Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

“Right, right. You did the right thing.” Kell patted the guard’s arm. “Give me a minute with Miss Aguilar. Then escort her to her room. The back way. Is that clear?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Miranda. “Jennifer? You need to listen to me carefully. I know you aren’t afraid of anything. That’s fine. But this is still my house. My rules. And I want you to go upstairs with Carl. Lock yourself in your room. Don’t come out. Don’t make any noise.”

“Jonathan-”

“My visitor is a dangerous man. I gave him assurances that I would meet with him alone. If he knew you were here, he’d want to talk to you. I can’t allow that for any number of reasons, most of them having to do with your safety.”

“Jonathan-”

“I know,” he said fondly. “You think you could kick his ass. You probably could. And then he would kill you. And me. Or Ortega would kill me for involving you in this enterprise. I’m begging you to just go to your room and stay there.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

She smiled sympathetically. “I’ll go to my room as long as you promise to be careful. And come and talk to me as soon as you can.”

Kell’s eyes actually swam with tears as he grasped her by the shoulders. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll explain everything soon. But for now, I’d better get in there before he gets angry and comes looking for me.”

“Go ahead.” She kissed his cheek. “Take care, Jonathan.”

Kell nodded, then hurried toward the house.

Carl took Miranda by the elbow. “Let’s go. Up the back way.”

“Okay.” She kept pace with him, all the while plotting her next move. She had to consider the possibility, however remote, that Gresley had told the Brigadier about his altercation with an auburn-haired hooker. Or maybe Gresley himself was the Brigadier. He fit the profile, since he wasn’t an American. And he had had all that literature at his house.

First Angelina’s the Brigadier? Now Gresley? This drug is making you loopy! she told herself with a laugh. It’s going to be someone you’d never guess in a million years, so give it up. The good news is, he’s in the drawing room! Just sneak down there and check it out. Then you’ll take the intel to the CIA and be a hero, just like you planned. And way, way ahead of schedule.

She cooperated completely with Carl, who was so distracted by the Brigadier situation that he didn’t even bother to insult her. He barely seemed to notice her at all until the moment he ushered her into her bedroom and she turned on him, smiling sweetly, and asked him to help her move a rocking chair on the balcony. Once outside-and out of range of the video security cameras-she slammed her fist into his mouth while her knee connected with his groin. He went down in a heap of pain, and she kicked him full in the face, dazing him further. Then she yanked his pistol from its holster and cracked him over the head.

She wanted to be in position before the Brigadier reached the fortress, so she quickly bound Carl’s hands and feet, then gagged him. Leaving him behind, she closed the balcony doors and slid a heavy velvet drape across them. After confirming that the pistol was loaded, she got the only other equipment she needed, the barrette from her suitcase, so that she could get a picture of the visitor. Then she hurried into the hall, where she edged toward the stairs, listening carefully for any sign of the other guards, but apparently they had followed Carl’s orders and gone to the servants’ quarters.

Perfect.

She impishly thanked the monks for making sure there were two entrances for every room in this monstrosity. The Brigadier would access the drawing room from the entry hall, so Miranda would sneak in from the back. She had noticed a narrow hallway there, with a door that was always partially ajar. No one would expect a claustrophobe to be lurking in so confined a space.

Again, everything was going perfectly. All she had to do was snap the picture, then return to her room and work on her exit strategy. Of course, she might not need to develop one. Jonathan was so anxious to get her out of the place, he’d probably have an escape plan mapped out for her.

Okay, reality check, she told herself as she tiptoed down the hall. It’s not going “perfectly” at all, so stop telling yourself it is. If you weren’t high as a freaking kite you’d see you’re in deep shit. You’re stuck in this mausoleum with the Brigadier, when you were supposed to get out long before he arrived. Sure, you have a gun, but if you shoot him, then what? You think Jonathan Kell is going to save you? He’ll hate you for ruining his political plans.

She tried to listen to herself, but the power drug was doing its job too well. It had seemed to be tapering off a bit, but every time she thought of shooting the Brigadier, right between his beady little eyes, she felt a rush of excitement that made her doubt her own sanity. And of course, it hadn’t even occurred to her that he might shoot back.

She was indestructible, so it didn’t really matter.

And even if she got killed, wouldn’t it be sensational to go out in a blaze of glory? At least the CIA would have to admit she had guts. And she’d be respected and mourned by the best: Kristie Hennessy and Will McGregor and maybe even Ray Ortega! That alone would be worth dying over, wouldn’t it?

The thought sobered her a little, and she decided that as much fun as the power drug was, she probably ought to get into position and then spend a few minutes doing Ortega’s breathing exercises. Power was great, but Ortega was right, it was also difficult to handle.

Balance was better. And thanks to him, she might just be able to get it back in time to do a good job with this op.

Sneaking up to the doorway, she listened intently and was relieved to hear only silence. Apparently the Brigadier hadn’t yet arrived. She was fairly certain Kell would be sitting at his desk, his eyes trained on the entry doorway, and thus, wouldn’t see her if she dared to poke her head into the room from the back, just for a second. And if she miscalculated, and Jonathan caught a glimpse of her, he’d assume she was just pumped up on power, and he’d shoo her away without suspecting she was actually a CIA agent.

Taking a deep breath, she popped her head into the room and saw that Kell was indeed staring at the doorway, but not sitting at his desk. He was standing, wringing his hands, visibly scared to death, and her heart went out to him. He was in over his head-way over his head-just because he didn’t have the tools to deal with betrayal. Sure his employer and his country had let him down, just the way Miranda’s father, and to a lesser extent Ortega, had let her down. But she had been able to overcome it. To function in society despite it.

Poor Jonathan Kell had never had that chance.

She wanted to go to him, to take him in her arms and promise him everything would be okay. Of course, that would officially scare him to death, so she didn’t dare. But she tried to send mental vibes his way, to remind him he wasn’t alone, even though he was doing a good imitation of the world’s most pitiful loser.

It was almost a relief when Joe’s voice sounded in the entryway, saying, “Go right in, sir. Mr. Kell is waiting for you. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

Miranda drew back and listened as sounds of a man striding into the room reached her. She wasn’t going to peek, even though she thought she could get away with it. She just didn’t dare take that chance.

Then she heard Kell gasp “You!” as though he were standing face-to-face with Satan himself. And curiosity-mixed with the power pill-overcame her better judgment, allowing her to take a tiny step forward in time to see a man in military-style khakis glaring at Kell with eyes so furious, lips so curled into a snarl, contempt so unprecedented oozing from every pore of his commanding build, she almost didn’t recognize him.