The Hard Target, page 2
part #1 of Men of Delta Series
I need to take action. There’s no time to lose. Waleed and his men could be on their way, could arrive any minute. With the hall light on and the front door wide open, there’s no way on earth they’ll step inside. I won’t be able to get my hands on him. This carefully laid-out plan will fail.
“I need to turn the lights off,” I say and feel stupid immediately.
Her face turns ashen, and her mouth opens. “Why?” she squeaks.
“Because... look, you need to leave now. Just go.” And I’ll forget I ever saw you, I think to myself. Somehow, I don’t think I will. That sexy gym wear hugging her sleek hips and those wide eyes are imprinted on my gray matter.
“You’re planning something clandestine. A secret meeting. Who do you work for?”
Not just a pretty face, obviously. She’s figured out stuff most government agencies would take weeks to work out.
“I can’t tell you anything. Just leave. Please.” I take a step toward her, and this time, despite the flicker of fear in her eyes, she holds her ground. Her chin comes up in defiance.
“This is what the informant left the note about, right? What’s happening here tonight?”
She’s got backbone, I’ll give her that. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I move closer to her.
Her right hand dives inside a pocket, and she brings out a spray. Her eyes are flashing, and her voice trembles. “I’ll spray this into your face. Don’t come near me.”
I check the floor behind her. If I were to disarm her gently, she’s still going to fall against the doorjamb and probably hit her head.
The microphone in my earbud comes to life. It’s my brother, Cal. “Who the hell is she?”
I don’t reply. His voice rasps. “Get rid of her. Now.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I hiss back.
The woman is staring at me before she narrows her eyes, which flick to my ear. “Who are you speaking to?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I turn my head to look at the window, hoping she’ll follow. She does, and I reach out a long arm and pluck the spray from her hand. She gasps and staggers backward. Her head hits the door, and she winces, rubbing the back of her skull. “Ow.”
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m at her side. She smells faintly of lavender and a musky odor that is strangely appealing, comforting. I lower my head toward her, taking care not to touch her.
“Are you all right?”
She doesn’t say anything, just lifts her head. Her eyes are melting like chocolate. Despite every instinct that is screaming at me to get rid of her, those twin lakes of light hold me captive.
What the hell am I doing?
She stumbles backward fast. Her hand stays frozen on her head, eyes holding mine. Her back hits the wall of the hallway.
“Will you get a move on? You can play When Harry Met Sally later!” Cal’s voice contains a hint of humor but is scathing nonetheless.
I move past her, and she shrinks away. I shut the front door and turn off the lights, and the building sinks into darkness again. I pick up the Maglite she dropped and hand it to her. Then I switch my own flashlight on, cupping a hand over the beam.
Parting the curtains, I have a quick look outside. I count the seven cars I saw parked out there before I entered by picking the lock on the back entrance. No new vehicles.
When I turn around, I see she has the Maglite on, hand covering the beam. Without moving, I speak to her softly.
“Please go. Now.”
She surprises me by coming closer. “Tell me what’s going on. I took a big risk coming here tonight. I deserve to know.”
I don’t know who the hell this woman is or how she’s suddenly got the cojones to demand information from me. All I know is that the seconds are ticking down, and this situation is getting more dangerous. She’s a civilian. Last thing I want is for her to get caught in a crossfire.
“You’re in danger.” I sharpen my voice. “You need to leave.”
She asks, “Does this involve Senator McGlashan?” I can barely see her face in the gloom.
“Who?” The name means nothing to me. Cal will know, though, and he chirps in my ears.
“Head of the Senate Intelligence Committee.” Cal says the words slowly, and I know what he’s thinking. This is getting weird. I push the thoughts to the back of my head.
“No, it doesn’t. Like I said, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now leave if you don’t want to get…” I check myself at the last minute.
“Get what? Go on, talk.”
I groan audibly. So does Cal.
I say, “I’m meeting a friend who’s in trouble. His wife has kicked him out because he’s having an affair.”
Jeez, that’s lame. She doesn’t swallow it, as expected.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she snaps.
“Yeah. That was garbage.” Cal, my helpful brother, snickers.
