Laynie Portland, Renegade Spy by Vikki Kestell

Author:Vikki Kestell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Religious & Inspirational Fiction, Christian Books & Bibles, Espionage, thriller, Spy, Spies, International Mystery & Crime, Mystery & Detective, Christian action & adventure, Christian romance
Publisher: Faith-Filled Fiction
Published: 2019-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

LAYNIE WOKE TO COOL sheets and a thousand knives impaled in her body—every one of them on fire. Slowly, her mind cleared. Before she could open her eyes, she decided she had to be in a hospital bed, her head elevated a few inches, her arms inexplicably pinioned to her sides.

She cracked one eye open. The other would not answer her command.

She looked up. Ceiling. Acoustical tiles. Vents.

To her right. IV tree. Monitor. Hospital bedrail.

Left. Curtain and bed rail.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Ms. Garineau.”

I know that voice. Her lone functioning eye tracked toward it.

“Di . . .” Her mouth was too dry, her tongue too thick to work.

A straw touched her lips, but they, too, had a mind of their own and would not wrap themselves about the straw.

“You’ve got a whopper of a fat lip there, Anabelle. The nurse said if you couldn’t manage the straw that I could drop little sips of water into your mouth.”

The straw came up again, found her mouth, released a dribble of blessed coolness.

“Ohhh . . .”

“More?”

Without waiting for an answer, the straw returned. As the water moisturized her mouth, she ran her tongue over her lips. They were raw, crusted, swollen. Another “dropper” of water relieved her parched throat.

“Thanks.”

Director Wolfe leaned over her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Tobin. Sera . . . .”

“They’re both alive. Surgery saved Tobin’s kidney. Seraphim . . . she’s still unconscious. Pretty badly concussed. If you’re going to get yourself blown up, arranging to have it done in a hospital parking lot has its advantages.”

He leaned closer. “What happened, Anabelle?”

“Up.”

He raised the bed a few more inches, and she took a slow inventory of the wounds she could see. Hands and fingers like hamburger in places. Her arms were strapped down, probably to keep her from tearing at the many little wounds she sensed under the sheets.

“How long?”

“You’ve been out about eight hours.”

Laynie squinted with her good eye at the window. The drapes were drawn, but she surmised it was twilight or later.

“More water, please.” This time, Laynie was able to pull water up the straw and into her mouth. Then she slowly, careful of her bruised and battered mouth, gave him the details.

“Interviewed Gupta. Went to car. Had the sense that they’d use the opportunity to follow us. Tobin was . . . checking for a tracker.”

“And found a bomb instead?”

“He pretended he hadn’t. Walked to us. Smiling. Before he got to us . . . told us to get ready to run. We got as far . . . as far as we got. Saved our lives.”

Wolfe’s expression was muted. Horrified, but controlled. “The device was remotely activated?”

“Must have been. When they realized we were running away, they detonated the bomb.”

“They didn’t plan to follow you then. They intended to kill you. Take out the top members of the task force, decimate it?”

“Put . . . task force out of business. Permanently.”

Laynie recalled Tobin’s lighthearted banter. “Better to lose a middle-aged, nonessential

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