Seduction Game

  She did not need him, even if his big Delta Force muscles sometimes came in handy. She hated him, could barely stand the sight of him. She’d be so much better off if she’d never met him. She did not need him.

  She started in on the wood floor with a vengeance, stopping several times to shake the dust mop out the window.

  Forget dust bunnies. This place had an army of dust orcs.

  She opened the closet to sweep, and found several big spiders. “Shit!”

  She beat them to death with the broom, cursing all the while, then swept their grotesque corpses into the dustpan and dropped them out the open window, too. When the floor was reasonably dust-free, she mopped it with bleach water, giving the room a clean, fresh smell. Finally, she went after the cobwebs in the corners and along the ceiling, her thoughts drifting back to Nick.

  He’d been thoughtful and polite all morning. He’d let her keep the SIG. He’d pushed her to take care of the wounds on her wrists, given her ibuprofen for her bruised ribs. He’d tried to make sure she had what she needed from the store, even going back to buy a couple of electric fans when she complained of the heat. He was trying to make up for all he’d done—and it annoyed the hell out of her.

  Did he really think a few kind gestures could atone for what he’d put her through? And how could she be certain he was sincere? He’d fooled her once already. Did he really care about her well-being, or was he trying to manipulate her again in hopes that she’d help him decrypt the stolen files?

  She fumed about this while she dumped the dirty water down the bathtub drain, went downstairs for another gallon of bottled water, and moved the cleaning supplies to the bedroom across from hers, the room she intended Nick to use. She took a time-out from being angry to make sure that they would have the road to the house covered between the two of them—she looking north, he looking south—before she grabbed the dust mop and started in again, taking her rage out on the floor.

  It was only after she’d started feeling sorry for herself, wondering whether their time in bed had meant anything to Nick, that she realized she’d let her big-girl pants fall off completely. She needed to set her hurt feelings aside and get back to thinking like an Agency officer again if she wanted to save her own butt.

  From outside, she heard the generator kick on.

  At least they would have electricity.

  She tried to analyze Nick like she would any other target, but found that difficult, her own emotions getting in the way. But one thing stood out for her.

  He didn’t behave like a rogue officer, a CI threat.

  For starters, he hadn’t killed her. A rogue officer would almost certainly have done so if for no other reason than to keep her from double-crossing him or giving him away. But Nick seemed to trust her.

  Second, he’d given her a chance to get out of the SUV and go back with Javier. He hadn’t held a gun to her head and forced her to come with him that second time, though he could have easily done so. He’d also left her alone in the vehicle, keys in the ignition, more than once, giving her an opportunity to drive away, rather than keeping the keys with him at all times. He’d trusted her again this morning when they’d gone for supplies. Those were hardly the actions of a kidnapper.

  Also, he wasn’t planning a run for the border. Which meant he thought he had a reason to stay. He thought he had a future here. Any officer who betrayed the Agency would know that he was either going to end up dead or in federal prison and would use all of his tradecraft to get out of the country as quickly as possible.

  More than that, he still had scruples and compassion, something an officer capable of betraying the Agency would have long since discarded.

  And then there’d been Dudaev’s men—the closest thing to proof she had that Nick was telling the truth. There was no way their presence at that gas station could have been a coincidence. They hadn’t been in the mountains to sightsee. They’d known right where they were going. If Nick hadn’t found her, she’d have had to face them—three against one. She would have had to use the SIG. She would have had to kill—and she might well have been killed.

  She finished the second bedroom, grabbed another gallon of water from downstairs, and carried it, with the other cleaning supplies, to the third bedroom. The door was mostly closed. She pushed it open, saw that the window looked out onto the fields to the east. One pane of glass was broken, what looked like dead bees on the floor near the sill.

  She took the broom and dustpan and went to sweep them up. She was so done with bugs and spiders and snakes and dirt. When this was over, she was going to treat herself to a week in a luxury hotel somewhere on a beach and . . .

  She heard a buzzing sound, felt a sharp stab of pain in her left arm. “Ouch!”

  And then she saw.

  In the half-opened closet was a nest of yellow jackets.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nick tightened the wrench around the nut at the top of the well casing and tried again to turn it, putting his weight into it. The damned thing was rusted on tight. He needed to get it off so that he could drop disinfectant tablets into the well. It budged, moved a quarter turn.

  A scream.

  Holly had probably seen a spider.

  Good grief.

  But the screaming didn’t stop.

  He dropped the wrench and ran across the yard to the house, taking the porch steps two at a time, her screams now desperate.

  He nearly collided with her as she ran out the back door, waving her arms to fend off a swarm of a dozen or so yellow jackets. She tripped on one of the stairs, fell onto the grass. He scooped her up and ran toward the barn where the minivan was parked, ignoring the sharp bite of stings in his back and on his arm.

  Son of a bitch!

  He set Holly down on the grass near the back of the minivan and smashed the remaining yellow jackets with his gloved hands.

  Holly was whimpering, tears on her cheeks. “Damned things!”

  “Are you allergic?”

  “N-no. I don’t think so.”

  He let out a relieved breath.

