Jack Kilborn - Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series)

Shes an elite spy, working for an agency sosecret only three people know it exists. Trained by the best of thebest, she has honed her body, her instincts, and her intellect tobecome the perfect weapon.

Before special operative Chandler was forcedto FLEE , sheexecutd the most difficult missionsand most dangerous peopleforthe government. So when shes tasked with saving a VIPs daughterfrom human traffickers, Chandler expects the operation to be by thenumbersuntil she uncovers a secret that will endanger the entirepopulation of New York City, and possibly the world.

JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson

Dont blame her. Its in her blood.

Her eyes open to the steady beep beep beep of a heart monitor machine.

Shes in a hospital bed. Alone. Wearing oneof those flimsy gowns.

She has no idea how she got here.

An overdose? Did she take too many downs?

She concentrates, tries to remember.

Her last memory is of

Of what?

Walking somewhere. To the dealer?

No. To the free clinic. Ashamed, hoping herSTD was something that could be treated with a pill.

She talked to three different doctors. Theytook her blood. Made her wait a long time.

And then

A shot. They gave her a shot. She touches thespot on her arm, then notices the IV tube snaking from the back ofher hand, the sensor pads stuck to her chest.

They gave her a shot, and now shes in thehospital?

She glances around the room. White walls, nowindow, not even a television. This place doesnt smell like ahospital. It smells like a garage.

Where is she?

She looks for a call button, cant find one,and then begins to yell for the nurse.

She yells several times.

No one comes.

Was anyone there at all?

Beep beep beep

She sits up, feeling absolutely normal. Nopain beyond the tug of the needle in her hand. No dizziness. So whyis she here?

Someone answer me!

No answer.

Shes thirsty. She has to pee. She needs toknow whats going on.

Using her fingernails, she picks the edge ofthe tape on her hand, then peels it back and tugs out the IV,wincing as the blood beads up. Then she reaches under her gown andtears the sticky pads from her skin.

The machine by her bed stops beeping, givingway to a sustained tone. Like someone just died.

Still no one comes.

Theres a drawer next to the bed, but herclothes arent in it.

She stands, the white tile cold under herbare feet, and pads over to the door.

Opens it.

This isnt a hospital.

Its a warehouse. A big warehouse, withconcrete floors, steel walls, forty-foot ceilings. There are piecesof medical equipment on carts, several tables and chairs, somecages along the far wall, and

Oh, sweet Lord.

Dead people.

Lots and lots of dead people.

Many are in white lab coats, stained withblood. Others are in what look like military fatigues, equallysoaked in red.

A dozen. Maybe more. Lying on the ground.Propped against a chair. Sprawled out on a table. Two crimsonfigures, arms around one another, bruised faces forever frozen inagony.

Then the smell hits her.

She chokes back a sob and begins to run, pastthe cages, which are filled withdead monkeys?heading for a doorat the other side of the building, praying it isnt locked,skidding to a stop when it suddenly opens wide and an army guystands there with a big rifle pointed her way.

Help me. I dont know whats happening.

Theres been an attack, he says. His eyesquickly scan her, stopping on her hand. Youre bleeding.

She glances down at her hand, where the IVneedle had been. A slow trickle of blood snakes down her indexfinger.

Its just

Hold still, he orders. Then he pullssomething off of his belt, and before she can react hes sprayingher hand with some sort of foam. It dries almost instantly, forminga hard crust.

What is

A liquid bandage. Quickly, come withme.

He has an accent she cant place, but shedoesnt care where hes from. Hes there for her, there to helpher. She takes his gloved hand, and he leads her outside, into theblinding sunlight.

Water laps a shoreline to the left and to theright.

An island?

She smells salt riding the air, the scentfamiliar. The Atlantic Ocean.

Theres a sound, too, beating in her ears, ahelicopter on a landing pad, its blades whirling. The soldier nodsat the two army guys standing guard and then takes her to it.

Shes scared, confused. But she wants to getout of here, to get away from all the dead people. As they buckletheir seatbelts, shes very close to crying. Then the soldiersmiles at her.

Youre very beautiful, he says.

His words surprise her. She thinks she mustlook terrible. That tacky gown. No make-up. Her hair all messed tohell. But she knows shes pretty. Shes been getting by on herlooks since she was twelve.

I want to be a model, she says. Its aweird thing to say, but she doesnt want to talk about the deadpeople.

He nods, appears to think it over. Then hesays, You know, I have a friend, works for a modeling agency. Ibet he could help you.

Really? This has to be the most surrealmoment in her entire life, and she almost wonders if its all adream.

Do you have family? Someone who would beworried about you?

She hesitates, then shakes her head.

Ill call my friend. You can stay with him.Hes very famous. Did covers for Vogue and Elle. Herescues models all the time.

The chopper lifts off and zooms over water. Alarger island unfolds beneath them, Long Island, the vague haze ofNew York City barely visible in the distance.

Despite not wanting to think, she wonderswhats going on. Why shes here. Why all those people are dead.

She wonders if they cured her STD.

But all of that pales in comparison to whatthe army guy said.

She came to New York to get discovered.

Now, maybe, she finally would be.

Several years ago before I had to FLEE

To a special operative like yourself,The Instructor said, it can be tempting to rely on your physicaltraining and strength. But some missions will call for more thanthat. Many times, knowing how to fit into your surroundings,understanding human behavior, and plain old acting skills will bemore effective than brute force. Learn to be a chameleon, and youhave a better chance of being successful.

I have always preferred formulating my ownexplosive with household chemicals to creating a smoky eye in themakeup mirror. So when I pulled the barely-there dress andfour-inch Jimmy Choos out of the FedEx package the bellman hadbrought up to my hotel room, my stomach gave a nervous flutter.

Not a good sign in a spy who had been trainedto control her emotions.

I returned the cell phone to my ear andfrowned, hoping my new handler could sense my attitude as itbounced off New York Citys cell towers.

So where does this op take place, Jacob? Astrip club?

He laughed, the sound a slightly robotic,electronically disguised version of his real voice.