Black-Market Body Double Page 15

  Joan had warned Amanda of that. She lowered her gaze, suspicion taking root and pulsing through her until her knees threatened to fold. She looked back up into Mark’s worried face and then whispered close into his ear, “How do I know who you are?” Did she dare to believe him?

  He smoothed her dripping hair back from her face. “You’re okay.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and dropped his voice even more, so that even the extremely sensitive mike in the hallway outside the bath wouldn’t pick up so much as a muffle. “In plain sight, baby.” He kissed her cheek again and then pulled back to look into her face.

  Fear and doubt raked her raw nerves. “But did I make that agreement with the real Mark Cross? How can I know?”

  He stilled, stiffened against her, searched her eyes and let her see the truth in his. “Look at me. Not with your eyes, but with your heart and your instincts. You’ve always trusted your instincts.”

  She closed her eyes and let her instincts take over.

  “I swear it on my life, Amanda,” he whispered. “On Kate’s life, and you know what she means to me. She’s the only family I’ve got. I’d do anything to protect her.”

  And he’d die before hurting her. “Okay. Okay, I believe you.” Everything in Amanda promised he was telling the truth. She buried her face against his chest, clutched her fingertips at his sides. “This place is making me crazy, Mark. Thomas Kunz is making me crazy.”

  “No, he’s not. He’d like to, but he’s not. You won’t let him have that kind of power over you. No man will ever hold that kind of power over you.” Reminding her of who she was, Mark dabbed her dry with the towel, and then moved toward the edge of the tub. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  She stepped out and he opened the door. Joan came in, holding a thick towel and fluffy pink robe, and something blue. “I thought you might have to go in to get her,” she said. Looking worried, she passed the clean set of scrubs to Mark.

  “Thanks.” He shivered.

  “Are you okay now, Amanda?” Joan helped slide her arms into the robe.

  “Of course.” She looked at Joan as if she had no idea why Joan was concerned. Completely in control.

  Flummoxed, Joan looked at Mark, raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “She’s fine. Really,” he assured Joan, then glanced at Amanda. “The truth has set her free.”

  “Oh.” Joan backed away, relieved but perplexed and not bothering to hide it. “Okay, then.”

  “Okay, then.” Amanda smiled at Mark and mouthed a silent thank-you.

  He winked, and she thought she just might love him forever for that.

  “We’d better get you back to the clinic.” Joan motioned to Mark. “I’m supposed to have you into one of the detainee cabins by noon and if anyone notices you’re missing, there’ll be the devil to pay.”

  Why hadn’t anyone noticed? Amanda wondered. “How did you get here without being seen? What about the guard outside? The monitors in the apartment?” Only the bathroom was clear of devices.

  “Jeremy’s occupying the guard outside,” Joan answered. “I jammed the lead line into the house with aluminum foil. It gives us a few minutes. Any longer and someone will come to investigate.”

  “Resourceful.”

  Joan gave her a level look. “I have a lot to lose.”

  Her family. Amanda nodded. “Go, then. I’m fine now. Really.”

  Mark signaled “ten,” referring to the time for their arranged meeting, and left with Joan.

  Totally wiped out, Amanda flung herself across the bed, jerked the covers up over her, then huddled, thankful she and Mark had had the foresight to establish a code phrase and even more so that she’d learned to trust her instincts.

  Without them both, she’d still be going insane. Not that she wasn’t mortified by what had happened. She was, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe her breaking down had been totally about Thomas Kunz. It hadn’t been. Still, she never in her adult life had totally lost it like that. Never. Regardless of circumstance, she had maintained emotional control. That she’d lost it now embarrassed and terrified her. Why had that happened now?

  Why, after all these years, and all that had happened to her—all the armor she’d given herself to combat feeling helpless or hopeless or like a victim—did her father still have that kind of power over her? It was he and the memories of his tormenting power that had made her snap. Not Thomas Kunz. But why?

  Because you give him that power.

  She did. Oh, wow. She did.

