The Espionage Effect(89)

Uncertain of what time remained before Escobar would return, I grabbed a dining chair and positioned it below the window. Although secured into the side brackets to prevent movement, all it took was unscrewing the steel-scrollwork globe finial at one end to be able to pull out my makeshift bat from the other end.

With a swift yank of my arm backward, I cleared all the square rings hanging every few inches and held tight to my prize as the drapery whumped to the ground. Then I stepped down from the chair, moved into the centermost portion of the room, and tested out the balance with some trial swings. After brief consideration of removing the remaining finial and using the rod as a short bo staff, I decided to leave it as-is; the weapon had good heft and a balanced swing with the added weight on its end.

Seconds ticked by into minutes as I tested my new weapon, moving through scenario after scenario, anticipating how the door would open and from what direction I would strike. With my stance braced wide to account for the gentle sway of the ship, I lunged and swung an arm. The whizzing sound of metal slicing through air hummed an unexpected satisfaction through me.

Once I assured myself I was ready with every trial run I could think of, I stood along the wall, right behind the door hinge, catching my breath and reserving my strength. That’s when the dark thoughts crept forth, unbidden. My analytical mind couldn’t let the disturbing puzzle rest.

I closed my eyes and thumped my head back into the wall, swallowing down the burning emotions, doing my damnedest to filter through only the raw facts.

I’d been betrayed.

My parents and the best friend I’d ever known had perpetrated the greatest crime against me. Greater than the one against my sister. At least with her attackers, there’d been a clear delineation between the bad guys and the good.

But the worst transgression? My entire life had been a sham. When I’d thought I’d failed my parents, somehow deserved to be taken instead of my sister, unworthy of the comforting love that had vanished—I’d been wrong.

They had failed me.

I inhaled deeply, trying to keep some perspective in a situation near impossible to do so. My parents had lied, about what they did for a living, where they went on their so-called work trips, who they were. They were spies? The entire notion seemed at once ludicrous, and yet, entirely fitting.

And what about Alec? I didn’t know what to believe about him. When logic suggested the coincidence of his arrival, stumbling onto my balcony injured from a bullet wound that had seemed statistically improbable, gut instinct had me believe him. And I’d always been a dead-on read of people.

Except for friends and parents who were spies, it seemed.

Needing to quiet my mind, I gripped my bat and slid down the wall until I sat on the floor. Trusting my position to alert to any entry, I stared forward and focused on one point, entering into a zenful state of meditation.

Murmured voices outside the cabin door had me jump up from the floor, tensing my muscles. After a deep breath, I cleared my head and relaxed my body into a poised ready stance. My focused breathing matched cadence with the ship’s rhythmic movement.

When nothing happened, and the voices went silent, I dropped my gaze to the door latch.

A low beep was followed a split second later by a muffled click, then the metal door handle angled down. I gripped my drapery-rod bat tighter and raised it to shoulder height, preparing to strike.

The door opened. An inch. Then a few more. The instant I saw a shoulder appear, I tensed and unleashed a powerful swing, aiming at the head about to appear in the airspace I’d targeted.

But my swing never connected with a head. A large hand shot up and caught the rod a few inches from the end, radiating a jarring painful impact-shock through my wrist, elbow, and shoulder joints.

Then the figure turned, revealing his face.

“Alec,” I whispered with astounded relief.

“After getting stabbed with a pen, I enter any room that you’re already in with a plan to defend myself.” He winked at me.

Great. Humor. In the worst possible circumstance.

“Open the door wider,” he said.

When I gripped the handle and pulled the door open another forty degrees, Alec dragged an unconscious guard in by his shoulders until the guard’s boots cleared the threshold. Then he grabbed the edge of the door and closed it. Another muffled set of clicks followed as the door automatically locked.

I stared at the guard, trying to confirm he was breathing. Before I could tell one way or the other, Alec grabbed beneath his shoulders, then hoisted him upright, facing me.

With a steely expression, he gave me a quick nod. “Take your swing now.”

Beyond confused, I wrinkled my brow and stared at the guard. “I think you already got him.”

He shot me a deadpan look, then grunted, “Hit the guard. Then you did the damage.”

Ah, more subterfuge. “What if I kill him?”

“What if you do?” He gave a slight nod to the guard. “You want to be a spy? Be able to kill. You will kill as a spy. Don’t doubt that.” The guard’s weight slipped, slumping his form forward, and Alec grunted again as he lifted him upright once more. “Hurry up. Junior here weighs a ton.”

Ignoring the sudden queasiness in the pit of my stomach, I took aim, arced backward, then swung forward, landing a blow that first impacted the guard’s temple until it carried through, glancing up over the top of his head as the body began to fall forward.