Blowback (The Black Cipher Files Book 1) (2 page)

“She’s getting away.” A man’s shout, older, deeper, slightly frantic, registered as I reached the door. Two against one. More difficult, but not impossible. Woman, older man. Until I saw his physique, I couldn’t judge who was more dangerous.

“I’ve got it,” the woman replied and sprinted toward me.

I yanked on the handle, flung the door open, and slid inside. The heavy metal swung shut with an ominous clang.

Obviously, the drugs were making me melodramatic.

The warehouse was dimly lit. Industrial metal lights hung from the ceiling, their muted pink glow making the surroundings blurry. Metal shelving separated the concrete floor into long, wide aisles. Three tiers of jumbo shelves housed wooden pallets of goods. I stood at the end of one aisle.

I hustled over two aisles, pulling the knife from the sheath at my waist as I went. The restraint cuffs at my wrists took a few swipes before slicing clean through.

I grabbed some small ceramic rice bowls and shoved them into my jacket pockets. Mistake number four. They’d let me keep my jacket.

The door banged open.

“Don’t let her escape.” I could hear the man huffing, and a rhythmic thumping noise as they pursued.

“She won’t escape,” the woman replied grimly from somewhere behind me.

I stalked down the industrial cement aisle, my footsteps silent. Glancing around, I searched for another way out.

“Please don’t try to escape, Agent Hunt.” The man’s plea had a desperate edge to it.

My legs faltered. I wanted to stop, stand rooted to the floor. Only training kept me moving.

He’d spoken my real name. My
real
name, not the cover I was using for this assignment. So who did they really want?

Me, Jamie Hunt, NSA agent? Or Staci Grant, CIA officer?

TWO

I had assumed they kidnapped Staci. Apparently I’d been wrong.

I had more immediate problems. My plan to eventually let them ‘catch’ me rapidly shifted as details clicked. This was not like the other abductions.

Counting on the insertion team to pick me up after this additional snafu was too optimistic. I didn’t like the deviations from their prior kidnappings. Something was wrong.

They were going to find me if I didn’t get it in gear.

Up. I could go up.

The metal shelving had slats in the girders that would work. I monkey-climbed up the structure, like I did the rock climbing wall at the NSA gym. The climb wasn’t difficult. The rough metal edges should have been hell on my hands, but I climbed without pain.

When I reached the top, I stared at the mess of cuts and traces of blood on my fingers. It should hurt more.

“Come now, Jamie. This won’t hurt a bit.” With a hint of Irish in his voice, the placating words betrayed his place. The slight echo could be distorting the sound, but I had a bead on his position. He was one row over and halfway down the aisle. No other footsteps, so no guards. Hopefully.

A break between pallets came into view. Squeezing between shrink-wrapped bottles of Windex, I paused. With the knife I ripped through the plastic then grabbed a bottle of cleaner and stuffed that in my jacket as well.

“Resistance is futile.” The guy moved closer, the thump muffled on the cement floor. “Always wanted to say that.”

“Wait until we restrain her.” The white-coated lady was in front of me now. Both were near the exit. Excellent.

I kept quiet, peering around the pallets, searching for a way to move over a few rows. Even one would be beneficial.

Paranoid years of studying exits everywhere gave me an edge. All warehouse stores were basically the same, so another row or two over should be a set of doors.

“Your nearest exit is blocked off. You’re trapped.”

Ah-ah-ah. Never give up any information.

“Come now. We’ve got to get to it. I don’t have time to waste.” He said irritably, “The others were not this difficult.”

“The others were unconscious,” the woman muttered.

I spotted an electrical cord drooping down across the aisle. I jumped up, pulled the cord down, and then tugged to make sure it would hold my weight. The tension indicated enough support. A deep breath and a Tarzan swing later, I landed on top of the shelving across the aisle.

I tossed the bottle of Windex over two more aisles.

“Where
is
she?”

“We’ll get her,” the woman soothed. “The drugs should be messing with her perception.”

What drugs?
Were they the same drugs they’d given to everyone else? My coordination hadn’t suffered. So far the only thing off was the halo around light, my blurred vision, and an increased tolerance for pain.