  So if you don’t like it—

  “Stop it. Now. Just stop it and take the power back. I know.” She did. It was her personal power and her choice.

  Resolved to reclaiming it, Amanda snuggled into the covers and drifted off to sleep. When she awoke with a start, she was surprised to find that it was almost one-thirty. She tossed back the covers and got up. She ran a mental check, made sure she had centered herself, made sure she was totally convinced that Mark was indeed Mark, and allowed herself a shimmer of relief on discovering she had and she was. And so what if he’d viewed her tapes and he knew about her father and the beatings and the box? So what? She didn’t like it, but it didn’t change a thing—and if it did, then whatever. She could make her way ahead just fine alone. Hadn’t she always done it?

  Her mind-set again balanced and her attention focused, she looked through the window down to the lawn to see who was guarding her. Gaston.

  Thank goodness. And he was in a suit and street shoes.

  Better and better. She dressed quickly in running gear. If she warmed up and then ran full out, there was no way Gaston could keep up with her. She could check out the helicopters, the security system and guards, and Gaston wouldn’t be any the wiser. He’d be grateful to see her doubling back on him, to end the run.

  She bent down to tie her shoe and the truth hit her. She and Mark were working together to get out of a mutual jam, but he hadn’t had to treat her with the respect and care and compassion he had shown her. He was the first man in her life who had treated her well and had expected nothing in return. Maybe these were simple courtesies to other women, but to her, they were nothing short of shocking. And once again, she felt that tug to him, that connection grow a little stronger.

  A warm glow settled low in her stomach. She mulled over the unfamiliar feelings it aroused in her to be treated with dignity and respect. Oh, she had those things from men she worked with, but that was different. They respected her because she was good at her job; it wasn’t personal. With Mark it was very personal. And the more she thought about that, the more uncertainty crept in. Here. Now. Under these conditions. Were her instincts truly that reliable? Could she trust judgments she made under these circumstances?

  Chapter Twelve

  Amanda walked out the front door of the apartment. Jeremy was again playing ball on the lawn. She waved at him. “Hi, there.”

  He grinned at her. “Wanna play?”

  “Maybe later,” she said more for Gaston’s benefit than Jeremy’s. Let him think she was wrestling with a weighty issue and that’s why she was running like the devil himself was nipping at her heels. “I have something I need to think about right now.”

  “My daddy did that, too.” Jeremy twirled the blue ball in his hands.

  “What?” she asked, afraid to assume anything in this bizarre place.

  “He ran when he was worried.”

  “Yeah.” She stretched out and toed the grass, a sad ache wedging its way into her heart. Jeremy talked about his father in the past tense, as if Simon no longer had a place in his life, and he hurt from the loss. Didn’t he see Simon at all? Surely Joan arranged...then again, maybe not. Jeremy was young. He could easily slip and forget he wasn’t supposed to see his dad. “Does he live here, too?” Amanda asked, telling herself she’d asked because it was wise to know how Joan was playing this, and not her own morbid curiosity, which of course, it was.

  “No.” Jeremy lowered his gaze and ground his foot into
the grass. “I don’t remember him all the time anymore. Sometimes I forget his face. But I still dream about him and then I can remember.”

  In her mind, Amanda saw Simon stepping up to Jeremy’s bedside, greedily taking in the sight of his sleeping son, knowing that seeing him while awake was too risky for them both. How hard that must be for all of them, including Joan. “Dreams are good.”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said with a little smile. “He ran real fast. Do you run real fast?”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted. “It helps me think.”

  He bounced the ball on the concrete sidewalk. “My mom says nobody can run fast enough to get ahead of their troubles.”

  “Your mom’s very smart.” Because he looked worried, Amanda smiled at him. “I don’t even try to get ahead of troubles. I just think better when I run. That’s all.”

  “Okay.” He dropped the ball to the ground and kicked it, then went running after it.

  Gaston frowned. “You’re going to run.”

  He looked so devastated she couldn’t help but smile. “Afraid so.” She looked at his suit and shoes. “Sorry.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am.”

