True Shot (7 page)

“There’s a transmitter imbedded under the skin between my shoulder blades.”

The forehead creases smoothed as the blood drained from his face. “A what?”

“It’s broadcasting my location to my employer. That’s how Flinn found me so easily.”

“You’re telling me you’re
LoJacked
?”

“I need you to remove it.”

He raised his hands and backed away. “No way am I cutting into you.”

“You have to. I can’t reach it myself.”

“Then let’s just . . . let’s find an ER and have a doctor do it.”

“There isn’t time. When I leave here, it needs to be gone or he’ll follow. It has to come out
now
.”

“Forget it. I’m not doing it.”

He’d taken two steps toward the bedroom door before she grabbed his arm, her grip strong and desperate. “I’m dead if you don’t do this. Do you get that?”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair as he paced away. “Fuck.
Fuck
.”

“Please,” she said softly.

He faced her, looking sick and torn, and she waited, keeping her gaze locked with his. She wasn’t above mustering a few tears if that’s what it took.

Shaking his head, he released a defeated sigh. “Fine. I’ll get the knife.”

 

Mac sat on the side of the bed, bent over a stretched-out, stomach-down Samantha Trudeau, the tip of the knife poised—and jittering—above a tiny scar at the base of her right shoulder blade. That’s where she said the transmitter had been injected beneath her skin fourteen years ago.

A
transmitter
. What kind of barbarians did this woman work for?

She had her head turned away from him, both arms wrapped around a pillow, her version, he supposed, of a bullet clasped between her teeth.

“So who is he? That guy in the other room . . . Dr. Evil.”

“Don’t talk. Just do it.”

“You want me to do this with a steady hand or not? Because at the moment it’s like I’ve got Parkinson’s. I have a feeling that the more I shake, the more it’s going to hurt.”

“He’s my boss,” she said, voice muffled in the pillow.

“I got the impression you don’t trust him.”

“We don’t have all day.”

“I’m getting there, okay? Just give me a minute.” He focused on willing his palsied hand to take a chill pill.

She turned her head to look up at him, her long, raven hair shifting against the pale skin of her neck. “You can do this.”

He snorted. “After all this time, you don’t know me at all. I’m not the guy people count on in a pinch.”

“You are now.”

Wincing, he dug in with the knife. She stiffened then buried her hiss in the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Blood welled around the tip of the blade, and he felt her skin under his bracing hand go clammy. “Almost there.” She didn’t need to know he had no idea what he was doing. “Just hang on.”

Where the hell was it? He didn’t even know what he was looking for.

“What does this transmitter look like? Will I know it—”

He broke off when what looked like a tiny piece of translucent cartilage oozed out on a well of blood. He pinched it between two fingers and held it up. Had to be it. It was too perfectly round and smooth to be anything but something that didn’t belong.

“Got it,” he said on a relieved sigh.

Samantha didn’t respond, and he could tell from how lax her body had become that she’d passed out. He smoothed his palm over the satin skin of her middle back to soothe her, marveling at the shift in his gut. He was
such
an idiot.

Then he got to work cleaning and redressing the bullet wounds and the new cut. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, finally, and the bullet wounds didn’t look like they were getting infected. Small favors.

He’d just gotten her turned over and into one of his dark blue flannel shirts when her gray blue eyes fluttered open.

“Hey.” He snagged the tiny transmitter he’d set on the bedside table. “Lookee what I found.”

A weak, shuddery breath passed over her lips before she met his gaze. Her eyes slid briefly out of focus. “That’s not it.”

His stomach plunged to his knees. “What?”

“Kidding.”

“You’re
teasing
me? Seriously?”

She grasped his arm with a grimace. “Help me up.”

Fearing she’d start bleeding again if she exerted herself too much, he assisted her into a sitting position. He sat beside her while she rested, his hand braced at her lower back to help keep her upright.

“I need to question him,” she said.

