Page 18

Chan helped me up from the bathroom floor. But instead of letting go of my hand, he turned on the water again, then pulled me close until his mouth was millimeters away from my ear.

“We’ll wait until tonight, for everyone to be asleep. I’ll still have to take care of the guards at our door,” he whispered. “I don’t have any weapons, which means I’ll have to use theirs. I don’t have a choice whether it’s lethal or not.”

I swallowed, then nodded that I understood. Chan might have to kill someone in order for us to have a chance at contacting the CIA. We couldn’t escape here on our own tonight—there were too many men with guns, too many checkpoints with security features we couldn’t bypass. The CIA was our only hope, and in order to reach them, Chan might have to take someone out. Even if the idea made my stomach churn.

Letting someone else take the reins was a foreign concept to me. I was usually the one orchestrating everything and putting out all the fires. In my line of work, sometimes that was a little too literal for my tastes, which was why I liked to be in control. So walking into a dangerous situation like this blind? Well, it was a bit like throwing a match into a box of fireworks and hoping for the best.

“We need to separate the guards,” Chan said, his lips tickling my ear. “When it’s time, follow my lead.”

I nodded.

Then we waited.

Chan was better at judging time than I was, so I lay in the bed, wide awake and unnaturally stiff, staring into the darkness while I waited for some unknown signal from the man next to me, who seemed way too relaxed for what was about to happen. I’d grown used to feeling him beside me, matching my breathing to the rise and fall of his chest. But I couldn’t trick myself into ignoring my surroundings now. Not when we were finally going to do something about changing things.

When I was convinced Chan had waited too long, he finally got out of bed. But he only went to the bathroom and pulled on the light cord. I groaned and flopped back on the sheets, kicking uselessly at the way my shoes caught on the fabric. There was a reason why people didn’t typically wear shoes to bed.

A second later, Chan left the bathroom and walked to the door, passing me a warning glance on the way, barely visible in the dim glow from the bathroom.

Ice shot through my veins, and I sat upright.

I’d been on high alert ever since coming to the catacombs. But after a while, my body had adjusted to the adrenaline, like I’d forgotten what it was like to really be afraid. Now, I clutched the sheets in a death grip while my mind whirled with a thousand possibilities.

Chan could die. I could die. All just to get a message out about where we were. There wasn’t even a guarantee that it would work, or that if someone got the message, we’d be alive by the time they got here to save us.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem worth it. I wanted to back out. Tell Chan I’d changed my mind. But the words wouldn’t make it out of my throat, and he’d already opened the door.

“I know you all don’t care if we live or die,” he said to the guards. Through the sliver of light from the open door, I could see the broad shoulders of the Rock wannabe, and my pulse skyrocketed. The odds were already stacked against us. But if Chan had to fight someone like him and another guard? I swung my legs off the bed, preparing to, I didn’t know what, join him?

Chan waved me back as he kept talking. “But the light in our bathroom is giving off sparks, and with how much water there is in these tunnels, I don’t think that’s the way Holt wants us to go. Something tells me he’d rather do the deed himself.”

Mr. Gun Show sighed. “Then turn the light off, genius.”

“I’m not touching that thing.” Chan held up his hands. “Someone else can get electrocuted, but it’s not going to be me.”

The guard peered toward the divider that separated our bathroom from the rest of our room. When he didn’t see anything, he motioned to it with a quick jerk of his head.

“You go,” he ordered the other guard.

I snorted. Tough guy, that one.

That was when our plan fell apart. Because Mila stepped into the room.

I couldn’t hurt Mila. And I didn’t want Chan to hurt her either.

She wasn’t like the other meatheads who’d willingly signed on to follow Holt like he was some kind of god. She’d had a camera in her room just like us, and she cowered when Holt pulled out a gun. She made delicious soup. She didn’t deserve to die.

Chan had been able to see out the door this whole time and he was still going forward with this. He’d told me he might have to kill people, he’d seen Mila at the door, and he still—

I stumbled out of the bed, not really sure what I was going to do, but knowing I had to do something . I didn’t even make it two steps before I remembered that tonight was our only chance now that Chan had put things in motion. I stood there in indecision, my sense of survival warring with my sense of humanity.

Our room wasn’t large. Mila was almost to the bathroom portion before I’d even made it out of the covers. I snuck a glance at Chan to see he’d slipped outside and was navigating around Beefcake into the light of the hall, or rather, the connecting tunnel I called the hall.

