Undercover Lover (21 page)

She decided to delay the inevitable confrontation with Günter with a stop at the Turf Tavern.

The tucked-away pub, Oxford’s oldest, had been her only truly pleasurable excursion with Günter, Ian and Simon the other night. There, she’d watched Günter relax and laugh with his mates as they’d gotten more than a little tipsy and swapped stories. Jenny hadn’t spoken much. She hadn’t needed to. Mesmerized, she watched the spark of light in Günter’s eyes as his dimples came to prominence again and again. He’d well and truly pulled her into his orbit that night.

At one point, Ian caught her open stare and she’d blushed. He’d only smiled and raised his cup to her in salute before downing the rest of his dark brew. Günter caught the exchange and took Jenny’s ale away. Furious, she’d observed the remainder of the evening as if she stood outside her body, determined not to let him get the best of her again.

The past two weeks had flown by with him teaching her everything he reasonably could about surveillance—reading body language, nonverbal communication, moving stealthily, and planting and retrieving equipment—as well as the finer points of firearms, hand-to-hand weapons, and how to avoid being killed in a shootout.

For days now she’d accepted every frighteningly loud gun, every hand-to-hand session, every critique of her skill with tight-lipped acquiescence, and even she knew she was ready to blow from the strain. Physical discipline—a smack to her ass—would have been easier to take than the continued verbal barrage that showcased his disappointment.

Memories of his hands on her body assailed her, crashing over her will, wrecking her determination not to come to him again with an offer of her body. She groaned her frustration. Knowing the situation had to come to a head before they went to London.

Rounding the corner to the little alleyway, she recognized it as another avenue to the Bridge of Sighs and decided to circle back around and view the architectural confection once more through the veil of snow before full dark. A light wind blew down from the rooftops, trapping snow in a globe-like swirl that made her clutch her scarf around her face with one mittened hand and her cocoa tightly in the other.

Her hands thus occupied, she had little time to react when someone grabbed her from behind and looped a bag over her head. Rather than dumping her hot cocoa down his leg she unthinkingly dropped it to the pavement. Hand over her mouth, he dragged her up the iron stairs toward the rooftop of the nearby building.

Good. She still knew where she was, but she didn’t dare struggle on the slippery climb. They reached a cramped landing and he tugged her hands behind her and bound them with a zip strip before shoving her through a low doorway onto a splintered wood floor.

She rolled to the side, determined to come up fighting, but he swept her legs out from under her as she struggled to stand. Effectively knocked on her ass, she rolled again and hit a table. The sound of items hitting the floor heavily on the other side gave her the idea to scream.

Inhaling deeply, she managed to let out a shriek that would have disappointed a tea kettle before a meaty hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the little oxygen she’d been able to draw through the bag. Cloth, however, was no match for her teeth and she bit down hard.

A muffled curse indicated her success and she braced herself for a cuff upside the head, but he merely snatched his hand away before ripping the bag off her head and stuffing it in her mouth from behind her.

“See that bed over there?” he rasped in her ear and her eyes widened as she nodded.

Dear God, please don’t let him rape me
, she thought and fought a heaving in her stomach.

“You’re not going to move from it.”

She shook her head and he shook her.

“Say yes.”

She nodded and a little sob escaped from behind the cloth.

“Good girl,” he whispered and scooped her up to deposit her on the bed with her back to the room before running a chain through her wrists and locking it to the metal bedrail.

Springs poked through the mattress and a musty smell assailed her nostrils, making them twitch until she sneezed. The cloth loosened and she made to spit it out, but he was behind her again, securing it with a rag tied around her head. She whimpered against the pressure, but the sound only served to make him tighten it further.

He flicked off his flashlight and moved away before opening a door. A slice of light cut the dark in half and then disappeared as quickly as it had come when he shut the door. She lay there, darkness pressing against her eyeballs for what seemed like days. Pressure grew in her bladder, but she didn’t dare move lest he return.

If she was very still and very good perhaps he wouldn’t hurt her. So far he hadn’t done much more than abduct her. Was he looking for a ransom? Was he the White Tiger? Would Günter find her? Would he even bother to look? As time wore on and no one came for her, her thoughts became more scattered, reminding her of swirling motes of dust backlit by a flickering eight millimeter projector. She began to make promises to God and other random deities if someone would just rescue her. She swore never to go out again without Günter or Simon or Ian unless they said it was safe. Please oh please just let someone find her.

“Need to use the loo?”

Jenny jumped, heart racing at the unexpected sound of the man’s voice. She made a muffled sound of acquiescence. Had he opened the door? How had she not heard him re-enter the attic space?

“I guarantee you they wouldn’t care,” Günter said in the darkness, unlocking her. “They’d either let you wet yourself or make you go in a tin at their feet.”

Too angry to care if she did wet the bed, Jenny shoulder bumped herself to face him in the pitch black and made a guttural sound low in her throat.

“I told you in the beginning what to expect from this training. You agreed. Don’t bother with indignant now.” He moved toward her, the fabric of his trousers rustling in the darkness. “By rights, I should have made you stay all night.”

Despite her sense of betrayal, her anger waned. He
had
warned her. The morning after their…interlude—she didn’t know what else to call it—he’d told her he’d spare her no detail of the training he’d undergone. If she wanted to work with MI-5, she had to at least attempt to become MI-5. Ian had agreed. They needed her, but they also couldn’t afford her to be a liability.

