Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) (35 page)

Shannon played with her necklace, zipping the charm back and forth across the chain with a buzzing sound that grated my ears like sandpaper. Sensing my scrutiny, she turned and smiled briefly, though the smile quickly faded when she glimpsed the expression on my face. “Ed?”

The name echoed ominously in my head.
Ed
. That was important, for some reason.

“
Don't talk to me. I need to think.”

It was pretty warm for a winter night in Seattle, hovering in the mid-sixties. The humidity in the air was as smothering as a wet blanket and made me sweat, though I wasn't hot. I switched on the air-conditioner, wondering how many people in those expensive buildings were also wilting.

Ed
.

Jesus. I was jumpier than a girl on a first date. My sense of unease grew stronger as I drove downtown. A light drizzle spattered the windshield, blurring the city lights. On the other side of the glass, the world was in motion. Chaotic. Inside, it was frozen. I could tell my silence was eating at Shannon. She was growing more rigid with each passing moment.

“
Ed?”

I just looked at her.

“
Do you mind?” She blurted suddenly. She was fiddling with the car radio before I had time to respond. I stared at the knobs, a feeling of
deja vu
swarming over me as I remembered twisting one of the knobs clean off my old car, back on one of the passes in the Cascade Mountains. When Richardson called ordering me to execute Christina.

Before I had been branded as a traitor.

Bursts of sound came from the speakers as Shannon continued to switch stations, finally settling on an easy-listening song from the 90s. It didn't take long for the whiny guitars to wear my nerves as thin as the Euro-dance had. “I love this song,” she babbled. “Don't you, Ed?”

A flash of…something…arced through me. “No.”

“
But it's so happy,” she protested. “Romantic.”

“
No, it's not. It's about fucking crystal
meth
.”

Shannon looked at me strangely. “So? It's a good song. Loosen up, Ed. You're so tense.”

I didn't want to loosen up. I wanted to know what was gnawing at me. It had something to do with Shannon — she was hiding information from me.
But what?

I took a deep, calming breath, tuning out the radio, and revisited this evening. When I had spilled my guts to Christina. The memory made me wince. I'd let her see me as less than strong. Weak, even. And by telling her, I'd shown her that I didn't care if she knew I wasn't without weakness — that I even
wanted
her to know it. And that, more than anything, was dangerous. I could no longer pretend that she was a hostage or a useful tool.

I really did love her.

Is that how she's paying you? Is that how she's paying you, Ed?

Wait. She hadn't said 'Ed,' now, had she?

Is that how she's paying you, Michael?

Bingo.

My mouth tightened. I pulled the car off the main road. Shannon started, looking out the dark window as I changed lanes to turn down one of the shadowy side-streets. The traffic had thinned out, leaving the road mostly empty. “Is something wrong?” she asked in a too-high voice.

“
Yes,” I said, cutting the ignition. “There is.”

Christina:

My head felt as though somebody had packed it with several bushels of cotton. My temples pounded steadily in time to my racing heart. My chest was on fire. I tried to sit up and felt the pain lick through my ribs — the pain of old injuries awakened. A soft whimper escaped before I was conscious enough to reclaim it as I opened my eyes, which promptly widened in horror.

I was in a moving car.

It all came hurdling back, then — Michael's confession — getting attacked by the Sniper — Michael rescuing me — Michael leaving the apartment with Shannon — the Sniper's cryptic threats — getting knocked out. I tried to touch my chest, to inspect the damage, but my arms wouldn't move. They were bound behind my back with rope; they had trussed me up like a chicken for the chopping block.

The time on the dash said 3:00 in glowing green letters. AM, I guessed. Not PM. That meant we'd been on the road for several hours. The sky was a deep indigo that bordered on midnight, sprayed with stars that looked like cheap glitter. The horizon had a disturbing orange cast from massive light pollution, suggesting we were near a decently-sized city.
Seattle? Someplace else?

I squinted, lifting my body up as carefully as I could in order to glance out the window. Judging from the speed at which the lights were whizzing by, we were moving along at a pretty fast pace — jumping was out of the question.
And the doors are probably locked, anyway
.

The Sniper chose that moment to look over, and I saw the light flash off his teeth as he grinned. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look who is awake at last. Sleeping Beauty. Did you enjoy your nap, my dear?”

