Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) by Nenia Campbell Page A

nothing special. Not once you got past the details. We all died. I merely hastened the process — but not fast enough. Richardson started to ask questions. “You are beginning to cost me a fantastic sum of money, Mr. Boutilier, and I have yet to see any results. Do you have an update on our current status?”
    “ There were some complications.”
    “ I don't want to hear that. I want answers. Results.”
    I went into town that day anyway to buy the girl and I new clothes and food. There I came across yet another unpleasant surprise — the streets were crawling with cops. I had chosen Nowhere, Oregon, deep in the Cascade Mountains, and I had been found .
    Impossible.
    The capital was nowhere near the Cascade Mountains. That was why I had chosen the Walk of Flags — to buy myself extra time. I knew the FBI liked to cast their net as wide as possible when dealing with criminals, but there was no reason why they should be spending so much of their time and resources looking here. Unless they received a tip-off .
    I could call the IMA. They would deal with the police, throw out a false lead that would divert the FBI's attentions elsewhere. But Richardson would want another progress report and then I'd have no choice but to confess that my charge had fallen grievously ill. And if the leak had originated in one of the departments of my organization, as I suspected it did since all of my contacts — with the exception of Lionel and his sterling reputation — had as much to lose as I did by having me incarcerated, that would be a foolish move. Adding fuel to the pyre.
    If I fled now, I would light up a thousand different radar screens. Moving the girl when she was so sick was foolhardy anyway. I would sweat it out. As soon as she was better, we would move. I already had another location in mind, close enough that it would be the last place anyone would suspect. I would not inform the IMA of the change. I would reroute communication so that it would appear as though I had never left. And then, once the job terminated, I would trim any loose ends, collect my paycheck, and forget the Parkers — and the IMA — ever existed.
    If the cops did not follow me to the new location, I could conclude that the leak had originated from the IMA and take appropriate investigative action. If this wasn't the case, I could form one of two conclusions: (1) either one of my contracts had betrayed me or (2) the girl had somehow managed to communicate her whereabouts to somebody on the outside. Since neither of these scenarios were especially likely, my original suspicion remained the strongest.
    Fan-fucking-tastic. I was a pariah.
     
    Christina:
    On my third day of consciousness, my temperature was still within the boundaries of a fever. A lower fever, but high enough to be concerned about. I'd thrown up several times already and each of those times he — my captor — would be outside the bathroom door, cursing.
    Now that I had stood face-to-hooded-face with death, I knew for sure that I did not want to die. God had tested me, giving me the opportunity to lie down, stop fighting…and I hadn't taken it. I wanted to live, and I needed my captor to help me, much as I loathed being dependent on him. My one consolation was that if I did die, bad things would happen to him. He never said this expressly but I could see it in his face, written in the lines stress had carved there. Why else would he concern himself with me?
    I was getting anxious, though. He hadn't mentioned my parents since I'd first awakened. My fever had left me so disoriented, I wasn't sure whether he had received any more calls. I wanted to ask what had happened since but didn't quite dare. My illness had left him in a black mood. I didn't want to provoke him, or remind him of his threat to my mother. All I could do was sleep.
    The next thing I knew, my captor was shaking me awake. “Sit up.”
    I managed to throw a halfhearted glare in his direction. The back of his hand was cool