My Spy

The moment the door was closed, she went to work.

It was slow, tedious and painful. Pru worked the shard like a tiny, jagged glass saw, drawing it back and forth across the thick hemp that held her prisoner, feeling a sticky trickle of blood at her wrist. She’d just managed to cut through the ropes when this miscreant had come through the window.

A new face. Another one of the kidnappers?

She wasn’t sure how many there were and only knew two by actual sight. His coming through the window made no sense, unless he didn’t want the others to know what he was doing.

Every muscle in her body tensed.

She pretended to still be bound as the stranger came toward her. The element of surprise was all she had.

He put his finger to his lips, as if the dolt thought she could scream beneath the duct tape. If she could have screamed, she would have done so a long time ago. Loud and long.

He crouched down beside her. He was going to rape her, she thought, banking down the surge of panic and turning it into fury. He damn well might try, but he was going to lose a few vital organs in the process.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned her, taking the edge of the duct tape covering her mouth in his fingers. He yanked it quickly and a line of fiery pain zigzagged along her lips.

The next second, she propelled herself forward, lunging at him. He wound up on the floor, flat on his back, with her on top of him, pinning him down.

“This’ll hurt more,” she declared fiercely, her face inches from his.

Her heart pounding wildly, Prudence began to scramble to her feet, intent on grabbing the weapon she’d seen go flying from his waistband. But he caught her wrists with his hands and held her to him. The length of his rock-hard body directly beneath hers registered on the outer perimeter of her consciousness. As did the heat from his bare chest.

Stockholm syndrome, Stockholm syndrome, she warned herself. He was a lowlife, nothing else.

A lowlife with a temper.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed angrily.

She squirmed and wriggled against him, trying to get free, alarmed at the sensations that were swiftly and dramatically telegraphing themselves through her body. Alarmed, too, at the rather sensual curve of his mouth as he looked up at her.

Prudence gathered her indignation to her like an invisible, invincible cloak. She was not about to succumb to this. They were not going to keep her docile and inline with this cheap ploy. She didn’t care how hard his chest, or other parts of him for that matter, were.

“If you think that I’m just going to lie here and let you attack me, you less than worthless sack of horse manure, then—”

“Attack you?” he echoed incredulously, his hands still very tightly wrapped around her wrists where they would remain until he was confident that she wasn’t going to take a swing at him. “I’m here to rescue you.”

For a moment, still sprawled out on top of him, Pru wavered. Rescue her? She was being rescued? Her father had actually managed to find where she was being held? The man deserved more credit than she’d been giving him lately.

And then suspicion crept in between the lines.

“Where are the others?” she wanted to know.

“There are no others,” he told her.

Her eyes widened. “You’re it?”

“Yup. Lucky me,” the man commented dryly. “Now, not that I wouldn’t find this position interesting at any other time—” he opened his hands, releasing her wrists “—but I think that we’d better get the hell out of here before one of those Neanderthals comes to investigate the noise.”

Pru scrambled to her feet, managing to have more than just marginal contact with all parts of him. “Just who the hell are you?” she demanded hotly, her cheeks burning.

A smile twisted the man’s lips as he motioned her over to the same window he’d just used to get in. “At the moment,” he told her, “your savior.”

Chapter 4

If Pru was going to respond to the information this bare-chested, unmasked avenger had just flippantly tossed at her, the opportunity was snatched from her.

She heard a noise behind her but before she could turn around to see what was happening, the man with the washboard abs was grabbing her by the wrist again and yanking her so that she was suddenly behind him. The snub-nosed weapon was in his hand so quickly, she didn’t even see where it had come from. All she knew was that it was there, being aimed at the man who had just walked into the bedroom.

The next moment, the man had fallen to his knees, a single hole very neatly placed in the center of his forehead.

Shock and wonder vibrated all through her. “You killed him,” she cried.

“That’s the idea.” And then the stranger was pushing her toward the open window. “Let’s go!” he ordered in a voice that would have made a marine drill sergeant proud.

Ever since she could remember, Pru had always hated being ordered around. Hated being rendered to the state of an inanimate object, thought unable to think for herself.

But there was no arguing with the wisdom behind the soggy Adonis’s command.

Later she’d take him to task for his irreverent manhandling of her. Right now, all she wanted to do was put an infinite amount of distance between herself and the men she knew in her heart were going to kill her whenever they decided that she’d ceased to be useful to them.

