Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) (31 page)

“
Is it the schoolgirl thing?” Shannon leaned up, to reach my ear. “Is
that
what gets you hot? Little Miss Junior Prep flashing her panties at you?”

I yanked open the door. “Goodbye.”

“
Wait.” She held her shirt closed with one hand and hurried after me. When she saw I really was leaving, her voice rose in alarm, sure to wake the neighbors. “Ed — come back, I was just teasing.” She called after me several more times. I didn't respond.

“
I thought you weren't coming,” Christina said.

“
Trust me, darlin. I almost did.”

While she was busy puzzling that one out, I switched the car into drive and sped to my apartment.

Christina:

Michael made no effort to speak to me in the car. He was breathing hard and did not look at me, but I caught a glimpse of his face in the rear view mirror. He looked mad. When we stopped outside an inconspicuous apartment complex on the other side of town, I was getting antsy.

“
I'm on the third floor.” He handed me a key. “Fourteen C.”

“
By myself?” I repeated. “With your key?”

Michael held up a spare one. “Go,” he said hoarsely.

He didn't need to tell me twice. I went. The elevator was out of repair. I had to walk up three flights of stairs. By the third floor, I was winded. I inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. The smell of musty furniture and stale cleaner assailed my nose.

All the furniture was modern, in shades of black and white with stainless steel accents. No personal touches, but the carpet looked expensive. I made my way into the kitchen. The basic appliances were shiny and new. There was a small eating area set for two with flimsy dining chairs. One of the chairs was piled high with books and folders, suggesting he didn't have much company. At least, none that ever made it as far as the kitchen.

I went back through the living room, turning around the bend that connected the living room to the kitchen and found myself in his bedroom. The obvious focal point was a large sleigh bed with black sheets. In the corner was a desk, also stacked with reading materials. Ditto the chair. I squinted at the titles. Most were reference books, but he had a couple leather-bound classics. Barely visible under the mess was an ancient set of speakers, without a single CD in sight.

I took a step back and bumped into Michael. His jacket was gone and his breathing was easier. “What do you think?”

I hesitated. “You enjoy being solitary and don't have much fun.”

He almost smiled — almost — but then it faded and his face became expressionless, even annoyed. He walked past me and started organizing some of the loose papers on his desk. “Make yourself at home. It'll take me anywhere from a few days to a week to locate your parents.”

“
Where did you find her?”
On a street corner somewhere?

“
Shannon? Ordering equipment. It was an unusual order.”

“
And you became…friends…afterwards?”

“
We aren't friends.”

I stared at him as he lifted stacks of paper off the chair, keeping his back to me. I remembered Shannon's joyous reaction upon seeing him. The poisonous looks she'd shot in my direction. Why she seemed to hate me for no apparent reason. “You slept with her, didn't you?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

That bastard.

“
Don't look at me like that,” he said, without turning around. “I told her what the rules were. She didn't take me seriously.”

I felt a small trickle of pity for Shannon. Not much, though.
Bitch
.

“
You wouldn't make the same mistake.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “You take me seriously.”

Only because I couldn't afford not to.

“
Did you wear a uniform at Sacred Heart?”

It took a moment for the question to sink in. “You mean at Holy Trinity? Yeah, I did. WE all did. Most Catholic schools require them. Why?”

Michael laughed, collapsing back on the mattress. I figured that was as good a time as any to change out of the bus clothes and into the flannel pajama pants. I came out of the bathroom to find him still on the bed, no longer laughing, with his arms stretched over his head. The hem of his wife beater had lifted a few inches, revealing the twisted scar that curved around his navel and intersected with the fine line of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.

Ask him how he got it
.

I looked at his face, which was set with determination and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something that made all the hairs on my arms stand on end. It wasn't…sexual. Not overtly, although that was certainly part of it. Whatever the thought or emotion was, it made his eyes burn. When he spoke, his words were just as unexpected.

“
Would you like to learn some self-defense?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Catharsis

Michael:

The incident with the Sniper had been an unpleasant wake-up call. Christina had spotted the man before I had but been unable to do anything. If his intentions had been hostile, we would have both been screwed. Partly, that was my fault. She was no use to me helpless and I was fully acquainted with the repercussions of getting caught unawares. I should have taught her self-defense sooner. The only reason I hadn't was because I was so used to thinking of her as the trouble-making hostage.

“
You could stand to learn some basic fighting moves,” I said, sitting up. My shirt settled back into place. She looked down at the ground, some color in her face.

“
Aren't you afraid I'd use them against you?”

In a different world. I could easily picture her as an IMA operative. A good one. “I said basic. I am not basic. I am advanced. Even if I taught you the moves, it is unlikely that you would be able to use them against me. Go ahead. Try to hit me.”

