The Espionage Effect(67)
“You’re his arms dealer? That’s your cover?” My mind spun, attempting to make sense of it all. I’d initially thought Alec had merely been a spy. But he’d also been chummy with Escobar, like they were great friends. My only evidence that either of them weren’t ordinary people? Prisoners. And weapons. Both incriminating.
“What do you think?” he asked, tone edging into sarcasm.
That was just it. I didn’t know what to think. Alec hadn’t provided me any proof of EtherSphere One’s existence. Only his word.
Everything else? Could be explained away on a wide spectrum. He could have been spying on Escobar, or he could have been playing me, luring me in for some inexplicable reason.
But one skill I did have, one I hadn’t revealed to Alec? Advanced-level deception training. The classes were hard to obtain, only offered to law enforcement agencies. I’d had to falsify my affiliation with an agency that luckily backed out at the last minute to claim a coveted spot. The training incorporated one’s innate ability to detect deception and sharpened it with inerrable methods in order to create human lie detectors.
I sure as hell hoped my instruction had been flawless. Because instinct and training both told me Alec was the real deal—not in league with Escobar, but truly a deep-cover spy plotting to stop him.
He stared at me, waiting for my reply, expression hard, like the next hours depended on my answer.
Yeah. I’d gone too far to cast doubt now—I was all in.
What did I think? “I think you’ve got nanotech-missile-proof cover.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, but he firmed his lips into a hard line. Then he ruffled the top of my hair and pivoted, heading toward the door that led back into the house. “Let’s go, Pink. Daylight’s burning.”
After we’d sat at Alec’s basic dining room table and downed energy smoothies, my training had begun with methodical precision. We’d run through some rudimentary defensive moves I’d been schooled in, then moved on to more advanced techniques.
He conducted the entire operation like a drill sergeant.
“Again,” he commanded, voice low, tone curt.
With measured steps, he circled me. This I knew from sound alone. Because once he’d satisfied himself that I knew how to defend against anything I saw coming, he wanted to test my abilities against that which I could not. He’d blindfolded me. Again.
Initially the silk falling over my eyes had caused an instant trigger, reminding me of the other night and all the pleasure he’d delivered when he’d instructed me so thoroughly.
“You need to feel, not think,” he’d repeated the same command as before, tone harsher.
And with a slight furrow to my brow, I’d concentrated to banish the sudden arousal.
I did so now. Yet so much in totality wove together, interconnected: the rush of sexual desire, adrenaline of a weapon in hand, the instinctual determination to win.
Only a slight air disturbance telegraphed his location. My mind flashed forth a grid-like image, predicting velocity and varying probabilities. I moved with fluid grace, stepping one foot back in tandem with where I expected him to be. The whip of an air current flew past my face. At the last minute, I jabbed an elbow out.
It made solid contact with what I’d estimated to be his ribs. A soft grunt followed.
Suddenly the world spun, and I landed on my back with a loud smack, air knocked from my lungs.
Not giving in, I snapped back up to my feet, tracking his whereabouts from my blacked-out world. Interestingly, even though I’d never fought from the darkness, I found the method easy to adapt to, almost comforting in a way. There were no unnecessary distractions: no collateral persons or objects, no escape routes to calculate. Only my target existed.
Tapping into an endless reserve of patience, a virtue I’d had to become well acquainted with over the years, I waited, listening. Observed. Assessed.
Every other sense awakened tenfold when denied one.
Only now, he’d been relegated to the status of deadly opponent. And I focused intently on him, my life hanging in the balance, even in this unorthodox training.
When I calmed myself, pulled my sense of awareness deep into the core of my body, I entered a unique suspended state. Like meditation in motion, I became part of the universe that surrounded me on an atomic level. Made sense, really. Comprised of pulses of energy, every single thing existed in a framework. And reduced to their most basic state, tapping into the essence of the energy itself—becoming energy itself—I distinguished the world around me better than any mere visual tapestry could provide.
I remained motionless in the sea of the cool air current that blew into the room from the vent on the wall. My breathing, barely audible, settled into a steady rhythm. Probing out with awareness, I located his breathing, now easily distinguishable from mine and from the barely perceptible whir of the air conditioning.
He stalked behind me, body lowered. An electric tension charged the air. I drew in a slow breath, relaxed, ready.
A wave of energy pulsed, and I moved, riding the current, becoming one until it crested. Then I punched an arm out, my fist making contact with muscle over bone for a split second before the contact point gave way. My mind computed that I’d hit his shoulder, knocked him off-balance. Not satisfied in the least, knowing the scenario was do-or-die, both in a real-life situation and for my ability to prove myself worthy, I crouched, then swept a leg out and around.