Page 141 of Carnal Urges

“When do I get my lollipop?”

A hint of a smile lifts her lips. Her voice low, she says, “I thought you’d do well. The guys had their money on Gray getting you to crack in under two minutes, but you struck me as someone who digs in her heels.”

“Really? How could you tell?”

“I saw them bring you aboard. What a shit show. You managed to make eight trained Marines look like circus clowns.”

I say drily, “Apparently, I do my best fighting when I’m under the influence of mind-altering drugs. I don’t remember a thing about getting here. Which isn’t exactly reassuring considering I had a brain bleed recently.”

“I don’t know about your brain, but there’s nothing wrong with your fine motor skills, that’s for sure.”

She sounds like she’s proud of me.

I’m curious about her until she says, “Let’s get you some food,” and she’s instantly dead to me. All I can think about is stuffing my face.

She makes me a plate, sets it on the coffee table by the sofa, then exits the room. I wobble over to the food and fall on it like a farm animal at the trough.

When I’m finished, I collapse back onto the sofa and close my eyes. I lie there listening to my disgruntled stomach grumble and groan as it tries to digest the first food it’s had in days, and wonder what’s happening. Wonder why I’ve been let out of the cage.

Wonder what they’re really going to do with me.

Because I know it won’t be as simple as letting me walk away scot-free. Everything involving the government comes with a catch and miles of red tape.

“Declan O’Donnell is one of our finest espionage agents.”

I open my eyes to see a middle-aged man with shoe-polish-black hair in a navy blue pinstripe suit sitting across from me in one ofthe chairs. I didn’t hear him come in. Did I fall asleep? Or did he simply appear from thin air, like Dracula?

And what the hell did he just say about Declan?

Confused, I repeat, “Espionage?”

“It’s another word for ‘spy.’”

“No shit. I don’t like you already.”

“I was trying to be concise, not condescending.”

“You failed.”

He purses his lips and frowns at me. “Perhaps you’d like to sit up so we can talk more comfortably.”

Talk. Here comes that catch.“I’m perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you.”

He crosses his legs, plucking at a piece of nonexistent lint on his suit jacket.

I’m annoying him. Good.

As if I hadn’t interrupted him at all, he continues from the beginning.

“Declan has been an invaluable asset to us for more than twenty years. One of our longest serving. I know him as a man of impeccable integrity, unfailing loyalty, and,” he chuckles, “though his methods are sometimes crude, exceptional abilities.”

Declan is a spy? Is that what he’s saying? That can’t be right. My brain isn’t working.

Just go with it. He’s waiting for you to say something.

“Meaning this Declan kills people well.”

“Indeed. He’s the Leonardo da Vinci of killers. Utterly efficient, utterly ruthless. As evolved to kill without remorse as a crocodile.” Behind his wire-rimmed glasses and practiced demeanor of a friendly advertising executive, his gaze is a vulture’s. “So imagine my surprise when I found out about you.”