Spy Now, Pay Later by Diane Henders

Author:Diane Henders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, suspense, mystery, espionage, canadian, series, women sleuths
Publisher: Diane Henders

Chapter 25

Too late to make a grab for my ankle holster.

My heart scaled the inside of my chest to batter my throat as Sharkface approached, the muzzle of his gun looking like a giant gateway to hell. Christ, what was that thing, a .50 cal? He could blow away half my torso with a single shot…

“Give it to me.” His voice broke into my frantic thoughts.

I had to swallow twice before a dry croak emerged from my throat. “Wh-what?”

“Give it to me, bitch!” He must have seen the blank incomprehension on my face. He elaborated. “The fucking bottle. That you took from Kane’s.”

“Wh… I d-didn’t…”

I managed to throw up a defensive arm an instant before his pistol would have shattered my cheekbone. The blow slammed me to the snow, exploding my bruises into fresh agony.

He loomed above me while I lay gasping, his inhuman grin thrown into deep-shadowed contrast by the blaze of our combined headlights. “You left Kane’s place carrying a bag. Where is it?”

Involuntary tears of pain and fear chilled my cheeks. “B-boots, it was j-just my b-boots in the b-bag, I d-didn’t f-find anything…”

The high-pitched quaver of my own voice infuriated me. Goddamn snivelling chickenshit, about to die grovelling in a snowbank from your own fucking stupidity…

“Try again, bitch.” He levelled his gun at my head. “Last chance.”

“D-driver’s seat of m-my c-car,” I gabbled. “B-bags in the f-footwell. I s-stepped in d-dog shit and p-put my b-boots in the b-bag in the h-house b-but I had to p-put the b-boots back on-”

He swooped down, his massive hand driving toward my face. I jerked my arms up to protect my head, but his fist clenched on my hair, hauling me to my feet. His gun muzzle jammed into the back of my skull as he shoved me in front of him. “Move.”

I stumbled forward, pain and terror fuzzing my mind while he herded me to my car door before yanking me to a halt.

The driver’s door was still open, the dome light revealing the two white garbage bags I’d worn over my boots while driving. The aroma of overripe shit hung in the air.

Sharkface barked out a laugh. “Okay, sweet-ass. But let’s just make sure. Open the back door and the trunk.”

Still restrained by his painful grip on my hair, I leaned slowly in to press the lock button and trunk release. Sharkface kept his gun at my head while I opened the back door for his inspection.

Then he pushed me around to the rear of the car to survey the almost-empty trunk. “Dump that shit out.”

The only ‘shit’ was my emergency kit and toolbox, so I reached slowly for them, my hands trembling in the illumination of his headlights. When my ski pants and sleeping bag and tools were scattered across the snow, he grunted and stepped back, mercifully releasing his grip on my hair at last.

My wobbling knees almost gave out. I propped my hands on the back fender of the car, gulping shaky breaths.

“Strip.”

I froze at his command, my heart and breath dying in my chest.

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