because if you’re not going to let me down, shooting me would be preferable to what Collingwood will do when he finds this.”
She stepped forwards. “I had no part in this, Charlie,” she said, fierce to the point of tears as she fumbled with the restraints. “Please believe me.”
“I do,” I said.
My arms dropped abruptly and I discovered I’d been entirely right about one thing. Being strung up was nasty but, for the moment, being let down seemed worse. My knees went and, if Terry hadn’t arrested my descent, I would have fallen. The blood pounded back into my whitened fingers, making the nails pulse as though I’d plunged both hands into boiling water. I tried to cradle my arms to my body, but all they did was flop like a pair of drowning fish. The young security guard fumbled out of his jacket and draped it round my shoulders. His face was past scarlet and heading for a shade of purple.
I tried to smile my thanks but my eyes kept sliding past him, wouldn’t focus.
“Go and tell them we’ve found her,” Terry said to him. “Tell them to hurry!” He all but ran out of the room.
And, by the sound of it, straight into a fist.
All we heard was the contact of something hard meeting something softer by comparison, the explosive whump of air being knocked out of the guard’s lungs, and the solid thud as he hit the ground.
Terry started, but before she could do more than half-rise, the door was pushed open again and Collingwood came in. He was carrying a standard-issue Glock 9mm with the lazy facility of someone completely at home with a firearm, and the dead-eyed stare of someone who thinks nothing of using it.
He took in the scene almost instantly. My incapacity. Terry, crouched with her arms protectively around my shoulders. And Vondie’s body. He moved towards her as though his legs were taking him of their own volition, against his better judgment. Silently, he stood over his dead agent, as if to confirm she was really gone. But there was nothing in his rumpled face. No pain, no sorrow, no anger.
I skimmed my own eyes over the corpse with something close to regret. Regret that I hadn’t grabbed the opportunity to take the gun off her hip the moment I’d got loose. As soon as the thought had formed, I dismissed it. I wouldn’t be able to hold the damn thing straight yet, anyway. My arms were burning with pins and needles, so I wanted to rub them to ease the violent scuttering under my skin, but I couldn’t bear the touch.
Collingwood turned towards us, the gun still held casually at his side, the fingers of his free hand twitching.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly. “That was a mistake you’ll pay for.”
“For God’s sake,” Terry said, her voice cracking. “She was
torturing
Charlie!”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Collingwood said, certainty ringing through his voice like struck crystal.
Desperate measures. Was that all you were doing, Vondie? Trying to break me? Is
that
why you told me I was pregnant? Even though …

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