The Spy Who Loves Me (13 page)

She tossed back the last of the drink, letting the slow burn of alcohol seep through her veins. Then she crossed to the bar and poured herself another.

From the leather couch on the far side of the cabin, Prado, Drake's pilot and general kiss-ass boy, snorted.

She turned on him, itching for any reason to toss the ice-cold drink all over his perfectly groomed blond head. “Problem?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Not me, baby.”

Calm, Diana.
She took three deep breaths. It wasn't as if this was unexpected; the man had been watching her for a week. Even so, the call she'd received from Drake had chilled her to the bone. The man had bounced from job to job, recently ending up at the very law firm that did most of the work for ZAEL.

Nobody changed jobs that much. Short order cook to ski instructor, maybe. But add in the fact that he'd spent two summers writing code for computer security systems, and that now he was supposedly an attorney at Baker and Crabb, and it was just too coincidental for comfort.

So Drake's boys had gone in and had a little look-see in Teague's apartment. The man had the component parts for various explosive devices under his kitchen sink and back issues of
Soldier of Fortune
in boxes under his bed. But the real kicker came when the boys had taken a little peek at his computer—and discovered that Teague had spent some time poking around uninvited in ZAEL's mainframe.

Son of a bitch.

The man was no attorney. He was a spy. And he'd set his sights on her.

Damn it all to hell.

Footsteps on the stairs pulled her out of her reverie. She turned, her eyes narrowed as she watched the door. Beltzer came in, a woman tossed over his beefy shoulder like so much dirty laundry.

Earlier that evening, when they'd loaded Bernie into the car, Diana had followed, squeezing in between the unconscious bodies of Phineus Teague and some tart he'd been planning to screw. Diana hadn't been happy about seeing the girl. She was, after all, just one more body to dispose of.

Now, Diana glared at Beltzer. She'd already chewed him out in the car, and she managed with effort to hold her tongue.

Beltzer stared at her impassively, fully aware of her displeasure. “Get over it, already. So you got two for the price of one. What's the big deal?”

Diana tossed back the rest of her drink. Clearly, it was going to be one of those days.

Prado got up, surrendering his seat to the unconscious woman. “It's not a big deal,” he said. He looked Diana in the eye, and she could tell from his expression that he would broach no argument. “She might prove useful.”

Diana held a hand up, signaling resignation even though she itched to slap the smarmy look right off his holier-than-thou little pig face. “Fine. But you deal with her.”

Prado eyed the woman with a leer. “Now that, Diana my dear, is something we can definitely agree on.”

 

A million tiny sledgehammers were going to town on her head, and steely knives of fire had embedded themselves in her shoulder blade. Even so, Amber stayed perfectly still. So long as they thought she was unconscious, she could buy herself some time.

The problem with that plan, of course, was that she didn't know if Finn was with her. Had they brought him, too? Were they on to her? Or were they on to Finn?

Fortunately, she'd taken her earpiece off after they'd left the grocery store. If they weren't already aware of her identity, at least the receiver wouldn't give her away. Of course, that also meant she was out of touch with Brandon. And considering she wasn't due to file another oral report with the Unit until oh-six-hundred, she hadn't called in to get updates as to the mission status. Which meant that although she had no doubt that Drake Mackenzie was at the heart of this new development, until she could get a handle on the entire situation, she'd be wise to just play possum.

Her mouth tasted stale and bitter, the lingering effects of the drug. Narcrylotine, unless she missed her guess. A bit surprising, actually. She'd spent two years building up a resistance to the little-known chemical compound. Considering how fast it had knocked her out, Mackenzie must have used a dangerously large dose or somehow refined the chemical properties of the drug.

A clammy hand closed over her wrist, the touch surprising Amber. Mentally, she started, but her body remained perfectly still. Not for the first time, Amber said a silent thank-you for Unit 7's insistence on intensive and prolonged training.

Her skills had saved her butt on more than one occasion.

“Well?” Diana's voice.

“Pulse is normal,” a male voice said. “She'll survive. The cut on her shoulder's pretty nasty, though. Gonna get infected.”

“Hardly my problem,” Diana said.

“Whatever.” He released her wrist, but Amber felt the couch on which they'd placed her give under his weight as he sat on the edge, so close that she could smell his breath. Acrid. Like old pickles. “Although she might be worth keeping healthy. Maybe I'll take her off Drake's hands once she outlives her usefulness.”

“For God's sake, Beltzer, would you get your mind out of the gutter?” Diana again, but this time her voice was further away. The tinkle of ice hitting glass, then the splash of liquid.

“Better slow down.” That was another male voice from even further away. Deeper, more refined. “I'd hate to have to search for a liquor store between here and the island.”

Island?
They weren't on a boat. At least not yet. A plane, maybe? She couldn't tell. She felt no motion, heard no engine. A safe house?

Wherever they were, they weren't staying put. And in the end, Diana was taking Amber to Drake's lair. Which was both good and bad. Good, in that Amber needed to confront the s.o.b., figure out what he was up to, and stop it. Bad, in that she had no way of communicating with the Unit. Which meant no Brandon, and certainly no backup.

“Prado,” Diana said, “you're an ass.” Then a pause, during which Amber could only assume that Diana had consumed the entire of whatever drink she'd poured.

Male laughter, and then—“Wait. Quiet.”

Amber froze. Had she moved? Did they know she was awake?

A low groan cut through the still air.

“Well, well,” Diana said. “Look who's rising and shining.”

A wave of relief swept through her body.
Finn
. It had to be Finn.

