Shoot to Thrill (9 page)

“Unfortunately I don’t have a choice,” the colonel continued with a glower. “You are the only person in this country who knows Jallil abu Bakr by sight. Therefore, the only one who can take him out with certainty.”

For a second, Kick was filled with pure, hot rage.
Jallil Abu Bakr.
The most notorious of the two leaders of the infamous al Sayika terrorist organization. And the fucker who’d killed Alex and the rest of his team. If he could, Kick would gladly torture the man to death, slowly and horribly, as he deserved. But Kick was in no shape to face abu Bakr or any other member of al Sayika. It would be pure suicide.

“Why would I want to help you?” he managed to croak.

“Besides your lady friend here?” An infuriating threat that had Kick seeing red. “Grow yourself some balls, soldier. Do it for your country. These motherfuckers are planning to blow up the US embassy in Khartoum, along with the British, the French, and the UN diplomatic mission. Innocent lives will be lost. Lots of them. Or doesn’t that matter to you anymore, Jackson?”

Kick lunged at the bastard. And lost his balance. He fell to his hands and knees, head spinning. He heard Rainie cry out but he couldn’t move to help her.

“You’ve got thirty-six hours to get clean,” Colonel Blair said coldly. “Then I’m throwing your ass on a plane. Be ready.”

IT
was hard to stay angry with a man you’ve just seen so thoroughly humiliated trying to defend you. Or maybe even save your life. Rainie hadn’t totally bought into his story earlier, about his former employers hunting him down so ruthlessly. Now she was a true believer. He’d said they were gangsters, but everything about this place screamed military. Or mercenary. That colonel had been just plain scary.

Worse, they expected her to help put Kick through a very dangerous medical procedure. One that could easily kill him.

Pressing her hand to her stomach to quell the gnawing fear, she deliberately ignored the many questions in her mind—foremost of which was whether or not they planned to kill
her
once they’d gotten what they wanted.

Her guard shoved her to follow the others, who half dragged Kick down a second hallway, then turned into what looked like a brightly lit hospital room.

They lifted him none too gently onto one of the two narrow, railed beds that occupied the white room. Gleaming monitors and instruments that Rainie immediately recognized from the ER lined one side wall, and a row of cupboards ran along the opposite.

“Doc’ll be by in a few minutes,” one of the guards said, cutting off her handcuffs, then they all left the room, slamming the door behind them. The lock
snicked
home. Leaving her alone with Kick.

He started to moan.

She was almost grateful for the distraction. She could ask him who they were later. This part, the medical stuff, she could deal with, and be in control.

Quickly, she went over and started opening cupboard doors, looking for the things he’d need to get through the coming hours. She was astonished by the range and number of pharmaceuticals and supplies she found packed into them. Some “sick bay.” The room was better stocked than many ERs she’d been in.

What kind of gangsters—or even mercenaries—had facilities this good located in skeevy neighborhoods like the one outside these walls?

“Good grief,” she mumbled. “Who
are
these people?”

“Don’t ask,” Kick said on a groan. “The less you know about Zero Unit, the better.”

Just then the lock clicked and the door swung open. A tall, rangy man wearing green camouflage pants with combat boots and a khaki T-shirt strode in. Great.
This
was the doctor?

He went right to the bed. “I’ve only got a few minutes. I was supposed to be wheels-up three hours ago, but they held me back when they found out about your addiction from your pusher last night.”

Kick gave him a weary smile. “Don’t hang around on my account, Doc.”

“God
damn it
, Kick, I told you to get
off
those damn painkillers! What the devil were you thinking?”

“Sorry. Just didn’t seem all that urgent at the time.”

“Yeah, well, it was. Now you have to go through a potentially fatal treatment unnecessarily, you dickhead. But it’ll definitely be fatal if they send you out into the field in this state.”

“I’m dead anyway. Sudan is a suicide mission. You and I both know that.”

Rainie gasped at the matter-of-fact pronouncement. “What do you mean,
suicide mission
?” She jumped up from crouching at a low cupboard where she’d been searching for a bag of saline to start an IV. “They can’t just send you out to—”

The doctor spun. Apparently he hadn’t seen her there. “Who the—Ah. You must be the nurse.”

She didn’t get the chance to answer, because two of the guards suddenly reappeared. “Ma’am, we’ll have to ask you to come with us.”

Instinctively she backed away, spilling boxes of supplies onto the floor. “No!” She scrambled behind the bed where Kick was lying curled in a ball. Oh, yeah, like he was in any shape to intervene, even if he wanted to. She really had to start fighting her own battles.

With an effort she straightened her spine and tried to appear brave on the outside, even though inside she was quaking like an aspen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Still handcuffed, Kick’s hands reached out to take hers. “It’s all right, Rainie. They just want to ask you some questions. Answer them and you’ll be fine.” She gave him a look of disbelief. “Baby, if they’d wanted you to disappear, you’d already be history.”

Oh, swell.
Now she was terrified again.

He pushed out a sigh. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

She was too freaked out and exhausted to play games. “No. What are you trying to say?”

“These men are federal agents, Rainie. Zero Unit is run by the government.”

She let out a soft noise of disbelief and leaned down toward his ear. The
government
? “You said it was the mob after you!” she muttered under her breath.

“
You
guessed it was the mob,” he murmured back. “I was just trying to protect you. Because once these people sink their claws into you . . .” He shook his head.

She straightened.
Not gonna think about
that
part.

But government agents. Right. Sure. Like spies? Or J. Edgar Hoover wannabes—

Abruptly, her jaw dropped as she realized. “But . . . But wait. That means
you . . .
”

A weary smile rolled over his lips. “Yup. Me.”

