Undercover Lover (12 page)

During training exercises he’d been Tased for several seconds. No more than ten. His mind screamed for release from the agony of increasingly cramping muscles. Jaw locked, he couldn’t utter a sound. Twenty seconds turned into a lifetime. Thirty into an eternity. The electrical signals to his brain remained confused after their assault abated. He couldn’t do more than lift his head in weak protest when O’Rourke bent low.

“That’s for our boys in Dublin,” the agent snarled before dragging him up the slope with Ian’s less-than-steady assistance.

They dropped him to the floor of the passenger compartment at Jenny’s and Simon’s feet. The scent of wet earth and sweat filled his nostrils. Though control of his limbs returned, it still felt as if tiny worms might be eating his flesh.

“Simon, do something.” Jenny’s voice burned him with its tenderness. He didn’t deserve her pity.

“Leave him be,” his second murmured.

Covering his face with his arm Günter folded in on himself and shut out the world. Mind numb, body battered, he couldn’t begin to consider the ring of truth in Ian’s words. Alona—a traitor. Him—a fool. All those men dead in Dublin. And what for?

Fury and sorrow pulled his heart in two directions, each on a different path to a fiery hell. A hell he’d created. For a woman he realized, now that he’d spent twenty-four hours in Jenny Ainsley’s company, he’d never loved.

Günter sat across from Ian at a rickety card table. Water dripped from the kitchen tap, punctuating the silence between the two men with stopwatch regularity. He’d been sitting there, head on his arms, for an hour. Maybe two. Time had ceased to have meaning. He recognized the cushioned unreality for what it was—shock.

His head a heavy weight, he looked up and studied Ian’s battered face. The man stared back at him with one good eye, the other swollen shut. A wide, black bruise marred most of his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Günter asked, coming to himself.

“After you left 5 there didn’t seem a point.” Ian’s voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat and winced. “It seemed better to leave you in peace with your memories.”

“I’ve been in hell for years, thinking I failed her. That I killed her and our child. And now…” Now what? The knife’s edge of guilt had been honed against an even starker reality. Men had died because he’d misplaced his trust. “You have to tell me. Everything.”

“You tell me something first.” Ian cocked his head. “Why’d you do it? Why marry her? I don’t mean to be insensitive, but she never seemed your type.”

Günter closed his eyes and tried to remember Alona. The feel of her in his arms. Her breath on his cheek. She’d always seemed to need protecting. He’d felt needed with her—like a god. People didn’t discard gods. Even when they fucked up.

He shrugged. “She said she needed me. I believed her.”

“But that’s my point, mate. You’ve always loathed needy women.”

“Not this one.”

“What happened to you around that time?” Sitting forward, Ian rocked the table with his elbows. “Didn’t your parents divorce?”

Günter snorted. “I wasn’t ten, if you remember. It’s not like the demise of their relationship damaged my emotional growth.”

“But—”

A floorboard creaked outside the kitchen door.

Günter and Ian both tensed. Training had them unsnapping holsters without a second thought. Günter drew his weapon and aimed it underneath the table while Ian silently skirted the perimeter of the kitchen and crouched low. Signaling his intent he kicked the door open and rolled out of the way.

Jenny screamed and Ian swore as he bounded to a standing position.

“Listening at doors is liable to get you killed ’round here.” Günter tried to sound bored, but didn’t know if he’d pulled it off with all the adrenaline zipping through his system. He holstered his weapon and motioned her in the door. “Come in. Sit down.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t there long.” Jenny clutched the lapels of her pink terry robe and entered haltingly, eyes darting from Günter to Ian. “It’s just I wanted something to drink and I wasn’t sure whether to come in.”

Ian sat down heavily. “Well, you’re in. Help yourself to whatever.”

“Tea?” Günter asked, needing something to do. Something else to think about.

“Sure.” Jenny played with the frayed edge of the plastic tablecloth. “Thanks.”

He snagged the kettle.

“So, what did you hear?” Ian asked.

With his back to the room, Günter turned on the tap and tried not to appear too interested in the conversation behind him. His humiliating display of emotion on the way to the safe house had been one of the many incidents gnawing at his already battered sense of self-respect. The possibility Jenny might reveal any disgust or fear of him because of what she’d witnessed made his midsection go funny until he had to remember to breathe normally. Turning in the tight space, he placed the kettle on the hob and chanced a peek at her.

Jenny glanced at him, meeting his gaze. Eyes soft with the last vestiges of sleep, she shook her head. Reluctant.

“I don’t—” she began.

“It’s all right.” Günter interrupted, scrambling to regain whatever lost ground he could. “You can answer.”

For several moments she worried her lips between her teeth, marring the soft flesh, as she stared almost unseeingly at the table. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she blew out a breath.

“From what I’ve pieced together today and tonight, Günter had a wife—Alona.” She darted a glance at him.

He kept his expression dispassionate, but nodded.

“Alona died in Dublin during a raid of some sort. You didn’t know she was a…” Jenny eyed Ian’s swollen face.

Shame nearly dropped him. Did she really think he’d do something like that to her?

“I’m not going to hit anyone,” Günter said quietly, wishing he could dissolve into nothingness.

“No.” Jenny stood and grabbed his hands.

A warm contentment stole through his midsection.

“That’s not it,” she continued, with a squeeze. “I just didn’t want to hurt you again.”

Her simple statement, so tender and honest, broke and remade him with a speed that took his breath away. At a loss for words, not trusting his voice to contain his emotion, he could only say, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She continued her narration without withdrawing the comfort of her hand. “The last thing I heard was you saying you thought you’d killed her and your child.”

“She was pregnant,” Günter clarified. Throat constricting with emotion, he looked away.

Ian stood to remove the whistling kettle.

