Читать книгу Under Fire - Carol Ericson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеIcy fingers gripped the back of Ava’s neck and she hunched her shoulders, making herself small against the car door. She shot a side glance at Max. The glow from the car’s display highlighted the sharp planes of his face, lending credence to his declaration that he was a machine. But a killer? He’d saved her—twice. Unless he’d saved her for some other nefarious purpose.
Her fingers curled around the door handle, and she tensed her muscles.
Her movement broke his trancelike stare out the windshield. Blinking, he peeled one hand from the steering wheel and ran it through his dark hair.
“I—I won’t hurt you, Dr. Whitman.”
She whispered, “Ava.”
He cranked his head to the side, and the stark lines on his face softened. “Where can I take you...Ava?”
She jerked forward in her seat. She couldn’t go home, as if she’d ever called that small bungalow teetering at the edge of the desert home.
But if Max thought he could launch a bombshell at her like that and then blithely drop her off somewhere, he needed to reprogram himself.
Had he really just blamed her for Simon’s breakdown?
“Before you take me anywhere—” she pressed her palms against her bouncing knees “—you’re going to explain yourself. How is any of this my fault?”
He squeezed his eyes closed briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have yelled, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“Me?” She jabbed an index finger at her chest. “You don’t know if you can trust me? You’re the one who whisked me away from the lab, led me into an ambush and then threatened to kill me.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “That wasn’t a threat. I don’t make threats.”
His words hung in the space between them, their meaning clear. This man would strike without warning and without mercy. The fact that she still sat beside him, living and breathing, attested to the fact that despite his misgivings he must trust her at least a little bit.
“You warned me that you were a killer, like Simon.”
“What exactly do you think the agents of...Prospero do if not kill?”
“You kill when it’s necessary. You kill to protect the country. You kill in self-defense.”
“Is that what you think Simon was doing?”
She stuffed her hands beneath her thighs. “No, but that’s what you were doing when you took him out.”
He nodded once and his jaw hardened again. “I won’t hurt you, Ava.”
She swallowed. His repetition of the phrase sent a spiral of fear down her spine. Was he trying to convince her or convince himself?
“Tell me where I can drop you off, and you’ll be fine. Friends? Family?”
“I told you, I don’t have any friends or family in this area.” She pushed the hair from her face in a sharp gesture, suddenly angry at him for forcing her to admit that pathetic truth.
“I can take you to an airport and get you on a plane to anywhere.”
“No.” She shook her head and her hair whipped across her face again. “Before I get on a plane to anywhere, I want you to explain yourself. What happened to Simon? Why did you blame me? Why did Simon attack the lab?”
“If you don’t know, it’s not safe for me to tell you.”
“Bull.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Those two men were waiting for me at my house. I wasn’t safe back there, and I’m not safe now. What you tell is not going to make it any worse than it already is. And you know that.”
Lights twinkled ahead, and she realized they’d circled back into the city after a detour on a desert highway so that he could make sure they hadn’t been followed.
He pointed to a sign with an airplane on it. “I can take you straight to the airport and buy you a ticket back home to your family. You can contact the CIA and tell them what happened. The agency will help you.”
“But the agency is not going to tell me what’s going on. I want to know. I deserve to know after you accused me of being complicit in Simon’s breakdown.”
“You were.”
She smacked her hands on the dashboard. “Stop saying that. This is what I mean. You can’t throw around accusations like that without backing them up.”
He aimed the car for the next exit and left the highway. “It’s going to be morning soon. Let’s get off the road, get some rest. I’ll tell you everything, and then you’re getting on that plane.”
She sat quietly as Max followed the signs to the airport. He turned onto a boulevard lined with airport hotels and rolled into the parking lot of a midrange highrise, anonymous and nondescript.
He dragged a bag from the trunk of the car and left the keys with the valet parking attendant.
She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until they walked through the empty lobby of the hotel.
A front desk clerk jumped up from behind the counter. “Do you need a room?”
“Yeah.” Max reached for the back pocket of his camouflage pants. Without the bulletproof vest, the black jacket and the ski mask, he looked almost normal. Could the hotel clerk feel the waves of tension vibrating off Max’s body? Did he notice the tight set of Max’s jaw? The way his dark eyes seemed to take in everything around him with a single glance? Normal was not a word she’d use to describe Max Duvall.
“Credit card?”
“We don’t use one. Filed for bankruptcy not too long ago.” Max offered up a tight smile along with a stack of bills. “We’ll pay cash for one night.”
The clerk’s brow furrowed. “The problem is if you use anything from the minibar or watch a movie in the room, we have no way to charge you.”