Any hope of letting this mission proceed was gone.

I tiptoed across the top of the pallets working my way to the end. I’d be out of here in a minute. Although once I got out, I’d have a new set of problems. This guy knew my
real
name.

I waited behind a pallet of Veuve Cliquot champagne about thirty feet up.

The woman guarded my planned exit door, hands in her pockets. Holding the syringe? More funky drugs or something lethal? I had no intention of getting up close and personal with that needle.

“We aren’t going to hurt you.” The guy was nearing the end of the row. “You’ll be happier when we get through with you.”

“Shush,” the woman hissed.

“Susan, girl, it doesn’t hurt anything to tell her. She won’t remember anyway.” He treated her like he was indulging a child.

“Never influence the data with your own conclusions. You taught me that.”

The man responded analytically, “Obviously Agent Hunt’s physical abilities are fantastic. Can’t wait to get her in the lab, run some tests.”

Lab? Could that be what the truck out front was? Some sort of rolling laboratory. Why? And why bring me all the way to Seattle? Everyone else had been kidnapped close to their home base and only gone for a few hours.

Somewhere a cell phone rang. The woman paced in front of the door, her heels rat-a-tat-tatted a quickening rhythm, transmitting her nerves.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered. In a louder voice, she said, “They’ll be back soon. We may have to abort.”

Great. We were going to have company. Time to go.

I sheathed the knife. I couldn’t risk planting it in one of them. I might need it later. Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out the rice bowl. Perfect.

“Nonsense. Agent Hunt,” he called imperiously, “Do you feel you have any weaknesses?”

“I think we should wait,” the woman burst out. “Refine.”

“No time,” he growled. “The program is in place.”

“But--”

“Remember your incentive.”

“I’m hardly likely to forget.” I heard the grim resolve in her tone. “I will do what has to be done.”

While she was resolute, he seemed fanatic. Agents with a mission were dangerous; fanatics with an agenda difficult to identify were unpredictable and unstable. Not a good combination.

He thumped closer. I chanced a look. He was older but not old. Maybe early to mid-50's. But the cane was definitely for use, not effect. He glanced left, then right. “Come on out, love.”

Not a chance. I had to trust my instincts and assume my cover had been compromised.

“We’ve got Lucas Smith.”

Lucas Smith? The guy I met yesterday? The guy I’d had the most incredible sex with? Plant or collateral damage?

A momentary loneliness stabbed through me, so powerful I had to ignore it. They were fools if they thought they could use Lucas against me.

A professional would have known better.

With one deep calming breath, I centered myself. I calculated the distance and angle of trajectory before launching the bowl. The rice bowl swooped in a neat arc and knocked out syringe lady. Susan. I filed the name away for later.

She crumpled to the floor with a muffled oomph, the ceramic dish clattering to the ground beside her.

“Susan?” His footsteps scuffled closer, the thump of the cane more pronounced. “Look, we won’t hurt Lucas. As long as you come out.”

Sorry man. National security comes first.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Our research shows that a woman’s weakness is caring about the fate of others, most especially a threat to someone they care about. Why isn’t this working with you?”

His casual tone and clear disassociation from his actions was chilling. A weird shiver worked through me. I shrugged the sensation off. He was still giving too much away.

As he rounded the end of the aisle, I launched the other rice bowl. His body hit the floor with a thud, and his little wire-rimmed glasses and cane tumbled onto the cement.

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen some guy I just slept with.”

If they’d wanted to use coercion, Bella would be the only leverage that would work against me. My heart bulleted out of my chest at even the possibility that Bella was in danger. My knees wobbled and I found my balance against the bottles of champagne.

They hadn’t mentioned Bella. No one knew about her. She was safe.

I pushed away from the pallet, climbed back down the girders, then jumped the last few feet. I wanted to kick the door open and make tracks. I wasn’t waiting for the extraction team. Company was coming. I forced myself to slow down and assess.

I examined the cane, but it was just an ordinary wood cane, no hidden compartments or weapons. I checked his pockets. No i.d. That would have been too easy. Then, I grabbed the syringe from the woman and tucked it in my jacket pocket. We needed chemical analysis on that liquid ASAP.