  Still, yellow jacket stings hurt. The few he’d received burned like fire, and she’d been stung many times over. There were red welts on her arms, shoulders, and hands. They’d probably stung her through her tank top and jeans, too.

  He opened the vehicle’s back door, then climbed inside and lowered the bench seat to make a bed again. “Come here.”

  She climbed inside and sat on the edge of the seat, rubbing the stings on her arms.

  “Try not to scratch or rub. It makes the venom penetrate deeper.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, balled her hands into fists. “Damn, they hurt!”

  “Hell, yeah, they do.” Nick grabbed the medic kit, took out a bottle of liquid Benadryl and an EpiPen, tucking the EpiPen in his pocket just in case. “Was there a nest in one of the rooms?”

  “A big nest. In the closet. The small bedroom. There’s a hole in one of the window panes. Shit!”

  Nick had checked the rooms, but he’d done it at night when yellow jackets were less active. He’d been looking for people and hadn’t seen the nest. He poured out a dose of Benadryl and handed her the little plastic cup. “This will help.”

  She shook her head. “Benadryl knocks me out.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t think you’re going to feel like doing much for the rest of the day anyway.” He found a packet of benzocaine swabs, took one out, then crushed the inner vial and passed it to her. “Rub this on the stings to numb them, starting with the ones that hurt the most. I’m going inside to get something that will help even more.”

  “The ones that hurt the most?” she called after him. “They all hurt the most!”

  He hurried into the house and, ignoring the handful of yellow jackets that buzzed angrily around the door, grabbed the jug of vinegar they’d bought for cleaning, a roll of paper towels, and a half-filled bag of ice cubes, and jogged back to the vehicle.

  Holly had stripped down to her
panties, her tank top and jeans discarded on the floor, her pretty face an image of misery as she rubbed the benzocaine swab on one sting after the next. “Vinegar?”

  “You’ll see.” He took off his gloves and tossed them aside, then opened the bottle, soaked a folded paper towel sheet with vinegar, and pressed it to a welt on her shoulder.

  She looked up at him through those big brown eyes. “That does help. Why?”

  “Yellow jacket venom is alkaline. Vinegar helps neutralize it.” He took on his father’s heavy Georgian accent. “It is remedy from old country.”

  “Just dump it on me.” She crawled out of the vehicle and stood there wearing only her panties. “Please!”

  Nick climbed out, poured a thin stream of vinegar down her back, her left shoulder and arm, rubbing it over her bare skin with his free hand. “How’s that?”

  “Better. Pour it here!” She raised her arm so that he could trickle some down her left side. “Oh, huuuurrry!”

  He saw the dark bruise on her ribs, tried not to hurt her as his hand passed over it and beneath her left breast. “How does that feel?”

  “Here!” She turned toward him, lifted her chin so that he could pour it over the welts on her chest, breasts and belly. She didn’t object or push his hand away when he touched her, her breasts soft and yielding beneath his hand.

  “Is it helping?”

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes, glared up at him. “You’d better not be enjoying this.”

  “I’m hating every second, I promise.”

  * * *

  Bottle of chilled water in hand, Nick walked out to the minivan to find Holly sound asleep, naked beneath a sheet, the scent of vinegar overwhelming. She hadn’t been kidding. Benadryl really did knock her out. It was a Holly off-switch.

  She’d slept through the afternoon while Nick had finished dealing with the well, the water pump, and the damned yellow jacket nest. He’d checked on her every half hour or so to make sure she wasn’t getting hives or showing any other sign of distress.

  Thirty-two stings.

  It was a good thing she wasn’t allergic to their venom. He wasn’t sure an EpiPen would have been enough to save her life. Thirty-two stings was a lot—even for someone who wasn’t allergic.

  “Holly, honey, wake up.” He leaned in, touched his hand to her forehead.

  She felt warm, not cold or clammy.

  She raised her head. “Thirsty.”

  He opened the bottle of water, held it out for her. “There’s a bathtub of cool water waiting for you inside if you’re interested.”

  She sat up, blinked sleepily. “You fixed the pump?”

  “It’s running just fine—as long as the power stays on. Those little propane canisters go fast. The water is okay for washing, but not for drinking or brushing teeth. Use bottled water for that.”

  “What about the yellow jackets?”

  “Dead. Every last one of them. I sprayed them and removed the nest.” He’d gotten a couple more stings in the process, but it had been worth it for the satisfaction of obliterating the little fuckers. “I also cleaned the bathroom and sanitized it all with bleach. No spiders. No snakes. No yellow jackets.”

  If you don’t square things with the Agency, Andris, maybe you have a future as an exterminator.

  He reached for her. “Let’s get you inside before the mosquitoes find you.”

  She took his hand, let him steady her as she climbed, naked, out of the minivan, clearly still drowsy from the two doses of antihistamine he’d given her. Though her skin was still covered with welts, they weren’t as red, and some of the swelling had gone.

  He reached for the sheet, wrapped it around her, and scooped her up. “I don’t want you stepping on a bee or a damned snake with your bare feet.”

  He also didn’t want her falling on her face in a Benadryl stupor.

  She smiled, let her head rest on his shoulder. He knew she was loopy from the drug, but he liked it just the same.