Pru was drenched half a second after she’d exited through the window.

The ground was soft and muddy, the sky completely covered with black, ominous clouds that were relentlessly draining themselves over the land. She was about to ask which way to run, assuming that this man had an escape plan mapped out, when he grabbed her wrist for a third time and, in a dead run, began to drag her in his wake. Prudence had no doubt that if she fell, this man would just drag her behind him in the mud like some broken, dysfunctional pull toy.

She glared at the back of his soaked, dark head. If he was her rescuer, or her savior as he claimed, he certainly had never been to knight-in-shiningarmor school.

Behind them, the rest of her kidnappers must have rushed into the back room, drawn by the sound of the single gunshot. Making an immediate assessment, they’d run to the window and began firing.

Bullets were flying at them like lethal mosquitoes on steroids.

“You should have used a silencer!” Prudence shouted at the back of her rescuer’s head, raising her voice to be heard above the gunfire, the thunder and whatever else nature in its perverse capriciousness had decided to throw at them.

“I’ll have to remember that for next time,” he shouted back.

They reached what must be his vehicle and Pru’s “savior” threw open the passenger door and shoved her in, then slid across the hood to get to the driver’s side. He seemed to stumble and clutched his leg, but then jumped in the car.

“What are you, a Dukes of Hazard wannabe?” she asked incredulously. “Never mind,” Pru retorted when her remark earned her a puzzled scowl, adding urgently, “Get this thing started.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” he told her as he turned the key in the ignition. After one false cough, the car came to life.

“Hurry, get us out of here,” Pru cried, craning her neck to look back toward the farmhouse.

One of the men was tumbling out the window, head first. The other was already out and racing across the field toward the van. Prudence sucked in her breath as she saw the man whom she took to be the ringleader get into the van. He’d been the one who was driving yesterday morning when they’d dragged her off the path.

Her stomach twisted into a knot even though she refused to give in to panic. “Oh, God, they’re coming after us.”

“What did you expect?” her rescuer asked. Tires squealed as he hit the road.

Only then did she remember to buckle up. She pushed the metal tongue into its slot. “A S.W.A.T. team, not a half-naked man.”

“Sorry,” he told her. “The realm is fresh out of S.W.A.T. teams at the moment.” Stepping on the gas, he slanted a quick glance in her direction. “What part do you object to? That I’m half-naked or half-dressed?”

Oh, God, heaven spare her. Another man with an ego. “I object to the fact that my father sent a Neanderthal to rescue me.”

His mouth curved in a smile that remained exclusively on his lips and nowhere else. “Sorry, James Bond was busy dallying with a woman who knew that you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”

Restrained by the seat belt, she still twisted around in her seat, looking out the back window and holding her breath as she tried to focus through the sheets of falling rain.

“Is that the way you think of yourself? As being a honey-deprived fly?” But before he could make any sort of a cryptic retort in response, Prudence realized something. The van wasn’t moving. Wide-eyed, she looked from the rear window to the driver on her right. “They’re not coming after us. Why aren’t they coming after us?”

Instead of answering, the dripping driver with the hard body leaned over into her space. She was about to push him back when, one hand still on the wheel, he flipped open the glove compartment. Two round, plastic-looking things tumbled out onto her wet lap. She had no idea what they were.

“I think these might have something to do with it.” He caught the confused expression on her face as he straightened again. “They’re distributor caps.”

Pru came to the only conclusion she could. “So the van’s disabled?”

“Unless one of them’s got a spare distributor cap in their pocket.”

Spinning the steering wheel around, the man executed a 270-degree turn and sped off in a new direction. Plumes of water flew up on either side of the vehicle while sheets of rain continued to come down. The road, when they finally reached it, was slippery, threatening to wrench control of the car away at the first unguarded moment.

He put the windshield wipers on high and they urgently began to duel with the rain. “You picked a hell of a day to be kidnapped.”

That she was rescued had not yet actually sunk in. The sensation was further impeded by the fact that she wasn’t completely sold that they were out of danger, no matter what the bare-chested man said about the distribution hats, or distributor caps, or whatever those things he’d taken off with were.

Prudence shoved both items back into the glove compartment, fighting with the door to get it closed. She was too full of adrenaline, too full of fury, to relax. And his smart mouth wasn’t helping the situation any.

