My Spy (15 page)

Code Red.

He suppressed a curse. Sam's level of security had just been upgraded.

He didn't waste time pondering the cause. After a final glance at the pair in the window, he headed for a quiet spot to contact Washington and find out what the hell had gone wrong now.

“A
RE
YOU
SURE
ABOUT THIS, ANNIE
?”

“You don't see me running away, do you?”

Sam's fingers covered hers, then tightened. “I can't carry you to bed. Hell, there's a lot I can't manage to do right now. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

Annie smiled. “I can walk just fine.” Her smile faded as Sam continued to stare at her. “What's wrong?”

“Sorry.” He tilted his head, frowning. “Touching you like this feels strange.”

Annie felt a sudden jolt of nerves. “Strange how?”

“Familiar.” He studied her intently. “Did we meet somewhere before the accident?”

There was that shaky sense of lightning somewhere close again.
Calm, Annie. Remember this lie is for Sam's good, no matter how much it hurts.

She kept her voice steady even though she was jelly inside. “If we'd met, I like to think you'd have more than a vague impression.”

“You're right.” He shook his head. “I've gone back and forth, questioning every thought and searching for the memories so often that everything's tangled up together. I guess that's what happens when you get thrown from a bus.”

Annie didn't move. “How do you know that?”

His brow rose. “Because …” He frowned. “I just do.”

“You
remembered
, Sam. No one told you the details of your accident.”

“Someone must have. Probably a nurse in the hospital.”

Annie shook her head, gripped by excitement. “No details, doctor's orders. You were supposed to remember by yourself. And you just did.”

He rubbed his neck slowly. “Okay, maybe. Just a little. I'm almost afraid to believe it.”

“It's just the start. Congratulations.”

He didn't smile back. “I've got a long way to go, Annie.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me off?”

“I think it's supposed to frighten
me
off,” he muttered.

One part of Annie's mind warned that touching him like this was folly. He had an amazing body, one that had already begun to heal. When he was whole he would walk out of her life again, without a backward glance.

But the sane, reasonable part of her mind paid no attention. The drum of her pulse drowned out all logic and thought of tomorrow. Her skirt rustled, slipping to her feet, and she heard Sam's breath catch.

He slid her white camisole upward. Her nipples rose tight and hard against his palms. “We should probably stop right here.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“Hell, no. Then I wouldn't get to see the rest of you. I've never wanted anything so much.”

Annie shivered at the urgency in his voice, at the friction of his callused hands. She stepped out of her skirt. “Then don't stop.”

Before she could finish, a sharp crack echoed through the courtyard. Cursing, Sam grabbed her waist and pushed her forward. “Down, down.
Now!
”

S
AM
HELD ANNIE
BENEATH
HIM,
IGNORING
HER
MUFFLED
PROTEST.
Warnings screamed in his head, sounds mixed with jagged images. Memories, he realized.

The humid darkness of a South American jungle.

A rocky bay somewhere off the coast of Thailand.

No details. Just the pounding adrenaline burst that signaled danger.

Sam was trying to see outside when he felt Annie tug at his wrist. “Stay low,” he snapped. “They could be targeting the window.”

She finally managed to work her head out from beneath his shoulder. “
Who?
What are you talking about?”

“Save the questions.”

“Sam, I don't think—”

His hand clamped down over her mouth as a shadow moved along the wooded slope beyond the window. “Don't move. Is that understood?”

Feeling her tense nod, he pushed away and crawled awkwardly toward the door, cursing his clumsiness. Every nerve was on alert and his heart was pounding.

Head low. Limbs tucked. Present the smallest possible profile while moving fast and silently.

Patterns were returning. He realized he was used to quick response against hostile fire. Most of all he was familiar with being a target under the worst kind of odds.

Through the swaying foliage, Sam saw the shadow flicker, weaving closer. By instinct, he reached for the knife strapped inside his boot. Except the knife wasn't there.

He cursed softly, feeling the deep prick of habit and training.

Stay low.

Never offer a target.

Always have an escape route.

“Sam? Annie?” A familiar voice drifted from beyond the window. “You two okay in there?”

“Hell.” Grimacing, Sam pushed to his feet to find Izzy silhouetted against the gathering twilight. Izzy had a pistol flat against his thigh, muzzle facing the ground.

“Yeah, don't shoot. We're here. Give us a minute.”

Sam grabbed his crutch and maneuvered to his feet, shirt in hand. He was all too aware that Annie was watching him, her face pale and anxious.

Irritated too, he realized when his sweater was flung against his chest.

“Don't forget
this.
”

“You're angry.”

“As amazing as it may seem, I don't enjoy being tossed to the floor, caveman style. If it was necessary, I want to know why.” Her hands trembled as she glared up at him. “What's going on, Sam?”