  He carried her inside and up the stairs, setting her on her feet just outside the bathroom. “There’s soap, a washcloth, and a towel. I put your shampoo and stuff in there, too. Let me know if you need anything.”

  She looked into the room. “Nice curtains.”

  “Like them?” He’d hung black weed cloth from all of the windows so that passersby wouldn’t be able to see their lights at night. “It’s a trick I learned from a Ukrainian agent. Weed fabric makes for cheap blackout curtains.”

  She stepped into the room. “Thanks.”

  He said what he ought to have said last night. “I’m sorry, Holly. I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I was acting on false information. If I could take it back, I would. If I’d had any idea you were an Agency officer, things would have gone differently. I never wanted to—”

  She held up her hand for him to stop. “I appreciate the apology, but I don’t know that I will ever trust you again. I believed every word you said. You were the best time I’d ever had—until you became the worst time I’ve ever had. I thought you—” She stopped herself, looked away. “Excuse me.”

  Then she shut the door.

  * * *

  Holly sat in the cool water, soaking away the aches from thirty-six hours of interrogation. It felt so good to be clean again. She had shampooed and conditioned, shaved and scrubbed, until the grime of the past three days was gone.

  If only she could wash away the memories as easily.

  Your father never cared about you, did he?

  No, her father didn’t care, and chances were Nick didn’t care, either.

  Still, she appreciated the apology. She was also grateful for the way he’d saved her from the yellow jacket swarm, picking her up and carrying her to the minivan, smashing the little bastards with his hands. And for his help with treating the stings. And now the bath—yes, she was grateful for that, too.

  Did any of his kind gestures mean he cared about her? No, they didn’t. He just wanted her help decrypting the cloned files.

  The thought left her feeling desolate.

  She closed her eyes, remembered how it had felt to kiss him, to have his hands on her and his cock inside her. He’d been so good in bed, so much fun. But it had all just been a seduction game. At the same time he’d been having sex with her on the deck and in the shower, he’d been planning to drug her and abduct her.

  I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I was acting on false information.

  Acting under false information.

  Did he think that was some kind of “Get out of Jail Free” card? It wasn’t. The intel might have been false, but his actions had been real. The hurt, the pain, the sense of betrayal were real.

  What she’d given to him, she could never get back.

  No, she couldn’t trust him.

  More than that, she couldn’t trust herself around him.

  She needed to get back to the Internet café so she could log on and see what her CO wanted her to do next.

  What if he wants you to turn Nick in?

  She’d have no choice but to do her duty, just as he’d done when he’d chained her to the iron bar at the cabin.

  She opened her eyes, pulled the plug, and let the bath water drain away.

  * * *

  Nick installed the last fluorescent light and hit the switch. The lights flickered on, casting an eerie glow over the basement.

  He’d gotten the computers set up late last night and had spent the morning taking care of other things—removing a few stray snakes, plugging the computers into surge protectors, putting light bulbs in the few rooms he felt were safe to light.

  Now finished, he went upstairs to check on Holly.

  She’d moved her air mattress into his room in the middle of the night, calling it a “tactical decision.”

  “I don’t want to get shot because I got up to use the bathroom.”

  “Right,” he’d said. “Good call.”

  He was pretty sure it was the creaky, old house and the though
t of spiders and snakes that was behind her decision, not strategic considerations, but he hadn’t said so. It pleased him to know that she at least trusted him to protect her from things that crawled and slithered.

  He found her asleep on her mattress, wearing a black tank dress she’d gotten from the thrift store, the stretchy, black cloth riding dangerously high on her thighs. A fan blew directly on her, giving her relief from the oppressive heat.

  She didn’t budge when he entered the room, knocked out from her most recent dose of antihistamine. Though the welts had begun to fade and were no longer painful, they itched. Nick’s itched, too. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be for her.

  He knelt down beside her, saw she was almost out of water. The Benadryl was running low, too. They needed to make a trip into town.

  Her eyes opened.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “The damned things itch like crazy.” Her face was an adorable image of grumpiness and misery. “Even the Benadryl isn’t stopping it completely.”

  Nick had an idea. “I’ll be right back.”

  He went downstairs to the kitchen and filled a bowl with ice from the freezer, then grabbed another bottle of water for her, and headed upstairs again.

  “Ice?”

  “It will help. Trust me.” He sat beside her, held out the bowl. “Take a piece and rub it over a welt. It dulls the itch.”

  She took a piece of ice, rubbed it on a particularly red and swollen spot on her left arm, a place she’d been stung more than once. “You’re full of tricks.”

  “With five sons, my mother was always having to deal with stings or sprains or fractures.” He picked up a piece of ice and rubbed it over a welt high on her shoulder. “I learned from her.”

  “Five sons?”

  “Five sons and one daughter.”

  “Six kids?”

  Nick was used to that reaction. “My parents are Georgian Orthodox. They defected in 1978 to get away from the Soviet Union and religious oppression.”

  “Can you get the ones on my back while I do my front?”

  “Sure.”

  She turned away from him, pulled the dress down over her shoulders, exposing herself to the waist.