Free Die Run Hide by P. M. Kavanaugh Page B

double-cross. She owed him that much. At least that much.

Chapter 10
    “Lights on,” Anika called out. “Set temperature at twenty-two Celsius.”
    The safehouse computer brightened the small rectangular room that bore no resemblance to its former life as a storage cellar for fruits and vegetables. U.N.I.T. had converted the space to a blast-proof bunker with the latest computer and surveillance equipment while leaving the farmhouse on the property in disrepair.
    She sat in front of the computer monitor, then swiveled the chair next to hers and hoisted her left leg onto its seat. The throbbing eased about 20 percent.
    “Screen on.”
    At her instruction, the computer activated the surveillance cameras. An infrared 360-degree view of the grounds appeared on the overhead screens. The north monitor showed an owl alighting on a tree branch. Other than that, no movement disturbed the night.
    She directed the computer to open Gianni’s private channel. “Are you there?” She waited a heartbeat, then another. No response. “Repeat every ten seconds.”
    She stood and slipped off her jacket now that the room had warmed. God, what she wouldn’t give for a steaming hot shower. The mirror over the sink showed fresh scratch marks along her right cheek and a few stray twigs in her cap. A corner of facial tape had peeled away from her left temple.
    She placed her hands under the tap. “Water on.” The wet warmth seeped into her fingers, her palms and the backs of her hands. “Hotter.”
    After a few minutes, she took a hit of pain blocker, grabbed protein clusters and water from the cold cell, and returned to the computer. She instructed it to open a direct channel to Second.
    She had to assume the worst-case scenario. That the tracking chip inside of her was still active, that Second knew she had survived the mission and the truck explosion. If she didn’t follow post-mission protocol and report in, an entire posse of authorities would be set on her. It was safer if she made contact and tried to control the fallout. When the channel went live, she switched to manual communication.
    “I’m alive,” she typed. “Awaiting retrieval at Red Robin.”
    She forced herself to take a few bites of the cluster and drink some water as she waited for a reply. Thirty-four seconds passed.
    “What happened at Midway? Why didn’t you return with the team?” The words shot across the screen like rapid bursts of laser fire.
    Anika placed her hands on the keyboard. The truth wouldn’t help her. And it could hurt Gianni even more than she already had. She stalled for time.
    “Will explain upon return,” she tapped out. “What is retrieval team ETA?”
    “Four hours.”
    Yeah, right. It would help if Second believed she was hurt. Easier to retrieve. “Broke ankle during solo,” she wrote. “Will need assist during transport.”
    She instructed the computer to switch back to the original channel. Still no response from Gianni. She blew out a sigh, trying to dispel the anxiety that paced behind her like a hungry jackal.
    She guessed the retrieval team would be here in less than two hours. Not much time. If she didn’t warn Gianni soon, it might be too late. If it wasn’t already.
    No.
    She slammed the door on anxiety and took inventory. She needed to fix her camo, put on dry socks, refuel, rehydrate. She stared longingly at the large rectangular groove in the wall behind her. She wished she could stretch out on the bed tucked in there. Just for a minute or two. She imagined sinking down into it, letting her limbs, torso, and head grow heavy.
    No. She shook her head. Get up. This can’t happen.
    She stood and walked back to the mirror. The sudden jolt in her leg was as effective as a hit of caffeine. She pulled out more facial tape and applied it to her temple. Worry shadowed her eyes and etched lines between her brows.
    Why aren’t you responding? Have you been captured?
    She left the wig and cap on the counter for now. Was Second