backward onto his ass. She climbed into the Lexus, floored it, and took off down the street.
Ten blocks later, confident she wasn’t being followed, she pulled into an alley and got out. Hammett took the battery out of the man’s cell phone, pocketed it again, and then got the jumper cables from the trunk. Her doppelganger was still unconscious. Hammett patted her down, finding nothing, then hogtied her with the cables, tight as she could.
She needed someplace private to think, and get some answers. Luckily it was still early morning, and the place she had in mind wouldn’t be open for a few hours. Hammett did a search on her GPS, set her coordinates, and was there in six minutes.
The parking lot was empty; a good sign. Hammett pulled up to the front door, noting the open and closing times. Assuming an employee got here an hour before opening, she still had plenty of time to get some questions answered. Driving around back, Hammett let herself into the building using the tire iron in the trunk of the Lexus. Once she opened the door, she was greeted by an explosion of welcome noise.
Barking.
Hi, puppies.
Hammett went back to the car, heaved up the sniper in a fireman’s carry, and took her into the shelter. She found the shower area where the animals were given their flea baths, and set the woman down on the concrete floor, near the drain. Part of her wanted to go exploring, pet some dogs and cats, maybe feed a few. Perhaps she would, when she finished the interrogation. Right now, she had to figure out what her twin knew.
Hammett used several leashes to better bind her intended victim then searched the office cabinets for pet meds, finding a cache. She did a quick cleaning of her shoulder wound, judged it didn’t require stitches, and taped on a bandage. Then Hammett kept searching meds until she found the supply of epinephrine. Dogs and cats, like people, sometimes suffered from anaphylaxis and needed cardiac resuscitation, and the EpiPen worked similarly for all mammals. It took three shots to wake the woman up, and when she roused, she threw up all over the floor.
Hammett used the hose attached to the wall to wash the vomit away, giving her enemy a cold soaking at the same time. Then she shut off the water, sat on her haunches, and stared at the woman.
The resemblance was startling.
“You know how this works,” Hammett said. “I ask you questions and hurt you if I don’t get the answers.”
The woman cleared her throat and spat, then said, “Who are you?”
Hammett shook her head. “You’re confused. I’m the one who asks the questions.”
Hammett reached over to the sniper’s bound hands, stretched out one of her fingers, and bent it until it snapped.
The woman screamed. Dogs howled.
“Did you get plastic surgery to look like me?”
The sniper looked at her, defiant. “No. I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“The only work I’ve had done are these,” Hammett patted her breasts.
“ They look good.”
“Thanks.”
“I always wondered what I’d look like with bigger tits. I guess now I know.”
This had to be one of the more surreal interrogations Hammett had ever conducted. Like asking questions of herself in the mirror. “Why do you look like me?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got as many questions as you do.”
“But I’m asking the questions.”
“Fine. You’ve established that. So will you let me tell you something rather than asking?”
“Technically that was a question, but go ahead.”
“I was adopted.”
Hammett had also been adopted. Could the sniper really be her sister?
Now it made more sense why Heath thought they knew each other. He’d banged this woman in Vegas, and had confused Hammett for her.
“Who sent you?” Hammett asked.
The woman hesitated, then said, “We’re obviously related. And by the way you came at me, I’m guessing we had similar training. If so, you know I’ve been trained to resist interrogation for as long as possible,
Ten blocks later, confident she wasn’t being followed, she pulled into an alley and got out. Hammett took the battery out of the man’s cell phone, pocketed it again, and then got the jumper cables from the trunk. Her doppelganger was still unconscious. Hammett patted her down, finding nothing, then hogtied her with the cables, tight as she could.
She needed someplace private to think, and get some answers. Luckily it was still early morning, and the place she had in mind wouldn’t be open for a few hours. Hammett did a search on her GPS, set her coordinates, and was there in six minutes.
The parking lot was empty; a good sign. Hammett pulled up to the front door, noting the open and closing times. Assuming an employee got here an hour before opening, she still had plenty of time to get some questions answered. Driving around back, Hammett let herself into the building using the tire iron in the trunk of the Lexus. Once she opened the door, she was greeted by an explosion of welcome noise.
Barking.
Hi, puppies.
Hammett went back to the car, heaved up the sniper in a fireman’s carry, and took her into the shelter. She found the shower area where the animals were given their flea baths, and set the woman down on the concrete floor, near the drain. Part of her wanted to go exploring, pet some dogs and cats, maybe feed a few. Perhaps she would, when she finished the interrogation. Right now, she had to figure out what her twin knew.
Hammett used several leashes to better bind her intended victim then searched the office cabinets for pet meds, finding a cache. She did a quick cleaning of her shoulder wound, judged it didn’t require stitches, and taped on a bandage. Then Hammett kept searching meds until she found the supply of epinephrine. Dogs and cats, like people, sometimes suffered from anaphylaxis and needed cardiac resuscitation, and the EpiPen worked similarly for all mammals. It took three shots to wake the woman up, and when she roused, she threw up all over the floor.
Hammett used the hose attached to the wall to wash the vomit away, giving her enemy a cold soaking at the same time. Then she shut off the water, sat on her haunches, and stared at the woman.
The resemblance was startling.
“You know how this works,” Hammett said. “I ask you questions and hurt you if I don’t get the answers.”
The woman cleared her throat and spat, then said, “Who are you?”
Hammett shook her head. “You’re confused. I’m the one who asks the questions.”
Hammett reached over to the sniper’s bound hands, stretched out one of her fingers, and bent it until it snapped.
The woman screamed. Dogs howled.
“Did you get plastic surgery to look like me?”
The sniper looked at her, defiant. “No. I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“The only work I’ve had done are these,” Hammett patted her breasts.
“ They look good.”
“Thanks.”
“I always wondered what I’d look like with bigger tits. I guess now I know.”
This had to be one of the more surreal interrogations Hammett had ever conducted. Like asking questions of herself in the mirror. “Why do you look like me?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got as many questions as you do.”
“But I’m asking the questions.”
“Fine. You’ve established that. So will you let me tell you something rather than asking?”
“Technically that was a question, but go ahead.”
“I was adopted.”
Hammett had also been adopted. Could the sniper really be her sister?
Now it made more sense why Heath thought they knew each other. He’d banged this woman in Vegas, and had confused Hammett for her.
“Who sent you?” Hammett asked.
The woman hesitated, then said, “We’re obviously related. And by the way you came at me, I’m guessing we had similar training. If so, you know I’ve been trained to resist interrogation for as long as possible,
Similar Books