Maybe I could distract Mila long enough that she wouldn’t have to get involved. She disappeared behind the divider, and I moved to block her exit back into the room.

I didn’t have a plan. Only a hope. That Mila would make it through the next five minutes alive. And Chan, of course, but I’d underestimated him before, and I was learning that he was more resourceful than a grounded teenager on prom night. As much as I wanted to protect him from the mess I’d created by coming here, I knew he could handle himself.

Mila stared up at the bathroom light.

“I don’t see anything wrong—” She turned around and stopped talking.

I spun and saw Chan deliver a right-handed hook so intense that the Rock wannabe’s head rebounded off the tunnel’s wall. I let out a squeak of alarm, my whole body paralyzed with indecision. Was I supposed to help Chan or stop Mila? Why didn’t I know the plan?

A normal man would have been knocked out by such a blow. But this was not an ordinary man, because our guard simply shook his head and lowered his shoulder, barreling into Chan like a linebacker, pinning him against the opposite wall in less time than it’d taken me to suck in a breath.

Mila put a hand on her gun holster, and my decision was made for me. Blood rushed through my ears, pounding louder than all the sounds Chan and our guard were making in the hall. I didn’t know why the guard hadn’t shouted an alarm yet—maybe he wanted to get the situation under control before waking Holt up, or maybe he thought it’d look bad if he needed backup when he already had the advantage of guns and brawn. Or maybe because the walls were so thick and our room was too far away for his shout to be heard. I was simply grateful Holt seemed to run his operation on fear and threats so our guard felt the need to handle things on his own.

Correction: not on his own, because he had Mila. Mila, who was reaching for her gun, despite me knowing there was a good person in there somewhere. Panic made my motions jerky as I reached out to stop her.

“Wait, please—”

Oh no, I’d only reminded her I was there too. Her gaze zeroed in on me, focusing with a laser-like intensity.

Then she was on me, twisting my arm back and practically wrenching it from its socket. In one fluid motion, she’d shoved my head forward until my face was pressed against the cold metal of the sink.

I’d thought Mila was the pacifist of the group.

I’d been so wrong.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” she hissed, her mouth a fraction away from my ear.

I’d never been in a fight before. And while Holt had threatened me with his guns, that was a different kind of fear than physically feeling the pain reverberating through my cheek and down my spine. There was a sharp stabbing spasm in my shoulder, which only intensified when Mila twisted my arm some more in an effort to get me to talk. But how could I speak when I could see Chan only ten feet away, his feet inches above the ground as he struggled in a choke hold. A choke hold . And there was nothing I could do about it, because now I apparently had a gun pointed against my head.

That was fun. When had she pulled that out?

“I thought you didn’t like guns?” I gasped, struggling to breathe.

“I don’t,” she said. “So please answer me already.” Her voice actually sounded pleading, go figure.

Chan brought one hand forward and stabbed the Rock wannabe in the eyes with his fingers, using his other hand to bend back two of the fingers wrapped around his neck so far they snapped. The guard released Chan and stumbled back, clutching at his face where Chan had stabbed him in the eyes. But Chan only had a moment’s reprieve, because the man came back a second later, pulling out his gun and shoving the barrel into Chan’s stomach.

It was a rookie mistake. Guns were a distance weapon. Coming that close only brought him within a foot of Chan, who took advantage of the close quarters to do some kind of chopping motion that broke the man’s grip on the gun. It flew into the air. Both of them reached out, but Chan’s hand hit the broken fingers of his opponent, who jerked in response, knocking the gun down the hall. It clattered against the stone floor, coming to a stop far beyond the reach of either of them.

Well, there went the plan for Chan to use their weapons against them. Chan could knock the guy out, but that wouldn’t last long. A man of this guy’s size would be up and at ’em before we could even send out a smoke signal to Agent Mendez.

Could Chan kill someone with his bare hands? Did I want him to?

I shuddered, then groaned, because everything hurt and I was still pinned in this contorted position against the bathroom sink. The Rock wannabe delivered an uppercut that sent Chan past the doorway, so I could no longer see them, and I strained against Mila’s restrictive hold.

My pulse was beating so fast it was like I’d lived a thousand lifetimes in the last minute, even though only a few seconds had passed since she’d rammed my face against this metal sink. It was barely hanging onto the bathroom wall, and any second now, I’d be blasted with old pipe water. But I couldn’t think about that. Chan’s life was in danger, and I could no longer see what was happening.

