The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

He reached into the arm and pulled out the secure phone. “I’ll bet anything he hasn’t.”

“Who are you calling?”

“The one person who might have some insight into what’s really going on here.” The phone clicked a few times, then he heard the familiar tinny double ring. He nodded to Mike. “I’m calling my dad.”

53

North of London

12:30 p.m.

Could she trust Alex? Even though he’d assured her the Order had only her best interest at heart, Sophie simply didn’t know. Her father was dead. What was the Order doing about that? And the murder of Alfie Stanford? If they did want her safe, why hadn’t they simply told her, rather than sending Alex Grossman—no, Shepherd—to kidnap her?

Alex was driving a Vauxhall that waited for them in the airport’s short-term car park. Driving in downtown London was craziness, but he expertly maneuvered in and out of traffic until they hit the M40 and it became less populated, the city streets giving way to green fields.

Near High Wycombe, he pulled to the side of the road and put the car in park. He looked at her.

“Why are we stopping?”

“I’m going to give you a choice.”

“About what?”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a syringe.

“Oh, no, don’t you even think about it, Alex whatever your name is. You try to stick me with another needle, it will be the last move you make.”

He reached into the bag he had in the backseat and pulled out a length of black fabric. “This is your choice, the needle or a hood.”

“A hood? Like terrorists use on people they’re going to behead? Are you nuts?” She yanked at the car handle, only to find it locked. By him. To keep her a prisoner. She didn’t look at him, she was too angry.

“Either I can knock you out again or you can put the hood over your head. One or the other. No other choices.”

She didn’t know much about guns, but she wished she had one right now. She held out her hand for the black hood. “And you expect me to trust you? Why should I believe you won’t kill me when you find Adam?”

He crossed his hands over his heart. “I swear to you, Sophie, I would never hurt you. You may not believe me, but I promise I’ll keep you safe, or die trying. Now, would you please put the hood over your head so we can get this over with?”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace safe.”

She searched his eyes, but he said nothing more. “How long?”

“Fifteen minutes, tops. And please lie down in the backseat. Wouldn’t do to have people staring as I drive past with a hooded woman in my front seat.”

He grinned and she wanted to punch him. No choice. She climbed into the back and lay down. She pulled the hood over her head. Utter and complete black. She hated it. “Fine. Go.”

“Don’t even consider peeking. If you fiddle with the hood, I’ll have to stick you with the needle.”

He pulled back onto the road.

Sophie hated this, hated the darkness, the suffocating feeling of the thick black material. She couldn’t breathe properly, started to raise the bottom edge so she could get a bit of air.

“Sophie, don’t.”

Of course he was watching. “I can’t breathe.”

“Not long now.”