I cursed at him, but the gag rendered my insults incomprehensible. I think he got the gist, though, because he started to laugh — hard. Which pissed me off. Who was he to make fun of me? Just who the hell did he think he was? Knowing I was cutting off my nose to spite my face, I lunged at the Snpier, trying to headbonk him.

“
Feisty, aren't you? Cliff—look at this face.” His gloved hands squeezed my face. “Isn't she absolutely terrifying? If looks could kill, hmm?”

“
I'm driving,” Cliff said coldly.

The Sniper's tone turned serious. “How long until we arrive at our destination?”

“
About two hours.” Cliff's voice was flat, deep. His lack of affect scared me far more than anger. Anger was predictable, and could be manipulated. This was different; he was completely dissociated from the situation. Compartmentalized. Removed.

Sorry, kid
.
Make it easy on yourself
.
I don't want to have to hurt you
.

What would make a man like that stoop to pity?

The Sniper pushed me back in my seat, releasing my face. “Did I not say that you would be wearing the gag next time, my dear? Was I wrong?” I wanted to hit him. Grinning viciously now, he leaned in closer and whispered, “You know, Michael didn't find
all
my cameras.”

My eyes widened.

“
No,” he said, pleased by my expression. “As I said, I do not specialize in guns alone. And my, my — that kiss was quite the spectacle. So much emotion. It was very…titillating.”

“
Sniper,” Cliff grated. “You talk too fucking much. You've seen those movies with the men who compromise everything because they can't shut the hell up? Shut the hell up.”

The Sniper rolled his eyes. “I hope you enjoyed your time together, because bad things are going to happen to you and Michael. No more fairytale kisses or happy endings for you.”

“
Don't torment her.”

“
Her boyfriend was rough with me,” he said sulkily. “I have been looking forward to repaying the favor, in full. By proxy.” He wasn't so brave when Michael was dealing with him. I remembered the terror in his eyes. That hadn't been fake. Perhaps the Sniper could read the scorn in my face because he said, “No,
he
won't be saving you this time. Unfortunately for you, lover-boy isn't the only one who likes them with a little fight.” He pinched my cheek and slapped me.

“
She has enough problems,” Cliff said. “Leave her the hell alone. I mean it.”

What was that supposed to mean? The gag prevented me from asking, but the Sniper backed off, only saying, “I can wait.” And the panic that I had been swallowing down suddenly threatened to bubble over, like a tea kettle left to boil.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Vendetta

Christina:

“
Everybody out.” The Sniper punctuated the command with a sharp tug that had me spilling out of the car on legs that felt liquid.

The other man, Cliff, united my gag. I inhaled a lungful of the cold, sweet night air. My chest ached sharply and my breath subsided into a cough, as if I had been breathing in smoke instead of mist. “You bastard,” I said, in a cracking voice, “You're going to be dead when he finds you. Both of you — but especially
you
.”

“
I'm so worried,” the Sniper said.

I was led down a series of long hallways. Not steel, like the halls I'd grown so used to in the Oregon base and on Target Island, but paneled walls and regular tiled floors. It looked like an office building, not a prison. Though if the base extended below ground, as the others had, there could very well be containment cells.
Which they might be taking me to
.

“
Where are we going?”

“
The boss insisted that we bring you back to HQ when we caught you,” said the Sniper.

“
The boss?” My brain hit a wall. “You mean — ”

The boss
.

Adrian
.

“
Mr. Callaghan.”

I stumbled.

“
Oh, don't worry. I'm sure he'll want to deal with you
personally
.”

I refused to give him the response he was looking for. I
refused
.

“
Can't have you knowing the way there, though, can we?”

There was a small prick. The world went gray. Then black. Then numb.

Michael:

Shannon tried to make a break for the door. I pressed the lock button, trapping her. “W-what are you doing? You're scaring me, Ed. Let me out. I want out of the car.”

“
I don't really give a fuck what you want. Why were you sent to my house?”

“
I — I don't understand. I told you, there was a man — and he threatened —”

“
That's the story you were told to parrot, yes. I'm asking for the
truth
.”

“
Ed — ”

“
You called me Michael, earlier.”

“
I did?” The horror on her face was more incriminating than any slip of the tongue. “My ex-boyfriend was named — ”

“
Bullshit.”