“Tat…i…ana…”

Mentally, Amber blinked, trying to figure out what Finn had said. But nothing she came up with made sense.

“For God's sake, Beltzer. How many cc's did you inject? The man's delirious.”

“He's fine,” the one called Beltzer said. Footsteps, soft against a thick carpet. And then the resounding smack of flesh against flesh. Amber stifled a wince, sure that Finn's face was stinging with the hard bite of the slap.

“See?” Beltzer said. “He's coming to.”

“You're a prick. You know that, right?”

The man laughed, an odd cackling sound. “That's why the big dog keeps me around. It sure as hell ain't for my looks.”

“That,” Diana said, “was never up for debate.”

A strangled sound, like someone gulping for air, reached Amber's ears. She stiffened, fighting back a fear that Finn was choking, a common reaction to a Narcrylotine injection.

“What? What did you say?” Diana's voice was demanding yet gentle.

“Where am I?” The voice was weak but undeniably Finn's.

“The more relevant question, my dear, is
who are you.”

“Phineus Teague,” he said. “The girl. Where's the girl.”

Amber fought a smile, foolishly flattered that his first thought was of her.

“Sorry to have foiled your plans for a roll between the sheets. But she's fine. She's getting her beauty sleep.”

“Where?”

“Beltzer,” Diana commanded. The shuffle of feet, and Amber presumed they were helping Finn up so that he could see her over some obstruction.

“She's okay?”

“She's fine. Just more sensitive than you to our cocktail.”

“I'm not sure this one's not sensitive, too.” That was the other male voice. The one that still didn't have a name. “Look at his color. I don't want him going into cardiac arrest while we're in the air.”

Fear raced through Amber.

“He's not coding,” Beltzer said. “Jeez, Prado, you're such a fucking hypochondriac.”

“Fuck you,” Prado said.

“Oh, yeah, that's big talk,” Beltzer retorted.

“Boys!”
Diana's shrill yell silenced the men. “Is he or isn't he going to die on me?”

“Oh, for crying out…” Beltzer said. The rattle of metal on metal. “Give me a second to look him over.” More rustling. “Pulse and BP are normal. The guy's healthy as a horse.”

“Are you sure?” Diana asked.

“Positive,” Beltzer said.

“Well, good. I need him healthy. At least until we get some answers.”

“Depending on the questions,” Finn cut in, his voice thin but strong, “you may not like the answers.”

At that, Amber mentally applauded, relieved that Finn was not only healthy but sounded like he was on top of his game as well. She told herself that she was only concerned about the mission. But the truth was that she liked Phineus Teague. A lot. And, really, she'd rather not see him dead.

 

Finn couldn't believe he'd made such a smart-ass comment to a woman who'd drugged him and was holding both him and Amber hostage.

Amber.
Thank God she was okay. At least, he hoped she was okay. Apparently the poor girl had been in the wrong place at the wrong time—namely, with him.

Finn had no specific explanation for why they found themselves drugged, handcuffed, and in the cabin of a plane, but did have an idea—he'd picked the wrong woman to spy on. In a perverse way, his fantasy had come true. Only now, interrogatories and depositions were looking better and better.

“Listen,” he said, fighting to sit up straighter, his cuffed hands shoved behind his back. “You've made a mistake.”

“No, Mr. Teague. I believe the mistake is yours.”

“Look, Ta—” He broke off, realizing he had no inkling of her real name. “I'm not who you think I am.”

“Is that a fact?” Her eyebrow lifted. “Let's just see, shall we? I think you're Phineus Teague. Am I right so far?”

He tightened his jaw, flexing the muscles in his arm as he tried to determine how much control the drug had left him with. “So far,” he admitted between gritted teeth.

“Oh, goody. One point for me.”

“The game's not over yet,” Finn said.

“Hmmm.” She crossed to the bar. “Martini?”

“No, thank you,” Finn said, although he desperately wanted something to cool his burning throat. Alcohol, however, wasn't the ticket. Not if he wanted to keep his wits about him.

“Of course,” she said. “After all, you're on duty.” She poured herself a drink. “Let's continue, shall we?”

He didn't bother to answer.

“You work for Baker and Crabb,” she said.

He squinted at her, the fear in his gut rising. What the hell did his job have to do with this?

“No need to answer,” she said. “One more point for me.”

“I'm a lawyer. So what?”

“So you represent Zermatt Aeronautical Engineering Labs.”

He nodded, pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

“Mmm-hmm.” She came over to him then, sliding her hand around his neck, her fingers warm, her scent delicious. She perched herself in his lap, then nuzzled his ear. “But the question is, who do you
really
work for? And why were you poking around in ZAEL's operating system?”

A cold chill eased through Finn's body, like some living creature. Behind his back, he clenched his hands, fighting the urge to stand up and send her tumbling to the ground. Had he actually once thought she was attractive? Hell, yes. The woman was stunning. But it was a beauty tinged with ice, and Finn got no pleasure from the touch of her skin against his.

Automatically, his eyes drifted toward Amber. A table blocked his view, but he could see her foot. The woman was motionless, and he made a silent vow. No matter what, he'd get her out of this mess. Hell, he'd get them both out of it.

He just wasn't sure how.

“Don't worry,” Tatiana said, whispering in his ear. “Your little minx is down for the count. I'm sure she won't mind if we have a little fun.” She trailed a finger over his shirt, managing to unfasten the buttons with little more than a tiny flick of her fingers. Her fingertips found his chest, stroking and caressing with soft, seductive movements.