  Amanda took off down the street. She’d already beaten Gaston in his mind. He wouldn’t put his energy into keeping up. Not today, and not in this heat. It rippled up off the pavement in thick, heavy waves that sucked the air right out of her lungs. Amanda adjusted her breathing and slowly escalated her pace.

  Drenched in sweat, she passed the entrance to the course, doubled back as if she’d changed her mind, and took off down its edge, hugging the woods. Gaston stayed within sight but definitely fell behind. She had to push to get to the southeastern bend before he got to the next fairway. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have enough time out of his sight to cover her moves. Pulling on reserves, she pumped her legs harder, until the muscles burned nonstop and she swore if she didn’t back off, her heart would beat right out of her chest.

  Risking a glance back, she saw Gaston go down, faking an injury because he couldn’t keep up.

  Fine with her. Made her job easier, not more difficult. He probably expected her to rib him about falling behind, but she wouldn’t do it. She’d let him believe she bought into the injury.

  Hooking left at the edge of the bend, she checked her watch—2:10 p.m.—and then cut through a thicket of oaks and mesquite trees to the row of hangars.

  Ten minutes later, she was crouched low in a safe zone, watching the hangar that housed at least six helicopters. It stood in the center of a row of five separate hangars. For easy access, she would have preferred it be on the end, near the woods, but obviously Thomas Kunz or Paul Reese preferred placing the aircraft in the center hangar to make unauthorized access most difficult.

  Three teams of men guarded the perimeter of the hangars. They moved in pairs, but their timing wasn’t consistent. Their paths weren’t consistent. There seemed to be no set pattern for their rounds or any other commonality. They actually wandered. How could she send Mark into this to capture a helicopter? They needed patterns, consistency or arms to be successful.

  Click.

  Chills crept up her back.

  A pistol cocked and a gun barrel tapped against the back of her head at the base of her skull.

  Amanda’s heart rocketed into high gear. Careful not to move suddenly and startle whoever stood behind her, she raised her hands. “Okay. You’ve got me. Take it easy.”

  She turned and saw Beefy drawing down on her. The only possible worse person to see standing there would have been Reese, or Kunz. “Go ahead,” she told Beefy. “Do it.”

  “Mr. Kunz would prefer that I don’t—unless I have no choice.” Beefy let his gaze drop down her body to her feet, then lifted it back up to her eyes. “I’d just as soon shoot you.”

  Something moved in the trees behind Beefy. She raised her voice to cover the noise. “Then go ahead. Have a party. But remember, I can only die once.”

  “Once will do just fine.”

  Mark stepped out of the woods carrying a baseball bat. He swung and it collided with the back of Beefy’s head. His knees folded and he collapsed onto the ground.

  “Go on and get back,” Mark said. “Gaston’s hobbling this way.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “Joan didn’t lock my cabin. I told her I needed to do a little recon.”

  Amanda looked down at Beefy, saw no signs of movement or consciousness. “Is he dead?”

  “No. I’m going to get Joan and we’ll get him to the clinic. Joan will give him a knockout shot and keep him under wraps for a while. At least, until we can get out of here.”

  “Okay.” She started to leave, stopped and turned back to Mark, then placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thanks.”

  Tenderness flickered in his eyes, and he motioned for her to go. “We’re on plan. I’ve got a fix on getting the chopper. Joan’s worked out a cover to relay messages between us and her and Simon, so he’s aware of what’s going down and prepared for it. Hurry, before we get spotted and shot.”

  Amanda ran back to where Gaston sat on the fairway. He’d walked for maybe two minutes after she had seen him stumble and fall. Stopping at his side, she bent down. “Gaston, are you okay?”

  “My ankle’s out.” He clutched at it. “Twisted the darn thing.”

  “Do I need to carry you back?”

  He looked mortified. “No way.” He swallowed hard and pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll call for backup.”

  If that backup was Beefy, she had a problem. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. Thomas Kunz has threatened to kill me if one more of you guys get injured due to me.”