“
I — ”

“
Bullshit
.” I grabbed her by the front of her top, nearly yanking it off as I pulled her close to me. “Where did you hear that name? Was it the man you told me about earlier, if the man really does exist, or was it somebody else?”

“
I-it was him. The man. The one who came to my house,” she clarified, before I could force her to elaborate. “The one who was looking for you.”

I shook my head slowly. “I don't know how I'm supposed to trust you.”

“
It's true! He
was
looking for you! He told me you were wanted by the police or…or something. I don't remember. Ed,
please —
”

I slammed my fist against the car door, inches from her face. “Stop fucking calling me that. The jig is up — my name is
Michael
. Never mind what
he
told
you
. What did
you
tell
him
?”

Her words were hitched and uneven. “Please…don't be mad…”

“
What did you
tell
him?”

“
He said if I told him where the girl was, you wouldn't be hurt.”

“
Fuck
.”

“
I thought I was doing the right thing. I…you're an investigative agent. She's just some
girl
.”

I slammed my fist against the door again. “Bull-fucking-shit. You couldn't stand not being the center of attention for one goddamn second, could you? Parading yourself around in a — whatever the hell it is you're wearing — claiming you're in danger. Yet you still took the time to put on your face before you fled for your life. I suppose you thought you were doing yourself a favor, eliminating the competition. That you could
console
me for my failure. Is that right?”

“
Michael — ” Her face was white.

“
You think you fucking know me? I'm an assassin. I kill people for a living. Good people, bad people, it makes no difference to me as long as I get paid.” I spoke slowly, giving each word time to sink in. “And that girl you just sold out? She's the only thing in this world that makes me even remotely human.”

I tightened my grip on her shirt.

“
You better pray nothing happens to her.”

Christina:

I nodded awake and found myself in a stiff-backed upholstered chair. There was a jade plant to my right, the nubby leaves glistening under the florescent lights like smooth wax. Beneath my feet, covering the expensive beige tile, was an Oriental rug the color of blood. The exotic scent of tea filled the air, thick and heady, making me painfully aware of my parched throat and dry lips.

“
Good morning,” a familiar voice lilted.

Adrian was sitting behind the desk across from me, still as a statue, with his hand at his mouth. He looked exactly the same as I'd seen him last time, except his hair was shorter and looked professionally styled. Instead of the tailored, preppy wear, he was wearing a three-piece suit. Or part of one. The jacket was hanging over his chair, leaving him in a starched white shirt and charcoal suit vest. The scarlet tie matched the carpet.

“
What do you want from me?”

His faint smile was the only indication that he was aware of my terror. “That,” he said musingly, “Is a complicated question with many answers. For now, consider yourself my guest. Tea?” He nodded at the silver tea service beside him.

“
No.” The thought of being his “guest” was almost as terrifying as being his victim. I eyed him warily as he shrugged and poured himself a cup.

“
I must admit, I didn't think it would be quite so easy to capture you. I expected a greater challenge.” I watched him take another sip before pushing the cup aside. The subtle movement made me notice a manila envelope on his desk.

“
Sorry to disappoint.” I tried to sound blasé.

“
Oh, but you haven't.” Adrian opened the envelope with a care that bordered on fastidious; it would have been laughable if I hadn't already known how much pain those hands were capable of inflicting. “Nor Michael, either, I imagine,” he added, glancing at the photographs.

I tore my eyes from the photos. “I don't know what you mean.”

“
I think you do.” Adrian was watching me now, gauging my reaction. “I'm sure you realize sexualization is a method of objectification. It creates distance. Debasement. Power. A common defense mechanism for those who have trouble dealing with affection or attachment.”

“
Thanks for the psychology lesson. Where do I enroll?”

He slapped the folder down on the desk and stood up. Part of his technique was making people fill ill-at-ease, leaving small sinister promises of worse things to come. I understood what he was doing, but I still jumped when his hand landed on the back of my chair, inches from my neck.

“
You breached his defenses,” he said. “That makes you valuable to me. That's why you're still alive and…unharmed.” I jumped out of the chair and hit the desk, nearly upsetting the tea service. Having the chair between us made me feel a little better, but not much. Adrian glanced at his watch. “But that could change. So tell me, Christina, while I still feel like listening. Have you anything else to say to me?”