Max thumbed through the money and shoved it across the counter. “Add an extra hundred for incidentals.”
The clerk’s frown never left his face, but he seemed compelled to acquiesce to Max. She didn’t blame him. Max was the type of man others obeyed.
Five minutes later, Max pushed open the door of their hotel room, holding it open for her.
She eyed the two double beds in the room and placed her purse on the floor next to one of them. If the clerk downstairs had found the request for two beds odd, he’d put on his best poker face. Maybe he’d figured their bankruptcy had put a strain on the marriage.
She perched on the edge of the bed, knees and feet primly together, watching Max pace the room like a jungle cat.
He stopped at the window and shifted to the side, leaning one shoulder against the glass.
“Do you want something from the minibar? Water, soft drink, something harder?”
She narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to play host. Despite rescuing her from mortal danger, he hadn’t seemed too concerned with her well-being. He’d gone through the motions and had acknowledged her shock and fear, but he’d done next to nothing to comfort her. Because he still didn’t trust her.
“I’ll have some water.” She pushed up from the bed and hovered over the fridge on the console. “Do you want something?”
“Soda, something with caffeine.”
The man didn’t need caffeine. He needed a stiff drink, something to take off the hard edges.
She swung open the door of the pint-size fridge and plucked a bottle of water from the shelf. She pinched the neck of a wine bottle and held it up. “You sure you don’t want some wine?”
“Just the soda, but I don’t mind if you want to imbibe. You could probably use something to relax you.”
“That’s funny.” She placed the wine on the credenza and grabbed a can of cola from the inside door of the fridge. “I was just thinking you needed something to relax you.”
“Relax?”
He blinked his eyes and looked momentarily lost, as if the idea of relaxation had never occurred to him.
“Never mind.” She crossed the room and held out the can to him.
When he took it, his fingers brushed hers and she almost dropped the drink. That was the first time he’d touched her without grabbing, gripping and yanking. Although she’d touched him before, plenty of times.
Like all of the agents, his body was in prime condition—his muscles hard, his belly flat, barely concealed power humming beneath the smooth skin. As a medical professional, she’d always maintained her distance but she couldn’t deny she’d looked forward to Max Duvall’s appointment times.
But that was then.
She planted her feet on the carpet, widening her stance in front of him. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about now? Why did Simon go on a murderous rampage, why is someone out to get me, and why did you blame it all on me?”
He snapped the tab on his can and took a long pull from it, eyeing her above the rim. “Let’s sit down. You must be exhausted.”
“I am, but not too exhausted to hear the truth.” She walked backward away from him and swiveled toward the bed, dropping onto the mattress. She had to hold herself upright because out of Max’s tension-filled sphere, she did feel exhausted. She felt like collapsing on the bed and pulling the covers over her head.
He dragged a chair out from the desk by the window and sat down, stretching his long legs in front of him. It was the closest he’d come to a relaxed pose since he’d stormed into the lab in full riot gear.
“What do you know about the work at the lab?”
“Didn’t we go through this already? We support a covert ops agency, Prospero, by monitoring and treating its agents. Part of the lab is responsible for developing vitamin formulas that enhance strength, alertness and even intelligence.”
“But you’re not part of that lab.”
“N-no. I’m the people doctor, not the research doctor.”
He slumped in his chair and took another gulp of his drink. “How do you know you support Prospero? Isn’t that supposed to be classified information? After all, the general public knows nothing of Prospero...or other covert ops agencies under the umbrella of the CIA.”
“We’re not supposed to know, but like I said, people talk.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’ve heard things around the lab.”
“You heard wrong.”
She choked on the sip of water she’d just swallowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“The rumor mill had the wrong info or it purposely spread the wrong info. You don’t support Prospero. You support another covert ops team—Tempest.”
“Oh.” Clearing her throat, she shrugged. “One agency or the other. It doesn’t make any difference to me. They must be related groups, since both of their names come from the Shakespeare play.”
He nodded slowly and traced the edge of the can with his fingertip. “They are related, in a way.”
“So what difference does it make whether we supported Prospero or Tempest?”
“I said the agencies were related, not the same. One is a force for good, and the other...” His hand wrapped around the can and his knuckles grew white as he squeezed it.
The knots in her stomach twisted with the aluminum. “Tempest is a force for evil? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes.”
She jerked the hand holding the bottle and the water sloshed against the plastic. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t work for an agency like that. Would you? You’re a Tempest agent. Are you telling me you all signed up for service knowing Tempest had bad intentions?”
