Page 30 of Denied Access

Maybe he had.

“My husband is the architecture buff,” Kris said, getting to her feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’re being modest. Barry Henrik wrote his dissertation on the architectural styles of Byzantine and Gothic churches. Your husband is one of the world’s foremost experts on the topic. Among other things.”

The man’s familiarity with Barry should have unsettled Kris even more, but it didn’t. Perhaps because her fight-or-flight response was focused on something else—the cold fingers wrapped around her biceps like bands of steel.

“Let go of me,” Kris said, attempting to pull away.

“I think not.”

The man wrenched her biceps downward. Burning needles exploded the length of her arm and into her shoulder. She gasped as the man transferred his grip to her collarbone and she involuntarily plopped back onto the bench to stop the pain.

“That’s better. Can’t have you running off, now can I? Especially since we’ve just met.”

“My… husband… is… coming.” Kris grunted each word between clenched teeth. Though she was less than half his age, Kris couldn’t move. The joint lock forced her to bend double in order to ease stress on her shoulder. “Help me. Please!”

Kris had the presence of mind to make the plea in Russian, but her quick thinking didn’t yield the results she’d imagined. Rather than the sound of footfalls announcing the approach of a Good Samaritan, she heard something else.

Laughter.

“You still have some things to learn about my country, my dear.Things not covered in textbooks or language classes. The Russian people are proud, but practical. A proud man might come to the aid of a beautiful woman screaming for help. A practical one knows better. Especially when the person causing that woman to scream is a lieutenant general in the Federal Counterintelligence Service.”

His words almost made her forget the tongues of fire burning up her arm. She had guessed that he might be Russian intelligence, but supposing something to be true and knowing it were two different things. “What do you want?” Kris said, hating the way her voice quavered.

“Exactly what you’re giving me. I apologize for the unpleasantness. It shouldn’t be long now. Ah, yes. Here we are.”

Kris couldn’t make sense of the Russian’s words.

Then again, it was hard to concentrate on anything beyond the agony enveloping her arm and shoulder. Unlike Barry, her collegiate area of study had been more sensible—sports medicine. Her plans to become a physical therapist hadn’t materialized, but she’d done enough practicums to recognize what was happening to her shoulder. If the man didn’t ease the pressure he was exerting on the joint, her rotator cuff might tear. As if hearing her thoughts, the pressure on her shoulder vanished.

Kris nearly sobbed with relief.

Nearly.

Until the agony that had enveloped her shoulder reappeared elsewhere.

As if he were scruffing a feral cat, the Russian grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head backward. Kris gasped and reached for the intelligence officer’s hand only to have her wrist snared in another joint lock.

“Just a moment or two more, my dear. A little to the left, please.”

The hand holding her hair jerked to the right, which turned her face left, bringing a familiar person into view. Someone stood in the center of the pedestrian walkway, flanked by a pair of Russians.

Barry.

The look of horror on her husband’s face quickly transformed into rage. She tried to call out to him, but the Russian chose that moment to viciously yank her hair.

Her words came out a sob.

Something pricked her neck.

She felt a rush of cold.

Then, nothing.

CHAPTER 14

BARCELONA, SPAIN