“Are you an undercover cop?” The sharpness of her tone betrays her intelligence. How the hell is this woman starting to figure me out?
“No, I’m not a cop.”
“FBI? DEA? You’re not alone, right? A team is watching you and recording everything.” She actually folds her arms across her chest. I can make out her shape vaguely in the dimness. I turn off my Maglite, but hers is still on. Sensibly, she keeps it tucked into the crook of her arm.
“Well, guess what? Your secret’s safe with me. I want to see what happens. All you have to do is tell me the name of who you’re waiting to meet.”
I’m glad it’s dark so she can’t see my jaw hit the floor. Man, I’ve been in conflict zones all around the world, seen shit so twisted it still gives me nightmares. But this woman trumps everything. And I’m not in some godforsaken corner of Afghanistan; this is freaking Arlington. My own country. Who knew a five-foot-seven, hot bundle of feminine contradiction would throw such a monkey wrench into the works?
“Sweet Jesus,” Cal whispers in my ear.
I can’t even speak. How did she figure it out?
“I’m not wearing a wire. Don’t worry about me,” she tries to reassure me. “If you must know, I’m a reporter.”
Oh no. That’s the last thing I need.
“I don’t care about who you are,” she says as if she can read my mind. “Or who you work for. But whoever it is you’re waiting for, he has to be someone big, right? Worth a large operation?”
A rocket-propelled grenade hurled by the Taliban has nothing on this woman. She’s showing her true colors. Spellbinding as they are, I need to get a grip. I shake my head, clear my throat.
“That’s enough. You need to—”
“GMC Yukon approaching from the south, followed by a Lincoln Escalade. ETA two minutes.” The voice of Randy, my Delta teammate and close friend, sounds in my ear.
“Happy now?” Cal says.
“Shut up,” I growl at Cal.
“Get the fuck out of there. Move it!” he growls back.
CHAPTER THREE
DORA
❦❦❦❦
He moves so quickly he takes my breath away. Just like when he plucked the spray out of my hand, he’s standing next to me in the twinkling of an eye. I move backward, but my heel catches the carpet, and suddenly I’m falling, hands pinwheeling for balance.
An iron arm hooks around my waist like a life support. Fingers grip my arm gently, and I find my feet again. I jerk upright and slam into his chest. Totally not intentional. Warmth blossoms in my face, and we separate instantly. But not before I smell him like I did before. It’s a deep, humid, and raw masculine essence. No aftershave here. Warmth floods between my thighs. During the brief moment we touch, I can feel the unmistakable slabs of his hard pec muscles. Breath catches in my chest as I move back.
I see him as a dark, tall shadow rising up before me. He’s still a mystery, but he doesn’t scare me anymore. If he wanted to hurt me, surely he’s had enough chances.
“So, who is it?” I mumble. “Just one name, please.”
His voice is harsh. “Listen, lady, this isn’t a movie. There’s no story here. You need to get the hell out, now.” He strides forward, propelling me by the elbow. His hand slips inside my jacket pocket and picks out my phone. He drops it on the floor and smashes it beneath his boot.
“No!” The shout escapes my throat before I can stop myself. “What the hell are you doing?”
His hand holds my arm in a viselike grip as he grinds my phone again. Then he bends down and separates the battery pack and takes out the SIM card.
“Now no one can trace you,” he pants.
I’m furious and about to shout at him when twin headlight beams cut into the room. There’s a sound of cars being parked in front of the house. Doors slam.
“Hurry,” he whispers urgently. His right hand curls around my wrist, exerting gentle pressure. This time, I need no encouragement. Whoever those guys are outside, if he doesn’t want to meet them, then neither do I.
“What’s your name?” I ask as we hurry down the hallway.
After a split second, he says, “John.”
“Try again,” I whisper back.
Behind us, a key turns in the front door, and it swings open. He moves faster, and I follow. Voices float over to us from behind. “John” seems to know where to go. He opens a door and steps into complete darkness. All I can smell is the musty smell of old carpets and furniture. Through another door and a hallway, we come to a back passage that seems to lead to a garden. John, or whatever his name is, stops in front of another door. Hand on the handle, he turns to me.