“I don’t imagine he’s going to be all that cooperative—” He broke off at her sideways glance. Of course. She had a gun. And a kitchen full of knives. And warrior training. She had ways of making him talk.

“Let’s get you buttoned up first.”

She braced her right hand on his shoulder and said nothing as he fumbled with the fasteners on the flannel shirt. He’d never buttoned a shirt that he wasn’t wearing, and the angle was all wrong, not like when he’d stood behind her and secured the drawstring of her pants. It didn’t help that just scant inches from the tips of his fingers were a pair of the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen. His heart thundered in his ears, and he was overly conscious of the soft, cool feel of her breath against his hands as she watched his progress. The closer his fingers got to her breasts, the tighter she gripped his shoulder. Interesting.

He needed to talk to distract himself from the intimacy of the moment. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I can’t.”

“If you did, you’d have to kill me?”

“Something like that.”

“That guy out there . . . he
is
the bad guy, right?”

She raised her head and met his eyes straight on. “Yes.”

“And his friends? They would have used their rocket launchers to kill us?”

“They’re not rocket launchers. They’re SIG SG 550 assault rifles.”

“I know that . . . I mean, I know they aren’t rocket launchers. My point is that they’re just as scary as rocket launchers.”

“Depending on how they’re set to fire, they can tear you into just as many pieces.”

“Thank you for that graphic image. So answer the question.”

“They would have killed you.”

“And what about you?”

“Flinn has other plans for me.” Her gaze flicked away. “Otherwise, they would have blown us away without hesitation.”

Mac’s stomach did a queasy dance. He hated her world already, and he’d just been introduced. “When you’re done questioning him, are you going to kill him?”

Her lips tightened, and she deliberately refused to meet his eyes. “Go outside and get into your car. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

CHAPTER TEN

A
m I part of the same science experiment as Zoe?”

Flinn looked back at her, unimpressed by the gun she pressed to the middle of his forehead. His skin still bore faint depressions from the dish towel Mac had used to tightly gag him, making him look as though he’d just awakened from having his face pressed into a wrinkly pillowcase.

“Who took you in when you hit rock bottom?” he asked. “You were going to prison. Who gave you a home? Fed you? Trained you?”

“You
La Femme Nikita
’d me for your own gain. You’ve used me for fourteen years.
Experimented
on me.”

“We’ve had a mutually beneficial relationship, Samantha.”

She had to fight the urge to put a bullet between his eyes. For years, she’d let him do whatever he wanted to her, in the name of making N3 the best team possible. Drug research. Psychic evaluations. Endurance tests. All for the greater good of N3 and its mission to protect the United States from the threats of do-badders the world over. For a long time, she felt she’d had no choice but to submit. Be a good soldier or go to prison. That was the deal, and she lived with it. But now a friend was dead. And it appeared her boss, a man she’d trusted despite his arrogance and flaws, had crossed the line with his scientific research.

She firmed her grip on the SIG. “Zoe said she was pregnant and that there was no way it was a natural conception. How did that happen? And why? What’s the plan?”

“Zoe’s confused, Samantha. You know her. She’s always been a drama queen.”

“Stop talking about her like you don’t know she’s dead and tell me why you impregnated her.”

“I can’t talk with a gun—”

“Have I been impregnated, too?”

“Samantha—”

She pressed harder with the SIG. “Answer. The. Question.” “And then what? You’re going to kill me? The man who saved you when you were a troubled teenager? The man who gave you your life back? A very
good
life, by the way. Have you ever wanted anything that I didn’t give you?”

“I wanted to see my family.” She hated the break in her voice, the sign of weakness. But, then, her family had
always
been her weakness. And Flinn had shrewdly used that against her from the start.

“You know that wasn’t possible. Contact with you would have put them in danger. You willingly gave them up when I offered you the opportunity to use your ability working for N3. We’re the good guys, remember?”

“I was eighteen. I didn’t know what I was doing, what I was giving up. And besides, you said I would spend the rest of my life in prison if I didn’t agree to join you.”