She looked tempted, but cautious. I watched her eyes flick to my face. “You'll hit back.”

“
I won't.”

She moved closer, as I had known she would. Close enough that I could have reached out and grabbed her. I saw the muscles in her upper arms jump as she pulled back her fist — but not with enough force for a real hit. She was going to fake it, I thought. And she did. She pulled back at the last possible second and looked offended when I didn't blink.

“
I said try to hit me. That wasn't even a try. If you're fast enough to dodge me, even I'll be impressed. I doubt that's going to happen though, but you won't know until you try, will you?”

She pulled her arm back farther. I timed it, waiting.
Now
. I caught her wrist before the blow could connect with my face, jerking her arm up swiftly behind her back. Heard her gasp in pain and surprise, still reeling, as I searched for the nerve in her collarbone. I pressed it.

“
Ow,” she gasped, instinctively pulling backwards. Putting more strain on her arm. “
Ow
.”

“
You get someone in this position, darlin, and they'll do anything you want to let them go.” I slid my hand down her arm, releasing her from the pin but didn't release her straightaway. “You see? You wouldn't last five minutes against me.”

She glared at me over her shoulder. “Is that a threat?”

“
Only if you make it one.”

“
Charming,” she spat. “You said you wouldn't hit me.”

“
I didn't.”

“
What
was
that, then?”

“
One of your pressure points.”

“
Is it supposed to hurt that much?”

“
No pain, no gain. I can show you…more weak spots.” I kissed her neck. “I promise…I won't press them…that hard.”

I didn't see the fist coming until it was too late to avoid the undercut. I managed to dodge but couldn't evade the impending attack entirely. The blow glanced off my cheek, painful, but not enough to cause damage — thank God. Either I was getting slow, or she was a lot faster than I gave her credit for. Remembering her dash for the bathroom this morning, I suspected the latter.

My hand had already shot up to catch her wrist, almost of its own accord. I was in the defensive position, ready to deliver the single, disabling twist I'd need to crack her bones.

“
What the
fuck
?”

“
I caught you off-guard.” She had that expression that pissed me off most — lips pursed, chin up, nostrils flared. The challenging one. “Not so great, is it? You don't get to hit me, you bastard. That
hurt
.”

I pushed her backwards. “
That
was a lesson. Sparring. I know my limits. Do you?” I leaned forward, centering my weight on her pelvis, making it impossible for her to get back up. It was one of the first nonviolent subduing methods I'd learned. “I'm stronger than you. Faster than you. I can endure more pain than you have probably ever experienced — or ever
will
experience — in your life. Do you really believe, for one second, you could take me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut when I whispered into her ear, “And if you tried to run from me, as many have tried, I could hunt you down. You could leave all your friends, all your worldly possessions, all of that behind. I'd still find you.”

I ran a finger down her throat until I came to the place where you can knock a man out, or even kill him. I pressed down, gently, until she began to struggle, and said, “I'm a dangerous man. I've killed before, and I'll probably kill again. You still don't get what I am. I'm an assassin. I kill on instinct. Just now, when you hit me? I almost snapped your wrist. Next time it could be your neck. Don't push me into that mode, darlin. Never forget that.”

“
I haven't.”

She turned her face away, but not before I caught a glimpse of her tear-streaked face. I'd seen it when she thought I was going to shoot her, and when she thought I was going to rape her. She thought I was a monster.
Mission fucking accomplished
. Anger surged through me as quick and devastating as a forest fire. Then the anger burned out, spent, leaving resentment smoldering in its wake. Resentment, and something subtler: something that put pressure on my chest that was as tangible as a lead weight. I didn't want her looking at me like that. I should have — for her sake and mine — but I didn't.

God help me. God help us both.

I snapped off the light. It would be easier for her to calm down if she didn't have to look at me. I reached out, blindly, and felt for her face. She trembled, but didn't push me away. There was something childlike about her, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was, since she didn't look — or act — like one.

Is it the schoolgirl thing?

She was suddenly wearing a short plaid skirt and partially-buttoned white blouse, straddling my hips and looping her tie around the back of my neck to pull me closer. I was completely unprepared for that image and gasped involuntarily.

Christina fell silent, waiting, listening. Like a deer that just heard a gunshot, but couldn't tell the direction it came from. I shifted my hips, pulling myself partway off her. “I don't want to hurt you.” I threaded my fingers through her hair and she acted like I'd slapped her. “I'm
not
going to hurt you. I just…” But I couldn't think of how to explain myself.

I could torture a man into disclosing classified information and dissemble a machine gun in thirty seconds, but couldn't comfort a frightened girl.

“
I'm not going to hurt you,” I said again. “Please — stop crying.”

