Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) (32 page)

I punched the wall. The plaster cracked around the area of impact, flaking to the floor. Warm blood oozed from the broken skin. I kept punching until the wall was smeared scarlet from my knuckles, wishing it was something animate. Something that could fucking
hurt
.

The telephone rang, splicing the silence with its shrill ring. I flexed the fingers on my hand and picked up the phone.
It better not be the neighbors calling to fucking complain
. “What is it?”

“
Hn, you sound tense, Michael. Have you had time to consider my offer?”

“
Now is
not
the fucking time.”

“
You
are
tense. Well, I think it's the perfect fucking time, as you so quaintly put it.” He paused. “So tell me, how
is
Christina?”

“
With
me
.”

“
That isn't…quite what I meant. Funny you should mention that, however, because I just received a call. Apparently, your girl is running towards my man. Small world.”

“
You're a goddamn liar, Callaghan, and I don't have time for it.”

“
White shirt? Plaid pants? Black hair, blue eyes?” he listed off her characteristics as casually as ordering take-out. “And in tears — I wonder why.”

I cursed and grabbed a shirt off a hanger, not bothering to button it. I slipped on my boots and clumsily locked the door behind me, still clutching the phone.

“
Leaving so soon?”

I froze on the steps. The hall was empty.

“
Not that way, boy.”

I looked up at the door frame. A camera — he had to have a camera nearby. My pulse throbbed in my temples. Fucking Callaghan and his fucking cat-and-mouse games. “You fucking watching me right now? Getting your fucking kicks? What am I doing right now, you bastard?” I flipped the bird, knowing he could see it because he laughed.

“
You're a man of habit, Michael. I don't need a camera to know that. Now, are you going to join me? Or am I going to have to
persuade
you?”

“
Fuck you,” I said. “Tell me where she is.”

“
In that case, you better run, Michael Boutilier. Run, and pray you find her — before I do.”

There was quiet laughter and then the phone went dead.

Christina:

I ran blindly, the alleys and streets going by in a sepia-gray blur as I raced through the outskirts of urban Seattle. I felt drained — as if all the emotions I would ever feel had been used up in one quick burst during that short exchange with Michael. As if my thoughts and feelings had been a hot sun that had suddenly and inexplicably, without any sign or warning, imploded, leaving me with a black hole in my chest that begged to be filled.

I think I'm in love with you
.

I hadn't run so desperately since my escape from Target Island.

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

Each word pulled at my flesh like little hooks.

The cars driving by made sloshing sounds in the street, which was still damp from last night's rain. One silver car, cutting round the corner too fast, dipped into a large pothole filled with brackish water and splashed me. The cold bit through the wet fabric of my tank top with a vengeance. I barely felt it.

I kept replaying our conversation in my head. His behavior — the argument — the kiss — the
kiss
. There was an obvious conclusion but my brain wouldn't let me reach it.
You don't need that
, it said.
Just keep running
.
And eventually, everything will fade away
.

Sharp cramps arced up my sides. Left foot. Right foot. The buildings around me started to blur. The city was being washed away like running water colors, like the tears coursing down my cheeks.

With my eyes on the sky, I wasn't watching the pavement. My bare foot — I just realized I hadn't put on shoes — encountered something sharp and jagged. A piece of broken glass, I think. In my surprise, I stumbled and ended up skinning my knees on the cement as the sharp concrete tore through the flannel. The pain was like a hammer smashing through my brittle thoughts.

And then I was the sieve, and my emotions were sloughing through me like a burst dam. I started to cry, right there on the sidewalk. With glass in my foot, a heart heavy with wordless sorrow and fear, and scrapes all up and down my legs, I felt as small and helpless as a child. All the buildings were completely unfamiliar when I got around to looking up: I was lost. I started to cry harder, feeling stupid as well as pathetic.

Gasping, I limped to a wet park bench and tried to stop crying long enough to compose myself and figure out what to do. The street was mostly empty; what few people there were carefully avoided my eyes and quickened their pace. They thought I was crazy. If my current state of mind was any indication, maybe I was.

A photograph fell into my lap. Through my tears, I recognized myself leaving Michael's apartment. “What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

The voice, like the photograph, appeared to come out of nowhere.

Where is he? Where
is
he?

“
Please, don't get up on my account.” I wheeled around to see the Sniper leaning against the bench, looking down at me. “Where is your big, bad boyfriend?”

He'd taken a page too many from Adrian's book. “Michael isn't my boyfriend.”

The Sniper shrugged. “You shouldn't be wandering around in such a big city all by yourself. Even if it
is
Seattle — he shouldn't have let you go off all alone.”

“
Who said I'm alone?”

He clicked his tongue. “Don't be coy, my dear.”

“
What do you want? Are you here to kill me?”

“
If I was, I wouldn't have let you see me.”

The chill of the air hit me like a blow.

“
Actually, it's quite fortunate you turned up when you did. Especially since I just received a phone call telling me that there's been a slight change of plans. I
had
intended to get you both together, but now that I have you, my job will be so much simpler.”

I got to my feet and tried to remain calm. “What do you mean?”

“
Any second now, he will come looking for you.” He produced a gun. “I will then escort you both to the IMA.”

