Defender by Catherine Mann

Author:Catherine Mann [Mann, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101029855
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A light from the open door knifed across the dark cell, giving Chuck his first peek at his new “home” since those goons had tossed him in a couple of hours ago. From what his rattled brains could tell, it wasn’t much different from the last cell, or the one before that. They moved him often now.

The cement wall had sure as shit hurt just as much as the others when his back slammed into it. His shoulder still throbbed, probably broken. He could feel blood from the scrape sticking to his shirt.

Right over the tracking device.

He hurt too much to care anymore. Chuck simply sat and waited. He no longer had enough control over his body or mind to do anything more. They’d broken him.

The woman—he’d actually heard someone call her Marta, a tiny nugget of information he couldn’t do a thing with—strode across the room and knelt beside him, her pencil-thin skirt pulled tight around her thighs, her heels eye level from his vantage point sprawled on the floor.

Her perfume swamped his nose. Her round face and soulless eyes swam in and out of focus. She didn’t bring water anymore.

He wanted her knife. To use on her and then himself. But one of her goons stood at the door with fists and gun in clear sight.

“I am beginning to doubt your usefulness, Airman Chuck.”

B.F.D. Like that mattered to him now.

“Help me, and I will make sure your family has a body to bury. Continue on this ridiculous path, and no one will find the pieces of your corpse.”

He didn’t have any family. But he did have friends. His air force buds must have been working their asses off for the past two weeks . . . Had it really only been such a handful of days? He couldn’t be sure, as he lost track of time, never sure how long he’d been unconscious.

How many programs would they have to reevaluate or scrap because they couldn’t be sure if he’d cracked? Would he have a chance to let them know he hadn’t spilled anything?

Would that stay true if Marta kept at him much longer?

“Your shoulder appears painful.”

“No . . . shit . . . Sherlock.”

She laughed, smoothing her hand over his back, along the bloody, torn shirt. “I like men with spirit. Maybe there’s some life in you yet.”

She frowned, pausing. Her fingers glided back to the split in the shirt and skin from where a jagged patch of wall had torn away his flesh. She prodded, gently, but still her touch stung his raw wound.

“What is this?” Her voice lost its phony-ass affectation of friendliness as her finger circled . . . right over his tracking device.

Damn.

Her knife flashed in the stark light of the overhead bulb. She pressed the steel tip into his shoulder and prodded. Fire scored his back. As the bitch continued her search, he bit down a shout to a groan.

Head cocked, she cradled her “prize.” No squeamishness on her part. He wished he could say the same for himself as his stomach tumbled over itself in a death spiral.

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