“Next time I’ll have the kidnappers check the weather report before they abduct me,” she snapped, shifting in the wet seat.

He spared her a quick look, then shook his head. She caught the latter and it only served to further fuel her anger. “You really do have a sunny personality, don’t you?”

The mean-spirited nickname she’d been awarded immediately crossed her mind. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at his damn-near-perfect profile. Probably had women falling all over him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That sometimes the tabloids get it right.”

She stiffened, pressing her lips together as she pushed a fallen wet strand out of her eyes. God, but she was tired of having to defend herself, of having her every move scrutinized and found lacking by someone. And when the truth didn’t live up to expectations, there were always lies to use.

Her voice was monotone and weary as she said, “I had you pegged as someone who reads trash.”

“And just when did you make this character assessment, Prudence? When I crashed into the room to rescue you or when I used my body as a human shield as they were shooting at you?”

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the rain, beating against the windshield and the noise of the tires as they struggled against the ever-softening ground. Prudence flushed. He was right. She was being incredibly waspish. Living up to, she realized, all the nasty stories that were written about her. Stories that were taken out of context because the public demanded its daily dose of gossip, whether or not it was true.

She took a deep breath, then said, almost in a whisper, “Sorry.”

“What was that?” He took one hand off the steering wheel and cupped it to the ear closest to her. “I didn’t quite hear you. Sounded like you said you were sorry.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh at him or hit him. She wanted to do both. Instead, she settled for warning him. “Don’t push it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he quipped.

Joshua glanced in the rearview mirror. In the distance, on the road, he could just barely make out the beams of two headlights foreshadowing an advancing vehicle.

Had there been a third car somewhere? A car he hadn’t seen?

There’d been no time to go scouting into the barn or the garage. Now he wished he had.

Stepping all the way down on the accelerator, he drove as if it were a foregone conclusion that they were being followed by her abductors.

“Damn.”

Prudence jerked like a piece of toast popping out of its toaster. Twisting around in her seat, she looked behind at the road.

“Is that them?” she wanted to know. “Are they following us?”

Ordinarily, he’d say something to comfort the kidnap victim. But Pru didn’t strike him as someone who would appreciate being lied to or hearing half truths. So he shrugged and gave it to her straight. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I thought you said you disabled the cars.” Her tone was nothing short of accusing.

Maybe he should have lied to her. “The ones I could see.”

She looked panicked. “Were there more?”

At this point he had no way of knowing with any certainty. “There could have been.”

“Could have been?” she repeated incredulously. “Isn’t it your job to know?”

He’d had just about enough of her carping. It was hard enough maneuvering in this weather on these roads without having to deal with her as well.

“Look, this wasn’t exactly D-day at Normandy. I didn’t have days to plan out your rescue. Approximately thirty-six hours ago, I was sleeping in my own bed, blissfully unaware of you as anything other than an occasional headline to my right as I deposited my groceries onto the conveyor belt at my local supermarket.”

His repeated references to the tabloids seemed to make her bristle. “And now here we are, cozier than two peas in a pod.”

“Or at least wetter than the aforementioned peas.” He dragged his hand through his hair, sending a small spray of water flying in her direction.

She put up a hand. “Hey,” she protested.

He raised a shoulder in a careless shrug, then let it drop. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d notice a little more water.”

“Can’t you make this thing go faster?” she asked impatiently.

“Not without a pilot’s license. Besides, if I go any faster,” he said from between gritted teeth, “I could lose control of the car.”

She had one better for him. “If you don’t go any faster, you might lose control over us.”

“I wasn’t aware that anyone actually had control over you.” The retort came without thought. And from the look on her face when he glanced toward her, it had struck a nerve. “Sorry, didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Why stop now?”

“Look, I’m the guy who just risked his neck to rescue you.” He felt the vehicle begin to fishtail and he gripped the wheel, driving into the curve. A minute later, he straightened the wheel. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to me than this?”

He had a feeling she hated being wrong. Was she woman enough to admit it?

“You’re right. I should. Kidnappings make me nervous.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Since she’d mellowed for a moment, so could he. “This your first?” He was making conversation. There was very little about Prudence Hill that he didn’t know. It had all been succinctly captured for him between the pages of the dossier he’d been given. He’d managed to read all of it before they’d landed, having trained himself in speed reading just before joining the Lazlo Group.