He extended a hand to help her up.

Annie stared as if it were toxic waste.

“Look, Annie, it was pure instinct.”

“I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I don't.” Her voice was tight. “How much danger are you in?”

He jammed a hand through his hair. “I don't know,” he said with absolute honestly.

“Then find out,” Annie said. “That didn't feel like a practice drill, Sam. On some level you were
expecting
to be attacked.”

His eyes darkened. “If you want me to leave, I'll arrange it. Just say the word.”

She started to speak, then looked back toward the window, where twilight was slipping into true night. “They told me
there would be some precautions. I knew about the need for secrecy, of course, but nothing like this. Not jumping at shadows and expecting armed attacks.”

In the dim light from the window, Sam saw the fear in her eyes, and now it was mixed with anger—probably at what she considered her weakness. As a civilian, she wouldn't understand that fear was a valuable and natural survival mechanism, not a sign of weakness.

There was a light tap at the door.

“Coming.” He was relieved to see that she had pulled on her blouse and was stepping into her skirt. He moved to help her fasten the last button, but even that small contact made her stiffen and push away his hand.

“Annie, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

He caught her wrist gently. “About us.”

“
What
us?” She moved out of reach, her body stiff. “I have to go.”

“Damn it, we need to talk.”

“Would that change anything?” She looked pale and drained. “You're a stranger, Sam. In more ways than I realized.” She bent and swept up her shoes. “We both need time to think before things go any further.
If
things go any further.”

She was right, of course. Only that made him cut off a curt answer.

“I'll be back later. Don't bother to wait up.”

S
AM
PROWLED
RESTLESSLY
ON
HIS
CRUTCHES, WATCHING IZZY make a fresh pot of coffee. “What happened out there
?”

“Lightning hit a tree up in the orchard.”

Lightning.

Not gunfire,
Sam thought.

Not hostile pursuit.

“Any sign of intruders?”

Izzy shook his head. “Only old Mr. Harkowitz sprinting past. Seems he enjoys wearing a flesh-colored suit for the shock value, but the lightning was too close for comfort. He looked a little shaken. So did Annie,” Izzy added.

“I noticed.” Motionless before the big window, Sam studied the distant gray swell of the Pacific. “Is she in danger?”

“Hard to say. Your presence has been buried in as many false leads as possible. The Navy even—”

“Is Annie in danger?” Sam repeated stonily.

“Possibly.” Izzy took a hard breath. “Probably.”

“Why, damn it? Her only crime is helping me.” Sam's eyes narrowed. “She's not part of this, is she? Don't tell me she's done government work.”

“Hell, no. The woman can't lie to save her life.”

Sam watched the sea pass from gray into formless black. “I guess I knew that,” he said grimly. “It's easy to forget there are honest people left.”

The tidy Alexandria street was crowded. School out, kids playing, pedigree dogs barking.

Perfect little street.

Perfect little world.

The deliveryman in the brown uniform hiked two heavy boxes onto his hand truck and wheeled them deftly up the sidewalk and around to the side door, where he pulled out a clipboard.

Clipboards were the best kind of camouflage. Give a man a clipboard and he immediately assumed authority and bluecollar authenticity. No one looked at him twice.

As usual, his contacts had told him exactly what to expect.

The deliveryman made a big production of ringing the side
bell, except that his finger was two inches away. Several people glanced over casually, then dismissed the sight of the man with a clipboard. He opened the door, palmed his lock pick, and maneuvered his boxes into the building's quiet foyer. From there, no one saw him take the elevator to the third floor and jimmy the lock in nine seconds. It helped that the two D.C. cops outside had just been summoned to a violent domestic argument two blocks away.

Nothing left to chance.

He listened, heard no alarm or sounds inside, then opened the door. After slipping on surgical gloves, he started taking the room apart, quiet and thorough. In eight minutes he had checked the drawers, explored beneath the beds, examined the books.

Absolutely nothing.

But there had to be something useful here. He reviewed his instructions, then checked his watch again. Eleven minutes since he'd entered the apartment.
Think, damn it.

He studied the neat bookcases, the comfortable sofa, then checked the walls for hollow sections.

Nothing.

He was sweating when he went back into the kitchen, knowing the search was taking too long and cursing his failure. There had to be something in here. There was no other room left. When he lifted the range top, his lips pulled back into a tight smile.

A key was taped out of sight near the back of the metal cover. He pulled it free and read the number cut into the plastic body.

A safe deposit box?

He shoved the key into his pocket and closed the range, checking that everything was the way he'd found it. Then he opened the door and maneuvered his hand truck back out into the hall and carefully removed the plastic gloves.