They turned on him, grabbing for guns that were no longer there, then going for backup—and by then Mickey had enough wits and enough time to reach behind her, snatching up the slingshot from the outside pocket of the backpack, fingers searching the ground for—
There. Big and sharp-edged, gravel from the shrubbery plantings. She loaded the slingshot without unfolding the wrist brace; she pulled the sling back with shaky hands, all the way back—even as one of the men thought to check on her, to suspect that she wasn’t done with them yet.
She let fly. Up close and personal and full strength, she let fly. No kids for you.
The man screamed. Loud and shrill, and barely pausing for breath. The other operative whirled, gun in hand, too close to miss and aiming directly at her mixed-up head. Mickey froze, halfway to her feet, the slingshot reloaded but not pulled back, looking down the barrel of that semi-automatic, thinking she had no chance of surviving a .45 caliber bullet to the brain, thinking that Steve wouldn’t get his happy ending at all—
Except Steve was still coming. And Steve came on fast, brushing the man hard enough so the bike wobbled and the man wobbled and in that split second of inattention, Mickey had him. She released the half-aimed stone and clipped the gun, a .38 revolver, and she surged to her feet with all her remaining strength, kicking the gun aside as it went off, burning a trail all the way up her leg.
This time when Steve came around, he just plain ran the man down.
He cut the engine and toed the kickstand down and leaped off the bike pretty much in one motion, while Mickey found herself on the ground again, not even quite sure how she’d gotten there. She’d acquired the .38 along the way, and had it trained on their new prisoner. “Naia?”
“At the Caltrain, calling nine-one-one as requested. God, Mickey, you look—”
“Alive,” she said, struggling for dignity when she could feel enough puffy heat on her face to know exactly how she looked. “I look alive.”
Steve hesitated next to the Irhaddan operative, who seemed as though he might try to get up until he saw the gun in Mickey’s hand. In the background, his partner still offered a high-pitched and unending whine. “What I meant,” Steve said, enunciating his words carefully, “was it was time for you to run away.”
And Mickey laughed, and pulled him down to sit by her, ready to lean her weary, battered body against him and wait for help.
No such luck. They both jumped as a nondescript sedan swooped around the corner into the parking lot, coming to a stop with a squeal of brakes and still rocking with the motion of it when the two occupants jumped out, ready for action. The CIA to the rescue.
“Tsk,” Mickey said. “That’s pretty active for native soil.”
The sturdy woman gave her partner a cranky look, and tipped her head at the sirens in the background. “See? Let’s go. We’ll grab her up at the police station, nice and procedural.”
“Wait,” Steve said, stopping them from a departure as abrupt as their arrival. “You were—you saw—” and finally his arm tightened around Mickey’s shoulder and he blurted, “How is Mosquito?”
The case officers exchanged a glance, and then the man said, somewhat guardedly, “It’s hard to tell. He seems to have been affected—”
“But he’s alive?” Steve said, sudden hope infusing his voice.
The agent relaxed. “Yes, he’ll be fine. His care is being covered.”
Mickey found she had her own questions. “And the woman?” she demanded. “Did you find—?”
The female agent offered grim satisfaction. “A specialized contractor,” she said. “Abduction and interrogation for hire, right along with her pet doctor.”
“Foolish man,” Mickey muttered, thinking of his callous naiveté. He’d burned out her memory—maybe forever—and if he wasn’t in the league of his employers, he still deserved everything that came his way.
The woman gave her a perceptive look, turning back to face her more directly if just as confrontational as ever. “You’re ready to come in, then?”
To face her past directly? To see who she really was, as others also saw her? Mickey would have shuddered if she wasn’t so wracked with the pain of the beating she’d taken. But Naia was safe and Mickey now understood the players of this game into which she’d been caught up. There was no reason to run any longer, aside from fear.
Not that there wasn’t plenty of fear.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m ready to come in.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 21
Steve swam out of the depths of a foggy, hallucinatory sleep to a foggy, hallucinatory awareness. The bed, he slowly realized, was jiggling. Tiny little bounces.
Totally atypical of his bed at any time.
“Ise gaiduri,” he muttered at it.
The bed giggled. Just a little.
“That door,” he said distinctly, “was locked. And it was a new lock. A really spiffy lock.”
“It was,” she agreed.
He sat up with much more dignity than the last time this had happened, and figured she was perfectly well aware of what he did or didn’t wear under the covers. Just the brush of the sheets woke him up with startling speed.
Or maybe it was Mickey, sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed in some lightweight yoga outfit, the single light by the door—which he hadn’t left on—shining off the smooth lines of a new haircut. Shorter, spunkier, still framing her face and those bright, clear blue eyes. No bruises, no swelling. Healed and healthy.