I wondered if anyone was close enough to hear me scream. “Stay away.”

“
Please, don't run. These aren't real bullets, but I would hate to knock you out. You are ever so much more entertaining awake, and I'm not sure I'd be able to carry you.” His expression soured. “My partner appears to have disappeared.”

Shit
. He had backup.

I ran, wishing I hadn't tired myself out or paused in such a deserted place to rest. My foot ached sharply each time it made contact with the ground. A pocket of air gusted past me, followed by the sound of a small explosion. The Sniper was shooting at me. Warning shot. I didn't believe that anyone called The Sniper would miss on accident at such close range.

Run
.
Run until you find something to hide behind
.

I ducked behind a filthy garbage can. The Sniper sighed. “You're making this far more difficult than it has to be.”

“
Go to hell.”

“
Did Michael ever tell you how he got his scar? No? He got it while he was running away. Same as you.”

There was an alley up ahead, about twelve feet away. The Sniper appeared around the corner of the trash can and pointed the gun at me. “You won't make it.”

I glanced at the alley. Then at him. Then I pushed off the ground with my arms, windmilling as I staggered over the wet, uneven concrete, trying to keep my wounded foot from making direct contact with the ground. He fired off a shot.

He missed.

“
I told you not to touch her.”

The Sniper was face-down in a puddle, spluttering. Michael was kneeling on top of him, binding his wrists behind his back. “Arrogant,
cocky
little fuck. Don't act surprised to see me.”

Michael glanced up. Our eyes met, and my breathing stopped.

“
You see,” the Sniper said smugly. “I told you he was going to come — ”

Michael kicked him in the side, hard. “You're a regular fucking mind reader. Why don't you try to predict what's going to happen to you if you don't shut the fuck up?”

The Sniper shut up.

A phone rang. Michael frisked him and pulled out a black cell, which he crushed under his boot heel. With a grunt, he picked up the struggling Sniper and said, over his shoulder, “What are you waiting for? A red carpet? Come on.”

“
I don't have shoes on, and there's glass in my foot.”

Michael closed his eyes. “Fine. Then wait there.”

Michael:

Weapons concealment was a basic technique but I was still impressed. Seattle offered the perfect conditions for the Sniper to wear his long, heavy coat without being suspect. After tying him up, I realized it would have been more convenient to remove the coat first, since I'd have to search him later. With an irritated sigh, I gave him a brisk pat-down against the hood of my car and confiscated several weapons, including his knife. He also had several different types of cameras in his possession — digital, Polaroid, and disposable. I suspected the first was his primary tool and the second two were backups, to be used in a pinch.

I sliced off his coat with the knife I'd just confiscated. The Sniper clenched his jaw and I knew the other pockets must contain something valuable — or incriminating — to elicit such a response. From the sour expression on his face, The Sniper realized this, too.

“
You're persistent,” I said. “I'll give you that.”

“
I caught you off-guard. You and the girl.”

“
Shame you felt the need to gloat.” I shoved a gag in his mouth, ending the conversation, and shut the trunk with a satisfying slam. I smashed the camera in my hand on the blacktop. The lens cracked. Twisted fragments of plastic, glass, and metal scattered around my feet. I kicked the pieces into a nearby puddle. The water would take care of the rest.

I pried open the backs of the other two cameras with my thumbnail, removing the film. I left the empty shells on the ground but tucked the film rolls in my pocket. Sunlight exposure had probably damaged them sufficiently, but I planned to shred them just in case.

That done, I scooped up Christina. “Where are your shoes?”

“
I…forgot them.”

She was deposited into the front seat. I tossed the wadded up raincoat in back. “That was foolish.” She always let her emotions get the best of her.

“
Where is the Sniper?”

“
In the trunk.”

“
Oh.”

I turned the ignition key. The seat belt alarm went off. I looked at her. She had her hand on the door handle. I pressed the lock button and she whipped around to look at me when she heard the mechanical thunk. “You planning on jumping out of the car now?”

I fastened the seat belt for her. It gave me an excuse to get closer. “Why did you run from me? Callaghan had a camera installed in the door frame of my apartment. He
saw
you leave. Alone — and unarmed.” She flinched; I wasn't sure if it was because of me, or him, or the volume of my voice, which was rising. “You could have been killed. Where did you think you were going? You have no weapons, no money, no ID” — I let my eyes rake over her — “no shoes. You have only a rudimentary understanding of self-defense. Very rudimentary. What the hell were you trying to accomplish?”

“
I needed to get away. I needed to think — ”

“
Clearly,” I said, cutting her off, “You didn't. Think.”

“
But — ”

“
If you want to survive, you do what I say. It's that simple. And just in case it wasn't obvious before, rule number one is
don't
go running around like a chicken that just got its fucking head cut off. For your future reference.”

“
You also told me you didn't want anyone else but me. That you were in love with me.”

“
I also recall telling you that emotions make people stupid,” I growled.

“
Yes,” she said. “They do.”

Nothing could have prepared me for what she did next. She wrapped her hands around my wrists and kissed me. At first I was too startled to respond. And then I was afraid to. Afraid that any movement on my part would make her come to her senses and stop.