“
What do you want me to say?”

“
A month ago you would have done anything to hurt that boy. You would have sold him out in a heartbeat. Remember the safe house? 'I'm being held hostage! Please! Help me out! You can take whatever you want from the house — just please,
please
help me!'” He laughed.

Hearing my own desperate words being tossed back at me in such a manner made me furious. “You
did
believe me then,” I hissed, “All this time.”

“
Of course. But having Richardson suspect you was a necessary part of my plan.” Adrian walked around the chair, prompting me to back away towards the sofa on the other side of the room. “Your connection to Michael made you an easy target. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.” I received an appraising look. “In that sense, I suppose we're not so different.”

“
That's not true!” I cried out, even as part of me wondered. “You're sick. Michael told me what you di — ” Too late, I realized my mistake.

“
Oh, he did, did he? Well, then you know how difficult it is to get him into a compromising position, don't you? To make him squirm? That's an achievement few can claim.”

“
I didn't do it on purpose.”

“
Didn't you, though?” Adrian said silkily. He folded his arms, glancing at a tank in the corner. A lone shark brooded at the bottom, swimming in and out of the shoals of fish. “Sometimes instinct can be enough. The locals on Target Island called me
el
tiburón
because of my work, and what I do,” he said absently, watching the large creature undulate through the water. The charcoal suit seemed to make his legs go on forever…rather like the streamlined tail of the shark. “Before you and Michael blew it up, that is. He's become quite the problem. I would pay quite a bit to have him brought to me. I wouldn't care how, or in what condition, as long as he was alive.”

I was appalled. “You're going to kill him?”

“
No, no. Not right away, at least.” He smiled, but his eyes remained cold, focused on the aquarium. “He is still useful to me at the moment. But you…well, that depends…”

“
I don't want to hurt anybody.” Something hard hit the back of my legs. I let out a breath when I realized it was just the couch.

“
How unexpectedly noble. But can you really afford such petty chivalry? I do not bargain. I will have your cooperation — with or without your consent.”

My heart jumped into my throat at the suggestive way he pronounced
consent
. I tried to calm down, to keep my breathing steady. “No,” I said, “I can't — ”

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. “I have, in my possession, a tranquilizer in powder form. All you have to do is make sure he consumes it — all of it — and then, when he's fast asleep, you call me. I have him picked up, and let you go home…for good.”

It was as if he'd picked up on my thoughts from earlier. I felt sick; despite thinking of myself as a moral person, I couldn't honestly say I thought his offer was unappealing. “What's the catch?”

Adrian lifted his eyebrows. “There isn't one.”

“
I don't believe you. If it was so easy, you would do it yourself.”

“
But he doesn't trust me — he trusts
you
.”

And that was the catch: Adrian was asking me to break that trust in the worst possible way: by delivering him to the only man I suspected he truly feared. I held Michael's heart in my hands, and he was asking me to pierce it with a poisoned blade. Laid out so brazenly before me, the offer was no longer appealing; it was
wretched
.
I
was wretched.

“
Screw you,” I said unsteadily.

“
Then let me show you something that may just change your mind.” Adrian walked to his desk, pulling a key from his pocket. I watched him unlock a drawer, from which he produced a wooden display box with a glass frame. It contained such an erratic array of objects as to seem purely random, though all of them appeared to be personal items. I looked from the case of knickknacks to Adrian's pleased expression as he replaced the box in the drawer and relocked it. “I don't understand.”

“
The other option.”

I waited, bracing myself for whatever horrible alternative he had in mind. He didn't disappoint.

Leaning so close that I ended up falling on the couch, he said, “Recognize this?” and produced a strip of rawhide from his collar. A ring dangled from it, white gold, set with a single opal. My eyes widened involuntarily and I felt the fingers of my right hand automatically brush the left.

“
That's — ”

“
I like to keep around little somethings to remind me how much I enjoy my work. Souvenirs, if you will, from every assignment.” He regarded my ring a moment longer. “You're the one that got away, Christina Parker. I thought I might keep this handy, for when we inevitably met again.” It disappeared back beneath his collar. “So here we are. You and me. Do you think Michael might be persuaded to come if your life were suddenly…endangered?”