Special Forces: The Spy. Cindy Dees
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around to torturing her, which Zane had no doubt both men were sadistic enough to enjoy doing, he really needed her not to blurt out that he was an undercover CIA agent. People in the midst of torture would say or do just about anything to make the pain stop. He dared not give her a grenade that she could lob to save herself.
As much as Zane would like to put her mind at ease and tell her he was one of the good guys, he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until the two of them were out of here and clear of Mahmoud and company.
Her eyes were big and dark as she stared at him, revealing for a moment the fear that she was valiantly holding at bay. God, she was brave. Admiration for her coursed through him.
“Get some rest,” he said gruffly.
Her brows furrowed in confusion.
“I’ll take you upstairs to use the bathroom in the morning. If you have an emergency before then, let me know.” He bent down and deposited a bottle of water and a protein bar on the floor next to the pole. “There’s a drink and a snack right here, where you can reach them.”
He headed toward the stairs and his hand lifted toward the light switch.
“Could you please leave the light on?” she asked.
“Of course.” His hand fell to his side. He hated leaving her alone down here with her fear and uncertainty, but Mahmoud and the other men would be suspicious as hell if he hovered over her like a worried mother hen.
He hurried up the steps before he could lose his resolve.
“She tied up?” Hassan asked when he emerged into the kitchen.
“Yup. Not going anywhere.”
Hassan nodded and set a TV dinner on the table for him. Turkey and gravy. Not his favorite, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not with so much on the line.
Zane ate about half the bland meal before asking around a mouthful of pasty mashed potatoes, “What does Mahmoud want with the woman?”
Hassan shocked him by actually answering. Whether it was because the man already knew that Mahmoud planned to kill Zane, or because Zane had actually earned some trust today by participating in the kidnapping, he had no idea. “She’s the wife of some guy that our employer needs to do something.”
“So she’s being held as leverage, then,” Zane commented neutrally, leaping all over Hassan’s rare chatty mood. “Got it. Keep her alive. Reasonably healthy. Just maintain control of her.”
Hassan grunted in what Zane took as an affirmative.
“Do we know who her husband is?” Zane asked.
“Above my pay grade.”
“And who exactly ordered the kidnapping?” Zane pressed.
“Above your pay grade.”
He grinned and shrugged at Hassan. “Sorry. It’s hard for me to keep operating in the dark all the time. At some point you guys are going to have to learn to trust me.”
“I think you’re okay. Don’t take it personally. Mahmoud always plays everything close to his chest.”
“Thanks, man.” Zane got up and carried his empty dinner tray over to the trash can and tossed it in. “Tomorrow, you gotta let me go to a store and get us some real food if we’re gonna be here awhile. That crap tasted like cardboard.”
“No lie,” Hassan laughed. “I’ll ask Mahmoud in the morning.”
“You want me to guard the prisoner overnight?” Zane offered.
“Don’t you want to take shifts or something?” Hassan blurted.
“I don’t mind doing it tonight. You drove most of the day and could use some rest. I can sleep at the foot of the stairs. It’s not like she can get loose and go anywhere.”
“You show admirable dedication to the work, my friend.”
He shrugged and made eye contact with Hassan. “Just trying to prove myself to you guys. But you’re tough nuts to crack.”
Hassan grinned and merely dipped his chin at the compliment, reverting to his usual taciturn self.
By the time Zane went back down to the basement, the woman was curled up on her side next to the steel pole, nested in the blankets like a puppy. She was out cold. Exhausting day she’d had. He pulled one of the blankets over her gently.
Rough day for him, too. He unrolled the sleeping bag he’d carried down here and spread it at the bottom of the steps. His offer to stay with her was a two-edged sword, of course. Not only did it keep Piper from escaping, but it kept the other men from paying any extracurricular visits to her, as well.
Confident that she would be out cold for hours to come, he closed his eyes, knowing that sleep would claim him immediately. It was a combat trick he’d learned during his stint in the army, fresh out of college. When he’d never known when or where his next chance to sleep would come, he’d become expert at napping anywhere on a moment’s notice.
* * *
A painful kick in his ribs woke Zane up sometime later. He tensed to do violence before he remembered where he was. He threw off the sleeping bag and rose, silent and fast, to his feet. Yousef was grinning at him and looking pleased with himself.
“Boss wants to see you,” the man announced.
Zane suppressed an urge to bury his fist in the guy’s face and merely gestured for Yousef to go first up the stairs. A quick glance at Piper confirmed that she was still dead to the world.
Yousef led him to the living room, where Mahmoud and Hassan already sat. These three were the senior members of this cell. The other two guys, Bijan and Osted, acted mostly as muscle.
Mahmoud held out a cell phone and a national newspaper to Zane, who stared at them suspiciously. After months without him having access to any kind of news or electronic communications, why in the world was the guy offering him both now?
“I need photographs of the woman,” Mahmoud announced. “Clear ones where her face is easy to see. And she needs to be visibly tied up. We want her husband to understand in no uncertain terms that she is a captive.”
“Of course,” Zane responded. “Do you want them right now?”
“Yes.”
“Back in five minutes.”
Zane jogged down the basement stairs loudly, announcing his coming to the woman. Sure enough, when he looked across the space at her, she was awake and watching him.
In the middle of the cellar, he set down the wooden chair he’d carried from the kitchen, then moved over to her to unlock the handcuffs.
“What’s happening?” she asked quickly.
“Picture time, Mrs. Black.”
“You need proof of possession of me? To show whom?”
“Your husband, of course.”
“Are you asking for a ransom? Blackmail? What’s the play here?” she demanded.
An interesting, and decidedly military, turn of phrase. He responded, “The play is you’re going to sit in that chair with your hands tied behind your back. You’re going to look properly terrified, and I’m going to take a picture of you to send to him so he’ll do what we want him to.”
“Which is what?” she snapped.
God, he’d love to know that very thing. But he also wasn’t about to admit to her that he didn’t have the slightest idea what any of this was about. He propped the newspaper against her chest, being careful not to touch anything personal while he did so. When he was satisfied that the headline was prominently visible, he stepped back from her.
“Say cheese,” he muttered as he pointed the camera at her.
“Are