She began to answer in the negative. He knew that there had been one previous incident, when she was a little girl and not yet the prime minister’s daughter. The plot had been quickly foiled.

He expected her to explain, but Pru turned her face toward the window on her side. “Yes.”

Since she didn’t bring it up, neither did he. “Well, it’s not mine. As far as kidnappings go, this is coming along quite nicely for our side.”

“‘Our’ side? Last time I looked, I was the one who’d been kidnapped, not you.”

“For the time being,” he informed her, ignoring her tone, “we’re a team. Only difference between us being that, should those be your former kidnappers behind us and they manage to catch up, you’ll be taken prisoner again. I’ll be killed,” he added with no emotion.

She actually looked at him with concern. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the darkened road. “Didn’t think so.”

A wall rose up between them like a tower of cotton swabs suddenly filled with water. “Are you saying that I’m insensitive?”

Oh no, he wasn’t about to get sucked into this verbal waltz. “I’m saying that most kidnap victims don’t think beyond their own immediate situation.”

“I am not a victim.”

He hadn’t said it to take a dig at her. It was just the way things were. “Didn’t look to me as if you had the upper hand back there.”

Pru drew back her shoulders. “For your information, I had just cut through my ropes.”

He laughed shortly, then found himself narrowly avoiding battling a tree for the same physical space. Turning at the last minute, he let out a sigh of relief. That had been close. “With what, your X-ray vision?”

“With a piece of glass that I got by making one of those oafs drop a tray when he came into the room to feed me,” she informed him tersely.

He looked at her for a split second before returning his attention to the road. The headlights, he noted, were still behind them. No closer, no farther.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “I’m curious how it got from the floor to your hand.”

“I tilted the chair until it fell and then picked the shard up.”

He nodded, taking it all in. “And what was the guy with the tray doing all this time?”

“He’d already left.” She sounded close to being on the verge of eruption. “What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”

He had an answer for that. “One who refuses a bodyguard when her father has the key deciding vote on a hotly contested bill that’s currently on the floor in Parliament.”

She blew out a breath. “So you’ve been briefed.”

His mouth curved. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Just who the hell are you? And don’t give me that tripe about being my savior. Saviors wear more clothes,” she informed him tersely before he could say anything.

His smile deepened. “My name’s Joshua Lazlo.”

“Lazlo,” she repeated. “That’s—”

“Hungarian,” he supplied.

“You’re Hungarian?” She looked at him, marginal confusion echoing in her gaze.

“I’m a British citizen, born and bred,” he told her. “Of British parents,” he added lest there was any question of his allegiance.

“Why don’t I find that comforting?”

“You’re going to have to figure that out for yourself.”

She sighed again and lowered her eyes. Suddenly they widened. “You’re bleeding.”

He glanced down to where she was looking. And shrugged. That would explain the sharp pain in his thigh and why it continued to feel as if it were on fire, he thought.

“Looks that way.”

“Were you shot?” she asked incredulously.

He kept his voice devoid of emotion, as if they were talking about scones. “That would be my guess.”

She lost her patience. “My God, what are you, the British Clint Eastwood? Do you have a handkerchief?” she demanded. “What am I saying, you don’t even have a shirt.”

She looked around the interior of the vehicle, opening the glove compartment and rummaging through it. Then, muttering under her breath, she raised the hem of her T-shirt and bit into it where the seams came together, tugging on either side as she did so.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, amused. “There’s a simpler way, you know.” She stopped and looked at him. “Just raise it over your head and toss it off. You don’t have to rip it off with your teeth.”

Pru glared at him, saying nothing. The next second, the material began to tear. To his astonishment, she forced it along horizontally, swiftly reducing her T-shirt to a belly shirt.

“There,” she declared in triumph. She held the strip between her hands. “All right, raise your leg,” she ordered.

He kept his attention on the road, realizing she meant to use her shirt as a bandage. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

“Obviously everything is a big joke to you. Well, you aren’t about to bleed to death on my account. Do as you’re told.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly, raising his thigh as far as he could off the seat while still keeping his foot on the pedal.

Pru snorted at the polite term. “That’ll get you a kick where you really don’t want one,” she warned him as she secured the bandage around his thigh.

She pulled too tight and he jerked before he could stop himself. The car went out of control, its wheels all but flying off the road.

The front of the vehicle took a nosedive down the embankment and kept on going despite Joshua’s best efforts to stop it.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.