Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) (11 page)

“
What's the IMA?”

“
Integrated Military Affairs. It's not affiliated with the U.S. military or any other department of the U.S. Government, although they know it exists. You didn't hear that from me, though.”

“
Who
are they?”

“
Mercenaries, Christina Parker. Powerful mercenaries, trained like soldiers.”

Timothy stopped walking. There were splinters of wood scattering the floor of the hallway. He must have broken the door down. “Right. You don't have any shoes on. I'll carry you.”

“
That won't be necessary.”

“
Don't be ridiculous. You'll get splinters.”

The detective swung me up, in spite of my protests, forcing me to cling to him like a monkey as he stepped over the sharp pieces of wood. My breath caught as I surveyed the landscape. I could see hazy mountains in the background, closer than they had been before, and the vibrant green of the hills below us; they were dotted with yellow wildflowers.

It was beautiful, but wild and unaccommodating.

“
Lovely, isn't it?” the detective murmured. “So isolated. Takes your breath clean away.”

It was as if he'd read my mind. Timothy was far more perceptive than I'd initially thought. Stronger, too. His lanky, awkward frame belied a formidable strength. “How did you find me? I'm still not clear on that.”

“
They have multiple bases around this area. It was a matter of hit-or-miss.”

“
Hit-or-miss?”

“
We had no way of knowing
which
base he'd take you to. Ah, here we are.” He stopped at a black, unmarked sedan.

Just like the one Michael drives
. “Is that your car?” I tried to clear my head.

“
No, it's the agency's.” He set me down to open the door.

             
The interior was spotless. I saw a bottle of iced tea in the cup holder. Lemon flavor. I couldn't see this man anything so sweet; it seemed like a prop.
Stop it
.
You're being paranoid
.

“
Nice, hmm? Gets the job done.”

Granted, if he did belong to a detective agency they'd be able to afford nice cars. Of course, they'd want them to be conspicuous, and it stood to reason that investigative agencies might buy their cars in bulk from the same dealership.
But still
…

Timothy held open the door for me. I swallowed. “Um, I'm sorry, but I'd like to see a badge before I get into the car with you.”

“
Smart girl,” he remarked. “I was afraid you wouldn't ask. Here.”

He handed me his billfold. I opened it carefully, tracing the gold ridges of the crest with my finger. His ID was in there. I looked at the photo and then at his face to make sure they matched up. He looked a little younger in the photo but couldn't be faulted for that; it was him.

“
Sorry,” I said again, handing the wallet back.

“
Don't be, Christina. It's not every girl who would get into a strange car with a strange man.”

I smiled, feeling foolish and uncomfortable. Timothy slammed the door behind me and got in on the driver's side. I was initially glad he hadn't put me in the passenger's seat since it meant I wouldn't be obligated to converse with him, but the backseat conjured up unpleasant memories of being a prisoner, bound and gagged, treated like baggage.

The car lapsed into silence. Though the heater was on, the air seemed to grow colder. After a few minutes, he turned on the radio. A slow, moody rock song came through the speakers. It was pretty old, from the late eighties — before I was born.

“
Are you Irish?”I tried to take my mind off the dark synthesizers and unsettling lyrics.

His eyes regarded me in the rear view mirror. “How could you tell?”

“
Partly the name. O' Rourke. Mostly, though, it's your accent.”

Against the song's dark melody, my voice sounded falsely bright.

Timothy scanned a deserted mountain pass and made a right turn. “You've a good ear.”

“
Where are you from originally?”

“
Kildare.”

“
What brought you all the way to the United States?”

“
You shouldn't ask so many questions, Christina Parker. Don't you know that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat.”

I smiled nervously. “Well, I guess it's good I'm not a cat, huh?”

His laughter made me want to leap out of the car. I stopped trying to talk to him and looked out the window instead. Tall evergreens towered over the car, throwing it into shadow. A river ran parallel to the road, slipping in and out of sight through the trees like a winding blue ribbon.
We really are in the middle of nowhere
.

I wanted to cry when we finally came upon a weathered sign informing us that we were just twenty miles from the nearest town. “Hale,” I said reverently. Just the name sounded comforting. “Do you think they'll have a police station?”

“
Probably,” he said thoughtfully.

We passed more trees. The river ended. I watched one minute tick by on the dashboard clock. Then ten. Fifteen. Half an hour.
We should have arrived at Hale by now
. The trees were growing thicker. It looked like we were getting farther from civilization, not closer.

The car jolted; the road was no longer paved, but dirt. I leaned forward, gripping the armrest of the seat in front. “I think you missed the turnoff.”

I know.”

He did?
“Weren't we going to Hale?”

“
No. We're going to my agency. I need you to fill out a statement.”

“
Where is your agency?” I no longer cared if I sounded suspicious. This detective with the sharp eyes and broken nose had me on edge. He'd purposely led me to believe we were going into town and I wanted to know why. “Is it in the middle of the woods?”

“
You'll know when we get there,” was his cryptic response.

It
was
in the middle of the woods. The building's facade was a dark gray stone, granite maybe, surrounded by a steel gate ringed with barbed wire. Two men in green uniforms were standing guard. Both wore sunglasses, though the building threw them both in shadow. Timothy reached into his shirt pocket and flashed a pass. They waved him through.