Christina:

For the second time in as many days, I woke up in Michael Boutilier's arms. I felt a wave of self-loathing so strong that it nearly swept me. He'd threatened me, coerced me into sleeping with him, come close to killing me for hitting him unexpectedly — and then cuddled me afterward until I fell asleep. It was as if he had multiple personalities.

His fingers were idly stroking my hip. I wrenched out of his loose grip and was struck by the difference: the expression on his face was cold as ice. “What?” he said, misreading my reaction. “Surely you're not expecting me to coddle you again. Or did you run out of tears?”

“
Fuck you,” I said stolidly. “Fuck you and all your personalities, you evil bastard.”

By the time he was on his feet, I was halfway to the bathroom. I fumbled to close the door but the lock was a switch and my hands were shaking and sweaty. He shoved the door open, causing the doorknob to rift cracks through the wall. “What did you just say to me?”

I stepped back from him, towards the sink, reaching behind me for a  weapon — any weapon. My hand closed against the soap dispenser. “Stay away from me. I'm not your hostage anymore.”

“
Maybe if I tied you up and gag you, there'd be some improvement in that shitty attitude of yours. At the very least, it'd shut you up for a little while. I'm tired of you acting like I'm the son of Satan, darlin. It's time to get down from your ivory tower.”

“
You
ruined
my life,” I said. “After all you've done, why shouldn't I hate you? You always threaten me. You don't respect me. You're violent, and cruel, and sadistic, and — ”

“
Finished?”

“
No — ”

“
Too bad. Game over. Insert new fucking quarter.”

I took another step back. “You're fucked up. There is something
wrong
with you. You need medication. Or therapy. Or — ” He got too close. I lashed out with the soap dispenser, which he tore out of my fingers and tossed away.

“
That's not what I need.”

My back hit the sink. “Stay the hell away from me.”

His hands rested on either side of me, trapping me. “What if I don't?”

“
Leave me alone.” I was almost sobbing now. “Go bother someone who wants you.”

“
I don't want anyone else but you.” He walked closer until our hips were flush. “You know that. You
know
,” he repeated, “And you use it to goad me. Manipulate me.”

“
That's not true!”

“
But you're doing it right now. Don't think that I don't notice when you undress me with your eyes. I'm not blind. I see the way you look at me.” His voice dropped even lower, the slow drawl making the hairs on my neck prickle. “But it's perfectly all right when you slum around me, because you don't know any better. It's all my fault. Isn't that right? I'm a sinful, hell-bound son of a bitch, and you're as pure as the fucking virgin Mary — except when you're
not —
”

I slapped him.

“
You want to play rough with me, baby doll?” With one quick sweep of his arm, he knocked the contents of the counter — cologne bottle, shaving cream, soap — to the floor with a crash that resounded deafeningly in the small tiled room. “Fine, we'll play your way. We always do.”

“
Michael — ”

“
Shut up.” He picked me up by my butt and sat me on the counter, pinning my wrists against the mirror above my head. He kissed me, like he was trying to prove a point. The breath exploded out of me like a shotgun when he ground his hips against mine. Every instinct was screaming at me to get away, to run.

I bit down on his lip. He bit back, harder. Hard enough that my head snapped back, against the glass, causing white sparks to  explode behind my eyes. I tasted blood and wasn't sure whether it was mine or his.

“
Michael — ”

“
No
.”

Every time I tried to pull away, he moved me back into place with a snarl and a nip. Every time he moved me back into place, the kiss got less painful until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he simply rested his damp forehead against mine. His breaths were coming in heavy pants, stirring my hair. There was a drop of blood clinging to his lower lip, which he licked away even as I watched. And his face — those
eyes —

“
I can't decide whether I want to slap some sense into you, or throw you down on my bed and rip off your clothes.” A thrill of fear went through me that he could sound so calm with eyes like that. He tilted his head, as if to get a better look at me, and released my wrists. “I can't bring myself to do either of those things, though. I
don't
want to hurt you. I never did. Why do you suppose that is?”

“
Because you're developing a conscience?”

“
You would say that, wouldn't you? Always so idealistic — when you're not being sanctimonious, that is. But I don't really think you believe that. You still think I'm evil.”

“
I — ”

“
No. Stop talking. For once you're going to fucking listen to me.
Really
listen to me.” He hissed into my ear, breath tickling, “I'm in love you with, you stupid,
frustrating
, foolish
girl.”

I flinched. “You're lying.”

“
Why the fuck would I lie?”

“
I don't know. Because you're a liar? Because you're pissed off at me and want to hurt me? Because you want to manipulate me? There's lots of reasons.”

Michael just looked at me. The anger drained out of his eyes and he just looked…

“
You're not serious.” A hysterical laugh burst from my lips; I was terrified. “You aren't — ”

“
I'm not what? I'm not human enough to want something I can't have?”

This time, when I bolted past him, he made no move to stop me.

Michael: