Читать книгу Agent Undercover - Lisa Childs - Страница 9

Chapter Two

“I lost eyes on her.” A voice emanated from Ash’s earpiece. It was a two-way radio that transmitted what he said and what the other agents said. “She’s gone...”

Claire Molenski had stepped through the front doors of the hotel and disappeared into the darkness. Ash had followed her from the dining room, but at a discreet distance that had only drawn the attention of the older woman who had earlier noticed him staring at Claire. The woman had winked at him, either teasing him or encouraging him. Ash had waited only a few minutes before exiting those lobby doors and stepping into the lot.

“Where the hell has she gone?” he asked the question more to himself than to the other agents who could hear him through their earpieces. He hadn’t been far behind her.

“We lost the visual on the subject,” another agent remarked.

Ash cursed. How had she slipped the surveillance so easily? The woman was a bigger threat than even he had realized. And from the minute her name had come to his attention, she’d had his full attention. He’d known this woman was going to be dangerous.

He stepped deeper into the shadows of the dimly lit parking lot. And he heard something. Something muffled and soft—like a crying kitten—was just loud enough to draw his attention. There were plenty of strays in the questionable outskirts of Chicago.

But was it a trick? A lure?

He moved carefully between the parked cars, keeping low so that no one noticed him. But he noticed a dark shadow, probably of a man, bent over as he lifted something from the asphalt. Lights flashed on as a car started, dispelling the shadow to the image of a hulky bald-headed man. The light shimmered off the pale blond hair of the woman that the man carried.

Claire.

Her head lolled back, her eyes closed. She was either unconscious or dead. That cry Ash had heard must have been her last weak attempt to scream for help. Had he heard her too late? But if she was dead, why was the man carrying her? To dispose of the body?

Ash reached beneath his sweater and drew his gun from his holster. He could have spoken into the radio and signaled for help. But then he might have also made the man aware of his presence. And if he was going to overpower him, he needed the element of surprise.

So he crept through the rows of parked cars as the driver of the vehicle with the lights honked and rolled down his window. Ash had thought it was an accomplice. But the driver called out, “Is everything okay? Is she okay?”

“Just had too much to drink,” the man murmured, his accent so thick the words were hard to comprehend.

The driver hesitated yet, his car idling in the lot. He must have realized what Ash had—that the situation wasn’t right. At the very least it wasn’t what the man claimed. Ash had only seen Claire take one sip of her wine and no more. Had it been drugged?

Maybe that was why she had rushed off the way she had. But she had been clear-eyed and coherent then. Whatever had happened to her had happened after she’d stepped through the doors of the hotel and out of Ash’s sight. It had happened so damn quickly that he’d nearly lost her—and still might.

“Why don’t we call hotel security?” the driver suggested.

The man slung Claire over one arm and pulled a gun with his other. He pointed the barrel through the open window of the car. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

Chivalry forgotten now, the driver sped off—tires squealing as the car careened out of the lot. The car had drawn the attention of other agents, who ran across the lot toward the man.

Ash stepped from the shadows, the barrel of his gun pointing at the man’s heart. Claire was slung over his other shoulder, and so small that Ash wouldn’t hit her if he fired. Or at least he hoped he wouldn’t...

“She is my business,” Ash said. “So you can put her down now or you can take a bullet.”

The big man scoffed. “You will shoot me?”

Ash shrugged. “Either I will shoot you or one of the other FBI agents will.”

All around them, guns cocked. Ash hoped all of those guns belonged to fellow agents. But some could have belonged to this man’s associates. Would he have attempted this abduction alone? Which country or group might they be from?

“Put her down,” Ash said.

“I could kill her,” the man threatened.

“If that was the plan,” Ash said, “she would already be dead. But then she wouldn’t be worth anything.”

The threat she posed would have been eliminated, though. Ash’s assignment accomplished. But that gave him no sense of relief—only regret. Anger surged through him, heating his blood despite the cool night air. He had no intention of letting this man, or anyone else, kill Claire Molenski.

The man turned his weapon on Ash, pointing the barrel at him. “Then I will kill you—”

Before he could fire, someone else took the shot, and the big man crumpled to the asphalt. Ash lunged forward and caught Claire before she could hit the ground, too. She was incredibly light and small, more like the weight and size of a child than a woman. But there was nothing innocent or vulnerable about her. He had to remind himself of that; he had to remind himself that she was the danger.

But because of what she knew—and how many nefarious groups and governments wanted that knowledge—she was also in danger. Some people or countries weren’t able or willing to pay for the information she had; instead they would torture her for it.

Ash had seen men three times her size break. Claire Molenski wouldn’t survive. So just watching her wasn’t going to be enough to keep her safe. But protecting her, like she needed protection, would make it harder to gather enough evidence for her arrest.

* * *

HER HEART POUNDING WILDLY, Claire awoke in a panic. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, if it had been minutes or hours since she’d been chloroformed.

Where had she been taken? She blinked her eyes wide, trying to clear her fuzzy vision and her fuzzy head. But the room was dark.

She reached out and breathed a sigh of relief that her hands weren’t bound. Her fingers skimmed across silky material, and she recognized the soft surface on which she was lying. She had been carried to a bed. She skimmed her hands down her body and breathed another sigh of relief that she still wore her dress. Maybe nobody had hurt her.

Yet.

But then a lamp snapped on, and she blinked against the brightness of the light shining in her eyes. “What—where am I?”

“Your room,” a deep voice replied.

She couldn’t see him—not with the light filling her vision field with spots. Who was he?

And why was he lying to her?

This wasn’t her room. Her bed wasn’t this soft and smooth. Her mattress was old and lumpy, but since she was rarely home, she hadn’t seen the reason to replace it. Or to make the bed, either. Her sheets were never smooth. They were always rumpled, usually kicked to a tangled mess at the foot of the bed, as she rushed to get to the office. She was pretty much always at work—before the sun rose in the morning until after it set again at night.

“Why did you grab me?” she asked, her pulse still racing. While she wasn’t bound, she had been abducted.

He replied matter-of-factly, “So you wouldn’t hit the ground.”

“I wasn’t going to fall...” She blinked again, and her eyes adjusted to the light enough that she could make him out standing over the bed.

He was tall—taller than she had even realized when she’d talked to him across the table earlier. And he was so broad. No wonder he had overpowered her so easily in the parking lot in the dark. If only she’d seen him coming, maybe she could have outrun him.

Then she remembered the heels she’d been wearing; he would have caught her and easily once she had twisted her ankle. She wiggled her toes, grateful that her shoes were gone. Maybe she could run now.

“Why?” she asked, her fears growing even more. “Why would you bring me here?”

“This is your room,” he repeated. “The one you rented at the hotel.”

“Oh...” She had rented a room. But she had changed her mind about using it. Obviously he’d had other plans.

“Why did you drug me?” she asked, although she was afraid that she knew the answer.

Was he the kind of man who didn’t take rejection well? With the way he looked, he probably wasn’t often rejected. Did he intend to take what she hadn’t been willing to offer him?

“I didn’t drug you,” he said.

“Someone grabbed me in the parking lot,” she said, “and put something over my mouth and nose...”

“Chloroform,” he replied again so matter-of-factly.

“So you admit to using it on me?” she asked, and anger joined her fear. And again she was grateful her hands weren’t bound because she would fight him. She would hurt him as badly as he intended to hurt her.

“No,” he said. “I recognized the smell. That’s why I brought you back to your room, so you could regain consciousness.”

“What do you intend to do to me?” she asked, her heart continuing to pound wildly with fear.

He sighed and pushed a hand through his dark hair. “I wish I knew...”

“Then why did you grab me?” If he had no plan...

“I only grabbed you after your abductor had been shot,” he said, as if his crazy explanation made perfect sense.

“Abductor?” So now he was trying to place the blame on someone else.

He nodded. “I don’t know who the man was.”

“Was?”

He nodded again but grimly this time, his strong-looking jaw clenched. “He’s gone.”

“Dead?” Her voice squeaked with the question. “You killed him?” Maybe there had really been another man...before he’d died.

“No,” he said. “Another agent shot him...before he could shoot me.”

“And then you brought me back here,” she said, as if she was following his preposterous story. The man was obviously deranged. No wonder he’d followed her out of the hotel and tried to grab her.

And she had thought getting to know someone in person first would be safer than dating someone she’d only met online. Maybe dating at all was a bad idea. But how else was she ever going to meet someone who could share her life—her hopes, her dreams?

Somehow she suspected that having a relationship wasn’t going to be an issue for her anymore—unless she could somehow overpower this muscular man and escape him. She tried to peer around him to determine how far away the door was.

Or maybe she could yell...

Weren’t hotel room walls notoriously thin?

She opened her mouth to scream, but his palm slid across her lips, silencing her. And he joined her on the bed, his thigh hard and warm against her hip. She tried to struggle, but he easily held her down—pushing her into the mattress. And she noticed that his sweater had ridden up, revealing a holster and a gun. He was armed.

Tears stung her eyes as fear overwhelmed her. What was he going to do to her?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, almost as if he regretted that he wasn’t. “I’ve been watching you...”

So she hadn’t been paranoid.

“I’m trying to stop you from doing something that’s going to put your life and the country in danger,” he said. “But obviously I’m too late. You’re already in danger.”

She had realized that back in the parking lot. She’d been scared then. She was terrified now.

“Have you put the country in danger, too?” he asked.

She moved her lips against his palm, as if she was trying to answer his question. As if she could actually answer something so absurd...

She only wanted him to move his hand so that she could scream. If he didn’t want her making any noise, he wouldn’t risk shooting her. Would he?

If she screamed, hopefully someone would hear her and come to her aid. It was her only chance to escape this man and his madness.

But he didn’t move his hand. In fact, it covered her entire face, his fingers covering one ear and his thumb the other. She could still hear him, though—still hear his ridiculous questions.

“Did you already endanger national security?” he asked.

“How?” she murmured the word against his palm.

Who did he think she was? He must have mistaken her for someone else. Maybe it was dawning on him because he stared down at her through narrowed eyes as if determining if he should trust her. He moved his palm slightly.

She could have screamed. But he could still shoot her before help arrived. And then he could shoot whoever might have been chivalrous enough to help her. So she spoke quietly instead. “Who do you think I am?”

His mouth curved into a slight smile. “You’re Claire Molenski.”

Her pulse quickened before she reminded herself that she had given him her first name. And he’d had time while she was unconscious to go through her purse and find her license. Oh, God, if he had seen her license, he also knew where she lived. He could have taken her keys, too, for her car and her house.

But why?

“Who are you?” she asked.

During their speed dating round, he had only given her his first name but that might have been as made up as his other wild stories.

“Ash,” he said. “Special Agent Ash Stryker.”

That name definitely sounded made up to her. But then he tugged on the chain that disappeared beneath the neck of his black sweater and pulled out a big shield. She had seen enough of those the past several years that she realized the shield was real.

And so was Special Agent Ash Stryker.

Dread overwhelmed her and she groaned. “No...”

Triumph flashed in his light blue eyes. “You didn’t think we would trace the online auction back to you?”

“Online auction?” He might have been telling the truth about who he was and what had happened, but none of it made any sense to her. All she understood was that somehow her life was turning upside down—again. And she didn’t know how to turn it right side up. “What do you think I’m selling?”

He just stared at her, obviously convinced that she knew, so that he wasn’t even going to bother to answer.

Annoyance flashed through her. She had been too young before to fight for herself. She wasn’t going to go down this time without a fight.

“Do you think I’m selling my body?” she asked.

His lips quirked again, as if he was tempted to grin. “That might explain the speed dating and the hotel room...”

He flicked his gaze down her short, tight dress, as if he were actually considering buying. And heat flashed through her now, making her skin tingle with excitement. But then she reminded herself that he was an FBI agent, and a cold chill chased away the heat.

“But an FBI agent,” she said, “especially an FBI special agent wouldn’t waste his time investigating something that a vice cop would handle.”

He arched a dark brow and asked, “Do you know much about Vice?”

“No.” She sighed. “But I do know about the Federal Bureau of Investigations.”

He didn’t ask why; he would have read her file. The FBI probably had a volume on her by now.

“So, Special Agent Ash Stryker,” she addressed him. “How are you going to ruin my life this time?”