Trapped with the Secret Agent (Trapped with Him) Page 3
Peter’s voice penetrated the buzzing in her ears. “Are you all right?”
What an idiotic question. Of course, she wasn’t all right. She was either going to pass out or throw up all over him.
“I’m dizzy,” she whispered, hardly recognizing her own voice it sounded so far away and weak.
“Sit down, before you fall down.”
“Where? There’s no room.”
“We’ll make room.”
She felt him shifting, lifting her to sit on the box right next to them and coaxing her to lean over his arm. She felt better immediately.
“Wow, not only do you know all about the shady world of nuclear warhead theft, but next you’ll be telling me that in addition to being a journalist, you moonlight as the Incredible Hulk. You can use all those muscles to punch your way out of here, right? Please?”
“You’re not dizzy. You’re drunk.” He pushed down on her back until her head was between her knees and against his thigh.
“Do you think they’ll be back for us soon?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know if I should pray for them to forget about us or not.”
“Not. We have to find out what they’re going to do and when.”
Georgia turned her head and squinted at him, but he was no more than a vague shadow. Close enough for their bodies to be in a loose embrace, but a shadow, nonetheless.
“How are we going to do that?”
“By watching, listening, and asking the right questions.”
Georgia snorted. “It sounds like you’ve done this before. Where’d you learn that?”
The pause before he answered her question was one second too long. “I was in the military. Some things you never forget.” He paused and added so softly she almost missed the words. “Some things I wish I could forget.”
“I vote for selective amnesia for this whole...” She couldn’t find an appropriate word in her vocabulary.
Peter offered one. “Clusterfuck.”
That almost made her laugh. “That seems like an accurate description.”
He snorted. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Being down here is doing my stomach and head a world of good, but it hasn’t improved my claustrophobia.”
Large hands, one on each of her arms, rubbed her skin soothingly through her suit jacket.
“How do you know it’s small in here? It’s too dark to tell. Use your imagination. This isn’t some crummy storage room it’s...what?
What imaginary place would make her feel better? Her favorite spot on her family’s farm was the... “The horse barn at night.”
“Why?”
“The smell of the hay and horses. They’re sleeping, except for the one who’s nuzzling my hand, looking for a treat.”
“Perfect.”
Georgia straightened a bit, leaning her head back against Peter’s warm chest behind her, letting his musky, masculine scent carry her away. She could picture the barn perfectly in her mind. It had been filled with hay, horses, and tack.
“How are you feeling, now?”
“I feel...” Georgia thought about it. “Better.” She frowned. That was strange, she should be going crazy. “How did you do that?”
“The mind is an amazing thing. Top athletes mentally picture themselves crossing the finish line in first place, going through every step, every motion to achieve that goal with careful precision before they even leave the starting block. Most of the time the one who wins the competition, or a battle, isn’t necessarily the strongest physically, but the toughest mentally.”
His hands were still rubbing her arms, making her pulse drum heavily, and not from fear.
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like how many guys are coming down the stairs.”
Chapter Three
Georgia jerked her head up in surprise. That pounding wasn’t her heart, it was several pairs of booted feet on the steps. She struggled to stand up and felt Peter’s hand under one arm, supporting her.
“Don’t say a word,” he whispered in her ear. “Keep your head down and avoid making eye contact with anyone.”
Georgia sucked in deep breaths, fighting the fear threatening to swamp her, suck her down, and drown her.
“Georgia?”
“I...” she had to stop to breathe, “...understand.”
His hand squeezed once reassuringly before falling away.
The door opened.
The bright lights blinded her momentarily, but she could see the lethal end of a rifle motioning her out. Moving slowly, she left the room with Peter right behind.
The man who opened the door spoke harshly to them in his own language. Georgia glanced at him blankly before jerking her gaze to the ground.
After a second, he gestured sharply with his gun for them to move toward the stairs.
Georgia counted four terrorists, being careful to keep her gaze on the floor except for quick glances, their fingers nervously hovering over the triggers of their rifles.
She walked slowly to avoid provoking them. A hard shove from behind and several vicious words told her slow wasn’t good enough. She fell to her knees but scrambled up, moving more quickly to the stairs. She glanced behind.
Peter met her gaze and nodded slightly.
Georgia let out a long, slow breath and wished she was back in that damn storage room.
* * *
As Georgia fell to the floor Peter had to restrain himself from going to her aid. Knowing that if he did, he risked a rifle butt to the head, and God only knew what they’d do to her. Thankfully, she got up on her own and climbed the stairs with more speed.
She glanced back at him, her eyes connecting with his. He nodded at her, relieved that she didn’t complain or resist the rough treatment. They were far less likely to pay attention to her if she was quiet.
He ruthlessly ignored his body’s response to her too-cute butt her skirt did nothing to hide and her world-class breasts encased in that reserved suit jacket. And if he noticed, so would every other man who saw her.