“Not knowingly. Did you? How did you come to work at the lab?”
Unease churned in her gut and a flash of heat claimed her flesh from head to toe.
“What is it?” Max hunched forward, bracing his forearms against his thighs.
“Dr. Arnoff recruited me.” She pressed her fingers to her warm cheeks. “He gave me the job because I had nowhere else to go.”
“Why not, Ava?” His dark eyes burned into her very soul.
“I—I had lost my license to practice medicine. I was finished as a physician before I had even started. Dr. Arnoff gave me a chance. He gave me a chance to be a doctor again.” Her voice broke and she took a gulp of water to wash down the tears.
“Why? What happened? You’re a good doctor, Ava.”
His gentle tone and kind words had the tears pricking the backs of her eyes.
She sniffed. “I’m not a doctor. I made a mistake. Someone betrayed me, but it was my own fault. I was too trusting, too stupid.”
He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. Running a hand through his thick, dark hair until it stood up, he heaved a sigh. “So, Arnoff took advantage of your situation, your desperation to get you to work for Tempest.”
“And you? Simon? The others? How did Tempest recruit you?”
He dropped his lashes and held himself so still, she thought he’d fallen asleep for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes, he seemed very far away. “You’re not the only one who has made mistakes, Ava.”
“So, what is Tempest? What do they do? Wh-what have you done for them?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he ran his knuckles across the dark stubble there. “Tempest is responsible for assassinations, kidnappings, tampering with elections around the world.”
“I’m not naive, Max. A lot of covert ops groups are responsible for the same types of missions.”
“Tempest is different. An agency like Prospero may commit acts of espionage and violence, but those acts promote a greater good—a safer world.”
She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. “And what does Tempest promote?”
Max’s dark eyes burned as he gazed past her, his nostrils flaring. He seemed to come to some decision as his gaze shifted back to her face, his eyes locking onto hers.
“Terror, chaos, destruction.”
“No!” A sharp pain drilled the back of her skull and she bounded from the bed. “I don’t believe you. That turns everything we did in that lab, all our efforts, into a big lie. My coworkers were good people. We were doing good work there. We were protecting agents who were protecting our country.”
He lunged from his chair, slicing his hand through the air, and she stumbled backward as he loomed over her, his lean frame taut and menacing.
“Tempest agents do not protect this country. Tempest is loyal to no one country or group of nations. Tempest is loyal to itself and the shadowy figure that runs it.”
Her knees shook so much she had to grip the edge of the credenza. Despite Max’s sudden burst of fury, she didn’t fear him. The man had saved her twice. But she did fear his words.
Maybe he was delusional. Maybe this was how Simon had started. Maybe she should fear Max Duvall.
“I don’t understand.” The words came out as a whisper even though that hadn’t been her intent. She had no more control over her voice than she did the terror galloping throughout her body.
He ran both hands through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp. “I don’t see how I can be any plainer. Tempest is a deep undercover agency, so rogue the CIA is completely in the dark about its operations and methods. Tempest carries out assassinations and nation building all on its own, and these interests do not serve the US or world peace.”
“Then what is their purpose?”
As if realizing his close proximity to her for the first time, Max shuffled back, retreating to the window, wedging a shoulder against the glass.
“I don’t know. Tempest’s overall goal is a mystery to me.”
“If Tempest is so evil, why are you one of its agents? You said you were recruited, but why’d you stay? There’s no way the agency could keep you in the dark, not...not like me.”
She held her breath, bracing for another outburst. Instead, Max relaxed his rigid stance. His broad shoulders slumped and he massaged the back of his neck.
“You really have no idea, do you? You haven’t figured it out yet.”
A muscle beneath her eye jumped, and she smoothed her hands across her face. She sipped in a few short breaths, pushing back against the creeping dread invading her lungs.
“Why should I know? You haven’t explained that part to me. You’ve made some crazy, wild accusations, throwing puzzle pieces at me, expecting me to fit them together when I haven’t even processed the mass murder I just witnessed.”
Her knees finally buckled and she grabbed for the credenza as she sank to the carpet.
Max’s long stride ate up the distance between them, and he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? We should’ve saved this conversation for morning, after some sleep and some food.”
When she didn’t respond, he nudged her. “Can you stand up?”
She nodded, but the muscles in her legs refused to obey the commands from her brain.
He crouched beside her, slipping one arm across her back and one behind her thighs. She leaned into him and he lifted her from the floor and stood up in one motion.
He was careful to hold her body away from his as he carried her to the bed, but for her part she could’ve nestled in his arms forever. She wanted him to hold her and tell her this was all a joke.