I couldn't help but notice that Timothy had kept his pass facing away from me.

It's nothing
.

It didn't feel like nothing.

“
What is this place?” I whispered, feeling goosebumps erupt up and down my arms. It seemed wrong to have all this in a mountain forest. “It doesn't look like a detective agency.”

Timothy turned around, smiling brightly. “It isn't.”

“
What?” I thought I'd misheard him.

He reached for my hand. I thought it was a smarmy attempt to comfort me — until the handcuff snapped around my wrist.
Shit
. I lunged for the door, already knowing it was going to be locked. Timothy reached around the seat and fixed the other cuff to the door handle.

A malicious smile twisted his lips. “This isn't a detective agency, and my name isn't Timothy O' Rourke.”

“
I figured that out when you wouldn't show me the other badge,” I lied.

“
Smart lass.” He grabbed for me. I jerked my leg away, crawling as close to the door as I could. “Too smart. I thought you might not come with me, but I'm
so
glad you did. What is that charming saying you Yanks have? Like a lamb to the slaughter?”

“
Don't condescend to me, you lying bastard. What's your real name?”

“
Adrian Callaghan,” he said, slipping out of the car.

What have I gotten myself into?
I'd been better off with Michael.

The other passenger door opened. I lashed out with my foot. “Stay away!”

He raised an eyebrow at my reaction. “Did Michael mention me to you?”

“
In passing,” I snarled. “It didn't sound like he thought very highly of you.”

“
But I'm very good at what I do,” he said, in the same tone you would use to console a child. “I suppose you could say that I get a…certain pleasure out of my work.”

I screamed.

“
Nobody will come.” He gave me a devastating smile and got out of the car again. A few seconds later the door I was leaning against opened. I tumbled out of the car, still attached to the door by my wrist. My head banged against the metal ridge at the bottom and I bit my tongue. I could taste blood in my mouth when I sat up.

“
You can imagine my disappointment when your parents escaped.”

“
It must have been
crushing
.”

“
Oh, believe me; it was. But I feel so much better knowing that I'll have you in their stead, my bonnie lass.” He pulled out a dishrag. Fumes rose from the terrycloth, sickeningly sweet. He forced the rag against my mouth and nose. I clawed at his hand, scratching, hitting, punching.

Adrian pressed down harder. “Hmm…you're a feisty one.”

My chest felt like it was going to implode. I wouldn't be able to hold my breath much longer. He knew it. I knew it. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to summon the strength for a final desperate attack — and he
punched
me in the stomach. I inhaled sharply, and got a lungful of the noxious fumes. Right before I lost consciousness, I heard him laugh. Felt him lean in and whisper, “I'll be looking forward to breaking you.”

I opened my eyes.

I was tied to a swiveling computer chair with my hands bound behind my back. In the middle of what appeared to be a large conference room. In front of me was a large desk. A man was seated at the desk, his fingers steepled at his mouth: olive skin, black hair in tight curls, a face like a toad. I started, wondering how long he'd been watching me —and why.

“
How kind of you to join us.”

I looked pointedly around the otherwise empty room. “Us?”

“
Mr. Callaghan will be accompanying us. I believe you've met.”

I struggled to look over my shoulder. He was leaning against the wall, arms cushioning his head. His smile grew when our eyes met. I looked away. “What do you want?”

“
Only your cooperation, Miss Parker.”

“
That's all?”

“
You'd be surprised. But Mr. Callaghan over there can be quite persuasive.”

Don't you dare look over there
. “I don't know my parents' whereabouts.”

“
I believe you. But I never said anything about wanting information on your parents.”
He doesn't? Wait, what?
“I'm actually more curious as to why you're still alive.”

“
I was taken hostage.”

“
Ah, but Mr. Boutilier was ordered to kill you when your parents escaped.” I hated to think how my expression must have looked. “You didn't know?”

I once read that surprise is the most difficult emotion to fake. I hoped to God that was true, and that I looked like I was playing the part. “No.”

“
Do you have any idea why he might have gone against this direct order, Miss Parker?”

“
No.”

“
I see.” He leaned back. “Mr. Callaghan? Any thoughts?”

I heard him step away from the wall. “She knows more than she's letting on.”

“
Really,” the boss said calmly.

Adrian pulled the collar of my blouse aside —
oh my god he's right behind me —
and said, “Look at her neck, sir. She didn't do that to herself.”

The boss leaned forward, causing the dimples at his wrists to deepen. “He's right, Miss Parker. Care to explain yourself?”

“
I don't understand.” The healing knife scars? Any hostage might walk away with marks like that. They proved nothing.

“
Minor hematoma,” Adrian clarified. “Hickey, in the vernacular.”

My whole body went rigid.
Oh, God
.

“
Thank you, Mr. Callaghan. I'll repeat the question: Do you have any idea why Mr. Boutilier might have kept you alive? Do not lie to me this time, Miss Parker.”

I started to cry. I'd thought I was escaping at last; I'd traded one circle of hell for another.

“
Crocodile tears will not help your situation.”

“
Fine! He tried to
rape
me, you bastards. Happy now? Oh, and for your information —
these are real tears!
”