The hallways were silent. Peter let his gaze wander over the interior. A few overturned planters, several blood pools, and a couple of broken chairs littered the floor along with some glass from a smashed chandelier. The glass crunched under his shoes, sounding more like peanut shells than crystal.
They were herded into Ambassador Mitchell’s office and forced to stand in front of the long desk dominating the room. The American flag that used to stand so prominently behind it had been torn from its standard. Peter guessed that’s what was smoking in the garbage can. Georgia, standing closer to it, seemed to be having trouble breathing. Her whole body shook, but she kept her head down and stayed silent.
In-Charge was talking in a low, harsh tone to the ambassador, whose back was to the room. Peter couldn’t make out what they were saying.
The terrorist looked up, his face slowly taking on a condescending smile. It wasn’t a pretty sight and it only got worse when he came toward them. He stopped in front of Georgia, one hand coming up to grasp a lock of her auburn hair. He leaned forward to smell it and ran one finger down her neck, smiling the whole time.
Goddamn son of a bitch.
Peter glared at him, resisting the irrational urge to wipe the unwholesome grin off the terrorist’s face and break every bone in his hands for touching her. Only the knowledge that one of the other men in the room would shoot him dead stopped him from acting on instinct. Georgia needed him alive.
She wasn’t the first woman who had needed him to help keep her alive. He’d failed then. He couldn’t this time.
Georgia kept her eyes pinned to the ground even though the tremors going through her body increased in violence and her hands curled into fists.
Damn, look at her toughing it out even though she had to be on the edge of caving in. Thin threads of pride and hope wove around and through him.
The terrorist grabbed her by the chin and brought her face up, examining her with the diligence of a man buying a horse.
“She’s very beautiful,” he said to Peter, and the words clipped those delicate threads short. Fuck.
Peter kept his mouth shut by the slimmest margin; his whole body poised to take the asshole down if he touched Georgia any more than he already had.
Ambassador Mitchell spun around, and a sound of protest left his mouth. He took a step toward the terrorist. “Leave her alone,” he ordered.
What the fuck was Mitchell doing? The man was a career diplomat who knew the value of people as leverage in a negotiation. He’d just shown all his cards to a shark who’d stacked the deck in his favor.
In-Charge, with one final glance at Peter, released Georgia and turned his attention to the ambassador, who was sporting several red marks on his face. He’d probably have a black eye in a few hours.
“Does she belong to you?”
Mitchell made an effort to reign himself in, but that horse had left the barn without him. “She’s a valued employee and an American citizen.”
The terrorist laughed. “Such things mean nothing here. A beautiful woman has but one value to a man.”
“Bastard,” Mitchell said in a low tone.
In-Charge fingered another lock of Georgia’s hair. “Our negotiations go too slow. Perhaps I will entertain myself with this woman.”
The ambassador flashed a glance at Peter, his gaze filled with fear and desperation. He cared about Georgia, more than any boss should and in a second of clear communication, he begged Peter to save her by any means possible.
What a goddamned clusterfuck.
Peter was in no position to save anyone including himself, but Mitchell needed to get
his head back in the game, so he gave the man a small nod. A promise to do his best, to use skills he’d packed up and put away, hoping he’d never had to use them again. Those of a liar, a soldier, and an assassin.
“I think I know a way to speed things up,” Mitchell said. A moment ago, the man looked like he was about to be sick with worry, now he appeared calm and in control.
The terrorist laughed again, telling everyone he’d seen what Mitchell was trying to hide. “So, you admit this woman belongs to you.” He walked up to face him. “Very well, speed things up, but if they continue to go too slow for me, I will take your woman and you will be forced to watch.”
The ambassador dipped his head, his expression under control and smoothed to expressionlessness. “I understand.”
In-Charge’s grin said he wasn’t fooled.
The terrorist moved away and spoke to his men. They cheered and shook their rifles in the air. Seeing them so happy only made Peter’s gut tighten up more.
“You will take our pictures,” the terrorist ordered Peter. In his own language, he ordered the man standing closest to Georgia to make her sit down and she was roughly shoved into a chair.
“Get your equipment.” In-Charge pointed at the bag sitting in a heap against a wall.
Peter walked over to his leather bag and pulled out his camera. He grabbed a couple different lenses and shoved them in his pants pockets.
“Ready.”
“Good, you at least are not slow.” The terrorist smiled at him, a greasy I’d-rather-kill-you grin. “Maybe I’ll put you back in that little room with the woman again, huh?”
Did this guy think of nothing else?
Stupid, sex-starved, suicidal fanatics.
The terrorist spoke to his men and they clustered together, brandishing their rifles in what they must have thought were manly poses.
Dick fuckers.
He took several shots, utilizing the extra lenses to make it look good.