I had to use the only tools in my arsenal.

Logic.

And begging.

“Please, Mila,” I half whispered, trying not to let my voice be picked up by the camera. I knew I was in view of the two-way mirror, but I doubted there was anyone on the other side at this time of night. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

She brought her face close to mine, twisting my arm even more in the process.

“There’s nothing you two can do about it. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Her words dripped with emotion, and she sighed. “Just accept your fate. You’ll be happier for it.”

She didn’t sound happier for it.

“Turn on the water,” I commanded.

After tonight, I didn’t think there was a chance Holt would deem this all an unfortunate misunderstanding. But with what I was going to tell Mila, I wasn’t about to take chances either. Hence the water. Maybe Chan had a way to get us out of this now that he’d put things in motion. Spies were kind of known for that sort of thing, after all. So I wasn’t going to be the one to drop my guard.

But I didn’t see any way out of this situation that didn’t involve me taking Mila into our confidence. Even if Chan managed to take care of the other guy before coming back to help me, he couldn’t silence Mila without silencing her for good.

The way I saw it, if we got her on our side, we could convince Holt his other guard had been the one to instigate things and we’d only been protecting ourselves.

“You asked for it.” Mila turned the nozzle on the water and shoved my head underneath.

I sputtered, practically swallowing a gallon of water before Mila pulled me out, dripping like an angry cat.

“I didn’t ask to be waterboarded.” With one arm still secured behind my back and the other attempting to get a hold on the sink’s corner to drag myself up, I tried to fling the hair out of my face. I only succeeded in slapping it into my eyes.

Perhaps sensing I wasn’t a threat, Mila sighed again, releasing me as she rubbed her face. “Just like I didn’t ask to become…this.” She waved her hand at herself, but she did it with the hand holding the gun, so I was still a bit on edge.

“I’m a chef, not a hired thug.” Her shoulders slumped and her face crumpled, looking for all the world like she was going to cry.

I remembered her reaction in the lab. How cowed she’d been in front of Holt. She obviously was scared of his retaliation, so she’d acted now out of self-preservation. But she was right. That wasn’t who she really was. I could feel it. I pushed my wet hair out of my eyes, doing my best not to worry about Chan.

He had his own battle to fight. I had mine.

“Then prove it,” I said to Mila. “I have a way to get us out of this, but you have to trust me.”

The hand that was holding the gun hovered uncertainly by her side, but after a moment’s hesitation, she put it back into its holster and raised her chin. “I’m listening.”

With the water running, I towed her to the corner of the bathroom, outside the view of the mirror, just in case. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “We can get help from the outside. If we can get access to some form of communication, we have people looking for us.”

She actually laughed at me. Like full on, threw her head back and laughed.

“And you think I don’t? Andee, I’ve been down here for almost four months. You think I don’t have a family? People who have gone to the police with pictures of the man I was seeing before I disappeared? They probably have Xander’s DNA for all I know, but that hasn’t helped me at all.”

She looked across the hall, and I couldn’t tell whether she was staring off into the distance or looking in the direction of her room.

She shook her head, seeming to collect herself before she continued talking. “The police won’t help you. Holt has men working for him in the government. People high up in authority. How do you think he escaped prison?” She laughed once, but it was hard. Bitter. “The French police, the American police, they don’t have the skills to take down Holt’s operation. Besides, even if you call, no one will believe—”

“It’s not the police.”

I didn’t want to tell her everything, but I wasn’t sure if I had a choice. I couldn’t see Chan anymore, but I could hear the sounds of them scuffling not too far away. Our hall was broken off from the main tunnel, but if this continued long enough, surely someone would come to investigate the noise. I had to end this quickly.

“It’s the CIA,” I told Mila.

She looked skeptical. “I’m just supposed to believe you can contact the CIA from an unknown underground bunker?” she asked. “Forget about bypassing the secretary or whoever answers their phones. What, do you have them on speed dial?”

I pursed my lips. Then took a leap of faith. “Chan’s not really my boyfriend. He’s a CIA agent.”

She was silent for a really long time. Much longer than I would have liked. Didn’t she realize there were lives at stake here? Then she drew in a breath and said in a rush, “If you’re lying, so help me—”

“I’m not lying.”

Mila closed her eyes and took in a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said. “What do we do now?”