“How’s things with our new friend Anna?” Steve asked. “Good enough to let you go, I guess.” Weeks, it had been. Weeks during which he’d settled back into his routine here, weeks that included a certain amount of grilling by the CIA. The clean-up done by both the Irhaddanians and the CIA along the way meant there was no evidence of his involvement in anything but that last confrontation, during which he’d done nothing but fire a convenient gun in self-defense. Once the agency wars swooped into play, that little fact had pretty much been lost in shuffle. He’d been grilled by the CIA—an amazingly thorough process that went deep into his background—and turned loose. Back to build his classes up again, ponder how to juggle the disrupted cash flow, and explain to Dawnisha and the other ladies where he’d been, and why he hadn’t come back with Mickey.
They’d liked Mickey, his neighborhood family had.
And here she was on his bed, making his heartbeat ratchet up as her presence truly sank in. He hadn’t expected—he’d thought he’d gotten over—
He took a sudden deep breath, making up for moments of holding it.
She said, “Yup, I’m on the loose. They’re going to keep me working in the background until I’m a little more solid, but I’m on the loose. And Naia …she’s a hero to her country. She won’t be working with us anymore, but … hey, now I can have lunch with her out in the open.” She shrugged, tossing back hair that really wasn’t long enough to toss any more. “And Anna … she’s okay, as it turns out. Not a bad person to be. Works pretty hard to keep this country safe …” she hesitated, a thoughtful tilt in her head. “That woman … the Irhaddanians hired her when they thought Jane A. Dreidler would be an easy catch.” She made a face. “Maybe I was an easy catch. I guess I’ll never know.”
“Somehow I doubt it.” Steve hit dry tones in spite of the distraction of having her right there. “Jane A. Dreidler.”
“My station name,” she said. “Well, it was.” She made another face, a wry one. “Maybe it’s a good thing I had all that training to draw on after I escaped, and none of the memories that I hadn’t actually been in a bad guy smackdown before. Lots of training, lots of scenarios … lots of clandestine stuff. But no smackdown.” She straightened, her voice brightening. “But hey, I do have a cat—and a neighbor who feeds her when I’m gone, so she’s fine! And I have the most amazing furniture. Turns out I’m pretty damn good at the antique thing. And I like it, too, w
hich is a nice touch. I travel a lot … sometimes I play courier … sometimes I escort people from place to place. Never dull.”
“You were never dull just being you,” Steve said, rather fervently. “Even when you didn’t know who you were.”
“Oh, just wait,” she said. “Now that I remember most of me—hypnosis is a wonderful thing—I’m sure I’ll be even more fun than ever.”
Look at that, he’d forgotten to breathe again.
“Speechless?” she said. “Or just waiting for me to break into song?”
“Waiting for you,” he said.
“Oh, well then.” She stretched, enough to lift her cropped top, to reassure him that she’d filled out to a healthy weight since her abduction and their big adventure. Sleek, toned, just waiting to be touched. “Move over. I’ll teach you how to sing, all right.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About the Author
Doranna Durgin lives in the high desert foothills of New Mexico with three dogs, with whom she competes in agility, rally, and obedience, and her Lipizzan, with whom she rides in the deep arroyos and juniper- & cedar-scented highlands. She has no spare time.
Other Works by Doranna Durgin
FANTASY
Changespell Saga:
Dun Lady's Jess (Winner, Compton Crook Award)
Changespell
Changespell Legacy
Barrenlands (prequel)
King's Wolf Saga
Touched by Magic
Wolf Justice
Stand-Alone Fantasies
Wolverine's Daughter
Seer's Blood
A Feral Darkness
ROMANCE
Action Romance
Shaken and Stirred (Femme Fatale Novella)
Chameleon (Smokescreen Novella)
Exception to the Rules
Beyond the Rules
Heavy Metal Honey
Survival Instinct
Hidden Steel
Checkmate: Athena Force
Comeback Athena Force 2
Paranormal
Sentinels: Jaguar Night
Sentinels: Lion Heart
Sentinels: Wolf Hunt
Demon Blade
Dark Blade
The Reckoners Series:
The Reckoners
Storm of Reckoning
MYSTERY
Nose for Trouble
Scent of Danger
FRANCHISE BOOKS
Star Trek: Next Generation
Tooth and Claw, #60
Earth: Final Conflict
Heritage
Angel
Impressions
Fearless
Mage Knight
Dark Debts
Ghost Whisperer
Revenge
Ghost Trap
SHORT STORIES
Harvest of Souls
Fool's Gold
A Bitch in Time
The Right Bitch
Bitch Bewitched
Mornglom Dreaming
Bummed out
The Yoke of the Soul
Feef's House
Hair of the Dog
Call from the Wild
Just Hanah
Emerging Legacy
The Scoria
Bitch Bewitched
Fountane Of