“Yes, because you killed a man. In cold blood.”

“It was an accident!” She was helpless to stop the renewed flood of guilt and horror at what she’d done. Accident or not, the man had died at her hand.

“A jury wouldn’t have seen it that way,” Flinn said.

She shook her head, struggling to keep on track. “You’re trying to distract me with old history. Am I pregnant or not?”

“I can’t tell you what you want to know, Samantha, not like this. I don’t trust you to spare my life once you have what you want. So let’s make a deal: We leave here together. We return to N3 headquarters, where you can get the medical attention you need. I’ll answer your questions then. I promise.”

She blinked back tears of frustration. He wasn’t going to tell her anything, and even if he did she couldn’t trust he’d tell the truth. The only way she would get a definitive answer was to find a drugstore and get her own damn test. If it was positive, then she’d go from there. But where? Oh, God, what would she do if . . .

Keep it together, Sam, she thought. Don’t lose it now.

“Samantha, please be reasonable.”

She adjusted her hold on the SIG. She wanted him to know he wouldn’t win. Not this time. “When I walk out that door, you won’t be able to track me anymore. The transmitter has been removed.”

A look of pure concern blanched his features. “That was a very bad idea, Samantha. Don’t you remember what I told you would happen if it was ever tampered with?”

Her heart thumped. What? Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. “You’re bluffing.”

“Think about it. I told you that the transmitters all have fail-safes in the event an operative is kidnapped and the captors remove it. You must remember that.”

What the hell was he talking about? He
had
to be trying to manipulate her.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he went on urgently. “You have to untie me. We need to get you back to N3 before the fail-safe kicks in.”

“No! There is no fail-safe. I would remember that.”

His gaze bore into her, his concern, even if it was fake, intense. “Within ninety minutes of the removal of the transmitter, a powerful drug will be released into your bloodstream that will wipe your memory clean. It’s designed to prevent our agents from being tortured for information. You can’t share information that you no longer have.”

“You’re lying.” Oh, God, he had to be lying. He had to be.

“I’m not lying.” He jerked at his bonds, his face reddening. “Damn it, Samantha, I’m not lying!”

She backed out of the kitchen and ran to the front door. His frantic voice rang in her ears as she stumbled onto the porch. “Samantha!
Samantha!
”

She saw Mac straighten in the driver’s seat of the SUV, his expression both apprehensive and questioning. Shutting down her doubts, she got into the passenger’s seat and sat back on a hiss of a pain. “Let’s go.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She glanced sideways at him, struck by his concern. He had no idea what she’d dragged him into, no idea that the only way out would be oblivion. “No. I’m not okay.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

F
or the next five minutes, Mac focused on maneuvering around the debris in the road and checking the rearview mirror every three seconds for more bad guys. So far, no one followed.

As the truck rolled to a stop at the washed-out section of road, he considered the water streaming by. It lacked the violent, frothy rush of the night before, but he still didn’t feel confident driving through it, four-wheel drive or not.

“Back up and build up some speed.”

He glanced sideways at Samantha. She was unnaturally pale again, as though she’d lost more blood. The circles under her eyes made them appear a darker blue, the exhaustion in them undeniable.

She’d said nothing beyond that except an order to drive, that ugly gun of hers still gripped in her right hand. At least she didn’t point it at him.

“We need momentum,” she said, impatient. “If you can’t do it, get out and I will.”

Saying nothing, he threw the truck into reverse and watched the mirror. His leg muscles twitched to gas it, just to show her she hadn’t allied herself with a pussy. Instead, he said, “Brace yourself. It’s going to be bumpy.”

She switched the gun to her left hand and rested it on her thigh, then placed her right against the dash and clenched her jaw.

He switched into drive and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The truck bounced over the mud and rocks, brown water geysering into twin arcs on either side. The violent jolts would have tossed him from his seat if the seat belt hadn’t locked him in place.