As he worked, he watched Ambassador Mitchell out of the corner of his eye and managed to eavesdrop once or twice. Things weren’t going well. Whoever the ambassador was talking to must have been trying to stall him because at one point, Mitchell used some harsh and descriptive language then demanded to speak to someone else. Things improved, but not by much. The US government wasn’t in the habit of giving in to terrorist demands, their no negotiation policy notwithstanding. Another country might have to become involved as an intermediary and that was going to take time, too.
Mitchell hung up the phone a few minutes before Peter was done taking pictures. He walked over and spoke a few words to Georgia, who kept her head down and answered so softly Peter couldn’t hear her at all. Good girl. She was following both the letter and the spirit of his hurried instructions. She might live through this yet.
But In-Charge wasn’t too happy about the two of them talking.
“What’s this? Speaking to your woman is not allowed.”
“I was attempting to reassure her.”
In-Charge sneered. “You’re in a position to reassure her of nothing.” He glanced at Georgia, who still had her head down. “Night is coming. Perhaps I’ll put her back in the little room with him.” He looked at Peter. “Maybe he will touch your woman, maybe not, but if my demands are not met by tomorrow at dawn, I will take her, then I will slit her throat. Understand?”
The ambassador grew pale. “Yes. I understand.” Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down the side of his face. The look he threw Peter told him everything he needed to know. The hours till dawn wouldn’t be enough time.
The terrorist threw some orders at his men. One grabbed Georgia by the arm, forcing her out. Another motioned with his rifle for Peter to follow and they were moved to the next office down the hall.
Neither said anything as the two terrorists positioned themselves in the open doorway, staring at them.
Peter smiled and nodded at them. “Has the food been ok for you guys?”
They didn’t move.
“Bet it’s not like Mom makes it, huh?”
No change.
“That is, if either of you bastards knew who your mother was in the first place.”
The two terrorists made no response.
Peter turned to Georgia and said softly, “I think we can talk freely.”
She didn’t look up and her hands were shaking.
Peter resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her. Every move they made would be reported and he didn’t want to give In-Charge any more leverage than he already had. Instead, he crossed his arms and made a point of looking at the wall above her head.
“Georgia, you’ve been just great,” he congratulated her in a soft tone. “You kept it together when most people would have lost it. I’m impressed.”
Georgia’s voice was hardly more than a shaky whisper. “Ambassador Mitchell asked me to give you a message.”
She sounded tense and scared. This couldn’t be good news.
“What is it?”
“He said, ‘Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is bare.’”
“Shit.” The furious whisper slipped out before he could stop it.
She finally glanced up. “What the hell is all this about?” Her whisper had an edge that pinpointed her position on the precipice of hysterics.
He had to calm her down. He was going to need her cooperation if he was going to save her life and get that bomb diffused.
“It’s code for the American government will never agree to their demands.”
She rolled her eyes and for the first time, took a step away from panic. It didn’t last. A minute later she began to hyperventilate. “Oh my God, they’ll come for me and—”
Peter didn’t let her finish. “I won’t let them hurt you, Georgia.” The thought of what would happen to her at the hands of that maniac and his men made him sick.
“How are you going to stop them?” she asked her voice high and tight. “There are so many of them, and they have guns.”
“I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”
“Are you insane? Past all those lunatics? We’ll be shot.”
“No one is even going to know we’re gone.” He lowered his voice even further. “I’ll get you out through the tunnel.”
“What?” Her hushed tone was colored with disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“Keep your voice down.” Peter glanced at the door, but the two terrorists didn’t appear to be paying any attention to them. They were talking to each other now, complaining about how long it was taking. “The escape tunnel under this building. Didn’t you know? This embassy was built over an old foundation. Very old.”
She stared at him for a moment then asked, “How do you know this?” He heard fear in her strained voice. “Are you still in the military?”
“Not officially.”
Peter waited for Georgia’s response. It was several seconds before she spoke.
“Not officially? What the hell does that mean?”
Peter started to chuckle. She sounded insulted. Maybe he ought to tell her the truth.
“Georgia, for this to work, you’re going to have to trust me one hundred percent.”
“Right. Of course,” She said sarcasm coating every letter and syllable. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“There are going to be times when I need you to do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it. There might not be time for explanations. You’re going to have to follow my instructions even if what I’m asking you to do seems...crazy.”
She was silent for several seconds. “I trust you. It’s just that I think—”
“What?”
“That there’s more to you than you’re telling.”
She was too damn perceptive. Unfortunately, the parts of him they needed now were buried deep in the back of his head where he’d hoped they would stay. “Just like there’s more to you than you’re telling.”
“Huh?”
“What’s a young, beautiful, single woman doing in the position of admin assistant to the Ambassador of the United States to Koutu? A country, where due to local custom, you spend most of your time inside the embassy or compound. Normally they find some nice, older, married lady for that kind of position. Someone with no interest in pursuing a social life.” He allowed his gaze to settle on her face, following her contours down her neck. “I find it very odd indeed.” Her skin looked soft. The memory of her silkiness made him want to touch her again. Everywhere.