He placed her on the bed with surprising gentleness. “Why don’t you get some sleep, and we’ll talk about this over breakfast?”
She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Tell me the truth. Tell me the whole ugly truth about what we were doing in that lab and why you stayed with Tempest.”
He backed up and eased onto the edge of the bed across from hers. He blew out a long breath. “I stayed with Tempest even after I discovered their agenda because they wanted me to. Tempest controlled my mind and my body. They still do.”
“No.” Ava squeezed the pillow against her body, her fingers curling into soft foam.
“It’s a form of brainwashing, Ava, but it goes beyond the brain. It’s my body, too.” He pushed up from the bed and plucked up a lamp with a metal rod from the base to the lightbulb. He unplugged it and removed the shade. Gripping it on either side with his hands, he bent it to a forty-five-degree angle. Then he held up the lamp by the lightbulb, which had to still be hot, and didn’t even flinch.
Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Dr. Arnoff’s vitamin formula—stronger, faster, impervious to pain.”
He released the bulb and the distorted lamp fell to the floor. He examined his hand. “So, he did tell you.”
“That’s what he was working on, but he told me it was years from completion.”
He held up his reddened palm. “He completed it.”
“What you’re telling me—” she swung her legs over the side of the bed “—is crazy. You’re saying that Dr. Arnoff’s formula created some kind of superagent and that Tempest sent these agents out into the world to do its bidding?”
“Yes, but I told you it’s more than physical.” He tapped the side of his head. “Tempest messed with our minds, too.”
She bunched the bedspread in her hands. “How? That didn’t happen in our lab.”
“No. That occurred in the debriefing unit in Germany where we went after every assignment.”
She pinned her hands between her knees as her eyes darted to the hotel door. Max Duvall could be crazy. This could all be some elaborate hallucination, one that he’d shared with Simon Skinner. Then her gaze tracked to the metal rod of the lamp, which he’d folded as if it were a straw. So, he was crazy and strong—a bad combination.
“How did they do it? The brainwashing?”
He squeezed his eyes closed and massaged his temple with two fingers. “Mind control—it was mind control and they did it through a combination of drugs, hypnosis and sleep therapy.”
“What is sleep therapy?”
“That’s my name for it. The doctors would hook us up to machines, brain scans, and then sedate us. They said it was for deep relaxation and stress reduction, but...” He shook his head.
“But what?” She wiped her palms on the bedspread. The air in the room almost crackled with electricity.
“It didn’t do that. It didn’t relax us, at least not me and Simon. After those sessions, a jumble of memories and scenes assaulted my brain. I couldn’t tell real from fake. The memories—they implanted them in my brain.”
She gasped as a bolt of fear shot through her chest. “They wanted you to forget the assignments.”
“But I couldn’t.” He shoved off the window and stalked across the room, pressing his palms against either side of his head. “Simon and I, we remembered. I don’t know how many others did.”
He really believed all of this, and he blamed her for administering the serum. Maybe the men at her house had been there to protect her from Max. The pressures of the job had driven them both off the deep end. Simon had snapped, and Max was nearing the same precipice.
“I-is that what drove Simon to commit violence? The implanted memories?”
“No.” He pivoted and paced back to the window, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “The implanted memories were fine. It was the flashes of reality that tortured us.”
If she kept pretending that she believed him, maybe he’d drop her off at the airport without incident. She could make up family somewhere, a family that cared about her and worried about her well-being. A fake family.
“The reality of what he’d done for Tempest pushed Simon past the breaking point?”
“It’s the serum.” He turned again and swayed to the side. He thrust out an unsteady hand to regain his balance. “Simon tried to break the cycle, but you can’t go cold turkey. I told him not to go cold turkey.”
A spasm of pain distorted his handsome features, and Ava tensed her muscles to make a run at the door if necessary. “I’m not sure I understand, Max.”
“The pills.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and staggered. “I need the pills. I’ll end up like Simon without them.”
She braced her hands on her knees, ready to spring into action. The pills, again. He’d been going on about blue pills at the lab when he rescued her, too.
Max was talking gibberish now, his strong hands clenching and then unclenching, his gait unsteady, sweat dripping from his jaw.
“What pills?” She licked her lips. Her gaze flicked to the door. If she rolled off the other side of the bed, she could avoid Max, pitching and reeling in the middle of the room. Then she’d call 911. He needed help, but she didn’t have the strength or the tools to subdue him if he decided to attack her.
“Pocket. The blue.” Then he pitched forward and landed face-first on the floor.