“Do you know that for certain?” he asked, lifting the lid from a brown betty.

Günter sat, pulling Jenny with him to the table. Reluctant to relinquish the reassuring warmth, he kept hold of her hand. He frowned, trying to remember the moment Alona’d told him.

He’d come home early and walked in on her in the bathroom. She’d been on the phone—a disposable cell that she used because she’d lost her own. When he’d entered she’d spun guiltily and hid something behind her back. He’d never actually seen the pregnancy test she’d claimed to have been holding, but he had spoken with her doctor when they’d bumped into one another at a restaurant several days later.

For all he knew, he’d interrupted details of the deal MI-5 was supposed to thwart later that evening. One that evaporated and left a cadre of agents scratching their collective balls wondering where their information had gone bad. He clenched his teeth at the anger and shame threatening his composure.

Ian placed the pot of tea and a cup on the table. Steam rose from the water as Jenny poured. He felt everyone giving him wide berth, waiting to see what he’d say. What he’d do.

He shook his head. “I deserve to be shot for stupidity.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian said.

Günter knew he referred to something more than the pain he currently caused. “Just lay it out.”

Ian glanced at Jenny who rose to leave, but Günter grabbed her hand once more.

“Please stay?” He asked more for himself and the comfort she’d bring than any need she might have to hear about his broken past. “I think you deserve to hear this after everything we’ve put you through.”

“She’s not cleared,” Ian protested.

Jenny moved again to leave, but Günter refused to release her.

“Either she knows everything we know…” He raised his voice when Ian tried to overrule him. “Or I return to New York and face whatever consequences MI-5 lobs my way.”

“Fine,” Ian said, making an executive decision Günter believed was still several levels above his pay grade. If MI-5 found out—and they probably would—he’d likely be sanctioned. “But Simon stays out of it.”

“Stays out of what?”

Three heads swiveled toward the door.

Simon sauntered into the room shirtless, wearing only striped pajama bottoms, his glasses folded over the waistband. There was no missing the six-pack he showed off, or his lack of underwear. Günter shot a glance at Jenny to gauge her reaction and was relieved to find her expression neutral. He traced his thumb over the pulse at her wrist and found it nominally high, but that could have been from the start Simon had given her.

Simon raised an eyebrow at Günter and Jenny’s joined hands, but wisely looked away when Günter glowered at him.

“I hate my life,” Ian complained and leaned over to grab a lager from the fridge. A loud snick as he flipped off the top preceded the sound of his throat working down the brew. Not stopping to breathe, he downed the entire bottle then pressed the empty container to his bruised face.

The kitchen stool scraped across the peeling linoleum as Simon dragged it closer to the table.

As he sat, Jenny reached over and squeezed Simon’s arm. “Tea?”

“No thanks.” Simon grinned and mussed her hair.

Jenny laughed and playfully slapped him away.

Jealousy stabbing at his midsection, Günter bolted to grab his own beer from the fridge. Knocking the cap neatly from the bottle, he leaned his hip against the counter to take a steadying drink. Everyone stared. He pretended not to notice.

“I’ll start.” Günter directed his attention to Ian. “I want to know why you had Brent Weber capped.”

“Well, that’s to the point, now isn’t it?” Ian turned his chair backward and leaned his forearms along the back. “Let me be equally plain. We didn’t have Weber neutralized. Though we have intel on it now, we didn’t specifically know about your problem until you called.”

“Then who…” The question trailed from him as he remembered Weber’s last words to him about the White Tiger and Dublin. “Fuck.”

Pushing his hair back from his face, Günter placed his beer bottle on the counter and began to pace. One step. Two. Out the door. Into the dark hall. Back again. He made the circuit twice before he came to a halt in front of Ian who looked up at him with an expectant expression—dark brows lifted, eyes knowing.

“Your agent—Gray—knew too much. He’s on the take from the Tiger. And…he shot Weber.” Günter laid out two and two. Made certain it still equaled four. “Weber pretty much outed his supplier. They knew they could pin it on me after the confrontation in the club. So, the Tiger called in Gray to make him prove himself. He panicked—knew it was only a matter of time before you placed him at the scene—which is why he tried to blackmail us and get out of the country.”

“Right,” Ian answered.

“And, if Gray is your man, it means he knows what 5 wants.”

“Which is?”

“Me.” Günter could have laughed. 5’s operation—or at least his involvement in it—was blown before it had even really gotten off the ground. “Your operation is a cock-up from the start. A wet job if you send anyone in. You’ll have to call it off. Send us home.”

“Not so fast,” Ian said.

“What? You can’t possibly hope to use me now. Not with Gray going rogue.”

“We can. And we will.” Ian scooted his chair back until he could lean against the fridge. “As of this evening, we have Gray in custody. While he admits his involvement with the Tiger’s middlemen, all he knows is that you tried to make a drug deal with Weber.”

“But you know he committed the murder?” Hope still burned bright.

“
We
do.” By
we
Ian meant MI-5, of course.

Jenny jostled the table, sending tea sloshing across its surface. “You can’t frame him for something he didn’t do!”

Simon, who knew better, remained silent. Watchful. Günter could feel the gears of his mind working to discover a way out of this predicament on his behalf. While he was grateful, he’d already felt the noose tighten. Knew only one hard pull was needed to snap his neck.

“You help us crack the White Tiger’s Bengal distribution ring. Infiltrate it. Use your considerable clout in the entertainment industry and past knowledge of the ring to find a way to get to the top. When you do, we’ll behead the operation.” Ian’s expression remained dispassionate as he dangled a carrot from the stick he’d been beating Günter with. “You do that? We exonerate you.”

“Why now? Why the urgency?” Günter asked. He needed all the pieces before he came to a decision. “It’s more than drugs. There’s more to this than you’re letting on.”