  “You didn’t injure me. I twisted my ankle.”

  She pretended fear. “I don’t think he’ll make the distinction. He said if any of his guards were injured for any reason, he was holding me responsible.”

  Gaston frowned. “Okay. Okay, we’ll walk. But your run is over, Amanda. My leg’s throbbing.”

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to sound affable. “Whenever I’m worried, I always run full out. I meant to slow down because you’re not dressed for a run, but I got lost in thought, and well, I forgot.”

  “It’s okay. I should have grabbed a golf cart.” Gaston sighed, sweat rolling down his face in steady streams. “I know what you mean. There’ve been times here when I’d like to run fast enough to transport myself to China.”

  “Hard decisions?”

  “Yeah.” He swiped at his face with a folded white handkerchief.

  “Have you ever refused?”

  He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “No one refuses Thomas Kunz.” Gaston shoved his handkerchief into his slacks pocket, swept his short-cropped hair back with a broad hand. “Well, no one refuses him more than once.”

  “Why not?”

  Gaston stared straight into her eyes. “Because the second time you want to refuse, you’re already dead.”

  “I thought it might be something like that.” She dabbed at the sweat beading on her face with the flat of her arm. “That takes a lot of the decision making out of one’s hands, doesn’t it?”

  “It did mine.”

  “I’m not ready to die, so I guess I’ll have to agree to train his people.” She glanced over at Gaston. “Those are my choices.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “We all do.”

  “It really sucks.” Her sincerity came through in her tone. “Were your choices any better?”

  “Frankly, not a bit.” He glanced off to the left, beyond the fairway and into the rough. “Fortunately, I wasn’t married, so I only had myself to worry about. But that was more than enough.”

  Amanda followed with her gaze and saw the red dot on the camera reflect in the sunlight. They were back in the monitoring zone.

  As if on cue, they both stopped talking and walked in silence.

  Amanda looked at her watch. She had almost seven hours until 10:00 p.m. and their escape. Seven hours. It was a solid plan. Sor
t of. They had communication provisions to make any necessary changes. Simon was prepared with the loop feed that would tell the monitors all was well during their escape. She and Joan would get themselves and Jeremy to the right place at the right time and Mark had a plan for getting the chopper. In any operation, the unexpected could happen and everything could go south on a dime. One seemingly insignificant thing could happen or change, and in a blink of an eye the best-laid plans could become obsolete. No one, no matter how skilled or perceptive or smart, could prepare for every eventuality. Not them, and not Thomas Kunz. So maybe best-laid plans weren’t so great after all!

  Amanda and Mark had done the best they could, utilizing the resources available to them. Now they were down to the wire and she wondered:

  In the end, would any of them still be alive?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darkness fell and Amanda watched the clock tick off minutes with a mixture of anticipation and dread. She and Joan had gone for a short walk that evening to the safe zone to finalize their plan. Joan had finally talked to Mark late in the afternoon and he had taken care of the helicopter. Amanda had the guard patterns down pat at the cabins. Beefy was the wild card. Joan had to keep him quiet until after they’d gone or they were all screwed and Amanda was dead.

  In reality, they probably all were. Kunz wouldn’t allow a conspiracy against him to go unpunished. He couldn’t afford to open the door to rebellion within the ranks.

  Amanda dressed in black: slacks and long-sleeved top, socks and shoes, and grabbed the scarf, again wishing she had her headgear. But she didn’t, and the scarf would have to do. She checked the front window and cringed. The bad news was the man who was standing guard wasn’t Gaston. Well, that was good news for Gaston. He could save his skin. It was bad news for Amanda. This guard wouldn’t give her cover.

  The worst news was she hadn’t seen this guard since he’d held an M-16 on her in the warehouse where she’d scarred Paul Reese’s face. She knew nothing about him. That made him extremely dangerous and her extremely uncomfortable. But there was no help for it. If he proved to be a problem, she’d have to eliminate him and remove the risks by whatever means proved necessary.