Secret Contract. Dana Marton
But not this. Not becoming the government’s lackey.
“And if we don’t succeed?” She found her voice. Regardless of whether she would even consider the offer on the table or not, she wanted to know all the tangents.
Law held her gaze. “At least you get out for a few weeks. And your willingness to cooperate would be taken into consideration at future appeals and parole hearings. The deal stands only if you all agree. If one person is out, it’s off the table for everyone.”
If they thought they could blackmail her with the others, get to work on her guilty conscience, they had another think coming. She barely knew these women. What did she care?
But the thought immediate freedom had got lodged in her brain, the possibility stinging her eyes. She was twenty-nine with four more years left of her sentence. She hadn’t expected to get a chance to walk down a street until she was thirty-three.
“Do you have any questions?” The Italian-looking guy, the lawyer, what was his name? David Moretti. He stepped forward, all smooth and sinuous. His gaze hesitated on Samantha for a second or two.
Maybe he was having second thoughts as to whether that one could handle whatever the men had in mind. She looked at least a half-dozen years younger than Carly was, insolent stamped all over her, noncooperative there in the sneering set of her lips and her I-dare-you eyes.
“Can I ask if you’re going to put the offer in writing? Do we get a chance to read it over?” Anita spoke up.
Moretti shook his head. “Due to the confidential nature of the mission, for your own safety, as little as possible will be documented.”
That jolted her. Not that they wouldn’t write the offer down, but the way it made this “mission” sound—dangerous. Then a rapid succession of revelations made her go still.
She would get out, let free by the government. The deal would not be documented. She wouldn’t have to sign papers to pledge anything. Whatever they asked of her had to be something clandestine, something they didn’t want anyone to know about. So if she disappeared during this mission, what could they do?
Absolutely nothing.
Most likely, if she was reading this right, they couldn’t even admit that she’d been working for them.
A new life, someplace far, far away where her record couldn’t follow her. She could do some software developing, consult under another name. A normal life in the States was out of the question, no matter what. Even if she took the mission and they succeeded, even if her record was cleared, her case had been high profile enough, all over the media. Nobody would give her a second chance. She’d be flipping burgers at a fast-food joint for the rest of her life, at best. She should risk her life for that?
“So how long do we have to think about this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?” Gina scoffed at the men.
Law glanced at his watch. “How about fifteen minutes? We’ll let you discuss in private. Call out if you have any questions.” He moved toward the door, the other two behind him.
“Is this a military mission, spying, assassination?” Gina kept at it. “Can you give us a clue?”
Law stopped and looked back. “Not at this stage, no.”
Tarasov half turned as he stepped out, and Carly could swear he was looking right at her. Man, he was as serious as a life sentence.
Gina flashed a rude gesture when the door banged closed behind the men.
Carly couldn’t agree more.
“Got a load of that?” Samantha was still staring after them.
“They’d let us out,” Carly said. Her brain seemed to be stuck on that thought, bringing up the list she kept in her diary—things she wanted to do once she was free, the big-ticket items like starting a whole new life and the small everyday stuff she missed. She pictured walking into a computer megastore and spending the day there. She wanted to go to a restaurant and choose her food—steak and a knife sharp enough to cut it. She wanted to dance with a man, to be kissed until the memory of the last six miserable years floated away. She didn’t want to not have sex again until she was thirty-three.
She could get out. Now. It didn’t have to be about letting the government use her. She could use them.
“What do we have to lose?” she asked, the small measure of initial hope swelling, filling her to the brim, mixing with the excitement of facing a challenge.
“Have you ever seen that movie The Dirty Dozen?” Gina pinned her with a hard glare.
When she looked at you—really looked at you—it wasn’t that hard to believe that she’d knocked someone off.
Carly shook her head. From the way Samantha pulled up a black eyebrow, she figured the girl hadn’t seen it either. Anita stared at her lap and didn’t seem to be listening.
“During World War II, twelve convicted killers are given a chance to get out of prison. They are dropped behind enemy lines to fight the Nazis,” Gina said.
“So?” Samantha shrugged. She was the youngest among them, with the whole gothic thing going—not an easy feat to pull off in an orange jumpsuit. Her short hair was died black and formed into stiff spikes, plenty of holes in her skin above her eyebrows, in her nose and in her ears where her earrings used to be.
Gina turned toward her slowly. “Two words for you—suicide mission.”
A few moments of silence passed.
Anita took a deep breath and looked at them, gave them a tight, apologetic smile. “I get out next month. On parole.”
Carly stared. The woman hadn’t mentioned that in the kitchen.
“Meaning you’re out?” Gina was tapping her rubber-soled slipper against the leg of the chair in front of her.
“I’m sorry. I mean, what if you’re right and this is really dangerous?” To her credit, if she felt intimidated by Gina, like Carly was, she didn’t show it.
“What do you think we’ll have to do?” Carly asked, thinking, How closely would we be watched while we were doing it?
“Whatever it is, they wanted me because I know guns,” Gina said. “The commando guy looked like serious business.”
Right. The way Nick Tarasov had stood there— hair in a severe military cut, his bluish-gray eyes sharply focused—he looked as cold and hard as the floor-to-ceiling metal bars at the end of the cell block. Seemed about as unmovable, too. He hadn’t said a single word the whole time.
“They want us because we know about guns, money, computers and breaking and entering.” Gina looked at them. “My guess is some kind of spying.”
“Don’t they have trained spies? Like people who do that kind of stuff for a living?” Carly asked, but a little thrill ran through her. Her only solace for the past couple of years had been watching Alias in the rec room. What would it feel like to be part of something like that?
“We’re disposable.” Samantha shrugged.
The carelessly offered comment gave them all something to think about.
Anita stood to walk around the other women, her movements too graceful to be called pacing. Her black braid that reached to her waist swung a little with each long step. She carried herself like a competitive dancer. “Mission Impossible.”
Was she considering it? Carly watched her. Why on earth would she?
“More like Charlie’s freakin’ Angels,” Samantha said deadpan and rubbed her left earlobe that had more holes than beta-version software did. “I’m in. But don’t expect me to start flipping my hair and wearing a bikini.”
Carly ran her teeth over her lower lip. The thought of staying in prison for another four long years seemed intolerable