“You work for the government?”

“Did. Past tense. Remember? No more. Thus the whole kidnapping thing.”

She honestly didn’t give a damn about the time frame. The point was—Hell, she didn’t know what the point was. She was just shocked.

“
Our
government? You’re sure?”

He chuckled wearily. “ ’Fraid so. Zero Unit is part of the Company.”

Her disbelief morphed to incredulity. “The Company. As in . . .”

“Yeah.
That
Company. I used to work for CIA.”

RAINIE’S
mind was still reeling when she was ushered into a sparse but ordinary-looking office with a neat but ordinary-looking man sitting behind the cluttered but ordinary-looking desk.

CIA?

C-I-freaking-A?

Kick?

Wow. Okay. Maybe.
But all that aside . . . Could an official US government agency really kidnap people? And threaten to kill them? Send them on suicide missions against their will?

She didn’t think so. That would be—

Suddenly she was no longer terrified.

She was
furious
.

“Where the hell do you get off treating people like this?” she demanded of the mousy man behind the desk. “I want to see some identification. No. I want to see the person in charge of this outrage!”

“That would be me.” He gave her a friendly smile and folded his hands in front of him. “My name is Jason Forsythe, Miss Martin, and I work for Central Intelligence Agency. I’m terribly sorry for any inconvenience you may have experienced.”

She almost choked. “
Inconvenience?
Are you completely
insane
? I was abducted at
gunpoint
from my own apartment, by what I now find out is my own
government
? You call that
inconvenient
?”

“Please, sit down, Miss Martin. Yes, Doc mentioned you suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. I truly apologize if our methods stirred up unpleasant memories for you. But—”

“
Excuse
me?” Her body stiffened and she dropped ramrod straight onto the edge of his uncomfortable wooden visitor’s chair. “What makes your so-called doctor think I have PTSD? He’s never even met me before two minutes ago.”

Forsythe’s shoulder lifted. “The men who brought you here described your behavior. But as I said—”

“He’s wrong. I
don’t
have PTSD,” she said, her stomach clenching. She swallowed down the seething resentment at even having to talk about this subject. “I have event-specific emotional trauma, if you must know.”

“
Hmmm.
” He nodded slowly. “From your parents’ deaths?”

Again she was unpleasantly astounded. How much did they already know about her?
Can you say Big Brother?

“Yes,” she admitted before it dawned on her she should really just shut up. Which she finally did.

“Interesting distinction,” he said when she didn’t elaborate. “But hopefully irrelevant, now that you know we’re on the same side.”

This time she did choke. “You’re kidding, right?”

He laughed softly, as though she’d made a joke, but his eyes remained humorless. “I assure you I’m not.” He reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small, thin wallet. “You asked for my credentials. Here they are. Now, if we can—”

“I have no way of knowing this isn’t fake,” she interrupted, scrutinizing the ID card that appeared legit, but who knew what real CIA creds looked like? She sure as heck didn’t.

Although, get real, Kick had already told her these people were CIA, and he had no reason to lie. Some comfort.

Forsythe jetted out a breath. “You have a cell phone, I assume?” She nodded. “We mean you no harm, Miss Martin. Feel free to call the Agency and confirm my identity.”

The offer surprised her, but she wasn’t about to turn it down. She’d feel a lot better if someone on the outside knew where she was and whom she was with. She pulled out her cell and dialed Gina’s number.

“Speakerphone, please,” Forsythe said.

Reluctantly she pushed the button.

“It’s about time!” Gina exclaimed before Rainie had finished saying hello. “I’ve been worried sick, calling you all morning. Where
are
you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Listen—”

“So how was it?” Gina asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “How was he? Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous.”

Forsythe smiled blandly over the desk at her.

“Gina—”

“When you didn’t call this morning, I was sure he’d kidnapped you and—”

“Gina—”

“—handcuffed you and did all sorts of—”

“
Gina
! Listen to me!”

“Sorry, got carried away. What is it, hon? You sound strange. He didn’t—”

Rainie plunged in. “I’m being questioned by a man who claims to be with the CIA. I need you to check for me and find out if he’s legit.”

There was a long pause. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. CIA. The name is Jason Forsythe. Can you check it out and call me back as soon as possible?”

“Should I be worried?” Gina asked carefully.

Rainie took a deep breath. She wanted to scream, “Yes! Please come rescue me!” but if Forsythe was who he said he was, she should be fine.
Hopefully.
If he wasn’t, there was no way she wanted Gina involved in any of this. She was even starting to regret having called her at all.

“Don’t worry,” she told her best friend. “Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous actually turned out to be Mr. Tall Dark and Addicted. There was fallout.” She glared at the man across from her. “I just want to be sure the people I’m talking to aren’t bad guys masquerading as law enforcement.”

“Okaaay.”

“Hurry. I’ll be waiting.”

She hung up knowing Gina would already be in a frenzied panic calling her former fiancé, Special Agent Wade Montana of the FBI, trying to confirm that Rainie wasn’t being held by drug dealers or worse. Gina and Wade had an ugly breakup last year, and Rainie hoped he wouldn’t hold out on Gina just to punish her for dumping him. He had no way of knowing Rainie had been his staunchest advocate in the relationship.

“Very smart,” Forsythe said, almost approvingly. With one finger, he pushed a paper toward her on the desk. “While we wait, I’d like you to read this.”

“What is it?”

He just nodded at the paper. It was a typical-looking no-nonsense government form, filled in and signed. By someone named Kyle Jackson. Jackson . . . Wasn’t that the name the nasty old Marine had called Kick? Lord, how embarrassing, she’d never asked him his last name. At her inquiring glance, Forsythe nodded again.