I also needed transpo. Rifling through the woman’s lab coat, my fingers closed on a key fob. A set of Lexus keys. Just what I needed.

“Nice ride,” I murmured.

Eyeing the door, I checked for any kind of trip wire. The guy in the Suburban should be long gone. Hopefully.

I pushed open the heavy door. No alarm sounded, so I was safe for another minute. As I eyed the lightening sky, the door slammed shut. A sign, Closed For Inventory, fluttered against the door.

The parking lot was deserted, except for a Costco delivery truck and the Lexus SC320. I headed for the car. I needed to get out of Dodge.

Tires squealed, warning me--getting away wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. A black SUV pealed around the corner and rocked to a stop in front of me. The passenger door popped open and the driver yelled, “Get in.”

My gaze skimmed over tousled dark blond hair, a straight jaw dusted with light stubble, and sensuous lips pressed together in a firm line.

Lucas Goodman.

My last memory before lights out happens to show up right when I’m escaping. How convenient.

A little too convenient.

“I don’t think so.”

“There’s no time.” Impatience darkened his gunmetal eyes.

Nice touch, but I wasn’t buying. I fingered the syringe in my pocket. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll explain later.” He revved the engine. “Get in.”

“You were a lot less evasive when you were trying to sleep with me.”

“I had a lot more time.”

The metal door to the warehouse banged open. Syringe lady, her hair askew, staggered into the edging dawn. The overhead light poured down over the doorway, defining the pistol in her hand. The Lexus was too far away.

My options narrowed.

Lucas...or syringe lady.

I vaulted onto the leather seat as the first shot rang out.

“Drive.”

THREE

The SUV leapt from zero to seventy-five.

I now knew two things about Lucas Goodman, he was hell on wheels in
and out
of bed.

Susan, the syringe lady ran for her car, shooting as she went. I calculated the angle of her arm and the direction of the weapon barrel. “She’s aiming at the tires.”

He wrenched the steering wheel, zigging then zagging. The motion rocked my stomach as thoroughly as the truck and I swallowed back bile.

He drove like a pro. We flew over the sidewalk, screeched sideways and revved up the hill, engine straining toward the ramp to the highway. The GPS voice bleated, “U-turn if possible”, and The Boss belted out
Born to Run
on the radio.

How appropriate.

“We’re going to have company,” he said.

I pulled her keys from my pocket and jangled them. “Not unless she kept a spare set with that weapon.”

He shot me a grin, his eyes glittering.

I whipped the syringe out.

His grin disappeared, his gaze went back to the empty road. Lucas shifted his shoulder against the driver’s door and propped his elbow on the console, opening up as if he had nothing to hide. “What do you want to know?”

I wanted to know so many different things that they jumbled in my brain, scrambled because underneath the anger and bravado, a part of me was pleased to see him.

That made me scowl.

I was a long way from Virginia. I asked, believing I’d hear a lie, “How’d you find me?”

“It’s not like you went to Oz.” Lucas avoided my question, but he hadn’t lied. Interesting.

I waggled the syringe.

“Right. I put a tracking device in your shoe.”

“You what?” No way.

“When you went into the bathroom, I planted a tracker.”

“Why?”

“I had a feeling you’d be hard to pin down. And Staci is the only lead I have right now.”

Something about that statement bothered me, but I couldn’t quite figure out what.

“I needed to make sure I talked to you again about Johnny.”

“The kid in the picture you showed me?” John Wishbone. Some kid who was the pretext for contacting Staci. Originally I’d thought he was the contact for getting kidnapped. I’d been sure when I got into the hotel room there’d be a welcoming committee.

As far as we knew, and they were admitting, none of the agents had any sexual contact before or during their kidnappings.

Instead we’d stumbled into the room and spontaneously combusted. And then I’d left and been kidnapped.

“When I packed for my trip, I brought along contingency trackers. Just in case you refused to speak with me at first contact.”

I stayed silent, analyzing that statement. Instead of refusing to speak to him, we’d ended up in bed together.