Without unbinding her hands, Günter led her by his flashlight to an open loo in the corner of the room and yanked down her trousers before he sat her down. She made a pleading sound and he clicked off the light but didn’t move from his position in front of her. Humiliation stained her cheeks, and the urine tried to climb its way back up, but the pressure was too great and her bladder released against her will.

When she’d finished, he lifted her gently and refastened her jeans before reaching behind her to loosen the gag. She spit out the vile cloth and ran her tongue around her mouth to remoisten the delicate flesh.

Her tongue felt thick as she asked, “Did you do that because I went out without telling anyone?”

She wished she could see his face when he answered. Something told her he couldn’t be so cold. He had to care more than he’d let on. Otherwise would he really go to all this trouble? It couldn’t be any more fun for him than it was for her.

He scooped her up and she fought the urge to nestle her head into the crook of his shoulder as he brought her back to the bed where he settled her before speaking.

“No. I did it so you’d be prepared if someone else did it to you.”

Now that he’d desensitized her to some of the horrors that might be in store for her, he seemed to lose his edge, and in the dark she didn’t find it so difficult to imagine he might be looking at her with something more than irritation or apathy.

“How did you know I’d present you with the opportunity?”

“Oh, I assumed if I pushed you hard enough, you’d leave—go looking for some space to curse my black soul in private.”

The idea of someone deliberately trying to anger her had never felt like a relief before, and she grinned in the darkness.

“What?” he asked, apparently hearing her expression change. “Are you smiling?”

“Yes.” She breathed the word on a laugh as her heart became lighter than the snowflakes drifting outside. “You know me too well.”

“It’s my job,” he replied and the smile fell from her face.

Shifting on the mattress, she presented her back to him. “Can you let me go, please?”

“Not yet,” he said.

She answered with a groan. “Why not?”

“Because it’s going to hurt like a bitch when the blood comes back to your hands and we’re not finished talking. I’d like you to be able to focus on the conversation.”

“Oh, that’s something to look forward to,” she groused and faced him again. Even in the darkness it didn’t feel right to talk to him over her shoulder.

“I want to know what you think you could have done differently,” he said, his voice like English toffee—buttery and crisp rolled into one decadent confection.

She blew an errant strand of hair from her lips as she tried to remember the cascade of events that had led to this moment. “Well…I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, for one.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I tied up my hands with objects that didn’t allow me to fight quickly.” She curled two mittened fingers behind her back as she mentally numbered her failings.

“Right.”

“I didn’t dump my cocoa on your crotch.” That was three.

She felt him flinch at that one. “Go on.”

“Um…” Playing over the scenario she couldn’t think of a single thing more she could have done except maybe, “Try to scream earlier?”

“That would have been wise, but if I recall, your scarf was in the way.”

“Oh yeah.” She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“Use every imbalance of position to your advantage. Even if you go down a flight of stairs you might live. Let an assailant get you bound and alone in a room like this and you might never see the light of day again. Never go quietly or helpfully, from a public place especially.”

“Got it.” Jenny nodded, trying to take in all of the information. “It’s difficult to remember it all in the moment though. Are you going to practice with me again?”

“No,” he said and moved behind her. She heard the snick of his cutting tool as he opened it and prepared to free her hands.

“Don’t move,” he warned as he poised the clippers.

“Why?” she asked.

He paused.

“I mean why aren’t you going to do it again?” she clarified.

A snipping sound accompanied the release of pressure around her wrists and the blood simultaneously re-entered her fingers in a fiery rush that had her gasping aloud. Taking her hands between his own, he rubbed vigorously. Tears streamed down her face in an autonomic response.

“Jesus,” she breathed the word, and rode the long wave of electrified agony. Just when she thought it would never abate, it crested and began to dip. Once it reached a tolerable level she breathed in through her nostrils and out through her mouth repetitively. “Distract me. Tell me why.”

“You’d expect it was me and pull your punches whether you wanted to or not.” Günter continued to knead her fingers, massaging each digit in succession as he spoke.

“How many times did they do it to you?” she asked.

“Only once.”

“For how long?”

“A week. I think.” His slow circles of judiciously applied pressure eased the remaining tingles in her hands. “There’s a lot I don’t remember.”

His admission left her in awe of the man. He’d known what he’d wanted and been willing to go through hell to get it.

“And you didn’t know?” she asked.

“It’s a pretty well-kept secret from the new recruits. I assumed I’d blown my cover on the operation they’d sent me on. I didn’t know it was a fake.”

“How long have I been here?” It felt like twenty-four hours, but she wasn’t nearly hungry enough for that to be so.

“Two hours.”

“Holy shit.” She gripped his hand reflexively. And he’d endured a week? “I thought it was at least all night.”

“I know,” he answered. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I know I’ve put you through a lot, but—”

“It’s nothing compared to what they would do to me,” she finished, wanting to spare him any inkling of remorse. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat.

“When do we leave?” she asked, knowing if he’d pulled this stunt on her tonight the date couldn’t be too far off.

“Day after tomorrow. They want us in position in London by midafternoon.”

London…

Could she handle the idea of the place any better now that she’d set foot on English soil?

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? With this? With going?” His question highlighted her thoughts for her.

Suddenly, she needed to touch him. To feel his warmth and the beat of his heart beneath her hand. Reaching up, she found his face and cradled his cheek in her palm. Stubble rasped against her skin as she trailed her fingers along the slope of his jaw. She brushed the pad of her thumb against his lip and his breath hitched. Going for broke, she leaned in and slid her hand down. Pressed it against his chest.