“Run to the end of the garden. There are stones you can climb over to the fence. Jump over the fence, and you’re on West 360. Don’t look back. Just walk.”
“And what will you do?” I ask.
An edge of moonlight cuts across the long windows next to us. The silver shine catches his dark beard and the glint in his eyes.
“Don’t worry about me. Get the hell out of here. Go.” He opens the door. The warmth of the summer night floats across the garden. John puts a hand on the small of my back and pushes gently. “Now.”
“But—”
“These are bad people.” His whisper is fierce in my ear. “They’ll kill you without a second thought. Do you want that?”
I gulp, fear suddenly spreading like icicles along my limbs. Before I can say anything, John pushes me out into the garden and shuts the door firmly behind me. I hear the key turn in the lock.
Great. I’m alone. The moon-washed garden lies to my right and a high brick fence to my left. I try the door handle once again then duck as a beam of light cuts through the open window.
I feel bad about leaving. Fear and sweat congeal into a morass of indecision, weighing me down. What should I do? Call 9-1-1, of course. But if the cops are involved, will I ever find out what really happened here? I know what cops are like. I’ll be chasing police officers at the precinct, while they’ll keep stonewalling me.
If I stay, I might get killed. John said as much. I don’t believe that’s his real name, but he was speaking the truth about this place being dangerous. Maybe I should heed his advice.
I creep out into the overgrown lawn. I keep taking cover as flashlights shine outside the windows on the first floor. I notice a Japanese rock garden toward the back of the yard. A couple of the rocks are big enough for me to climb so I can grab hold of the top of the brick wall. I hear muffled shouts behind me. I turn around, but there’s not much to see.
John’s face comes to mind again: those sharp gray eyes, the strength in his jawline. Oh, damn it. Why did this stranger have to be so good-looking?
I need to do the right thing. My hands grip the wall, palms resting on the wet moss over the bricks. I’m ready to haul myself out of this hell.
Something circles around my ankles and pulls. I scream and hold onto the brick wall, but I don’t find much purchase. Whoever is pulling me is stronger. I’m dragged down, and a hand clamps over my mouth. I’m fighting, kicking, but go still when a cold metallic object presses against the side of my forehead.
“Make another move,” a menacing voice says, “and I’ll splatter your brains. Got it?”
CHAPTER FOUR
DORA
❦❦❦❦
Nausea is making me gag. His hand smells horrible, like old, rotten meat. I nod quickly. The muzzle of the gun leaves my forehead and presses against my back. Hard. He shoves me forward, keeping a hand on my jacket collar.
Another man meets us inside the door I’ve just come out. He shines a light in my eyes, and I flinch.
“Found her trying to escape.”
The other guy beckons us forward, and I stumble inside with them. My heart is practically beating out of my chest. Sweat pools at the nape of my neck. What the hell did I get myself into?
We go into one of the back rooms that face the garden. They’re as spacious as the front room, and they’re in a similar state of dereliction.
The light is on. A group of men surrounds John, who is kneeling on the floor. A gun is pressed to his head, and all the men have their weapons drawn. Tension crackles in the air.
A man in a light summer suit, clearly the leader, steps out to meet me. He’s slim and tall, and his beady eyes run all over me. I look away.
“So, who is this then?” He turns to look at John.
John’s eyes are on me. There is a silent message in them, but I’m not getting it. He nods gently, still staring at me. I gulp and nod back.
He turns his attention to the man in the suit. “How the hell should I know?” John seethes.
The man in the suit laughs. “I just saw your little interaction.”
John says nothing. I feel the cold steel muzzle press against my forehead again.
“If you don’t know who she is, then maybe I should put a bullet in her head?” Mr. Suit asks. “She means nothing to you, right?”
John looks up, and I see pure, unadulterated rage in his eyes. “Viktor. Just let her go.”
Mr. Suit—Viktor—gestures, and the pressure of the weapon on my forehead grows, forcing my head to one side. I whimper and shut my eyes. Is this how it’s going to end?
“Viktor.” John is speaking through clenched teeth, and his voice has steel in it. “Stop this.”
I sense a presence and open my eyes to see Viktor peering closely at me. “Why?” he asks without turning, a lecherous grin on his face.
“She’s our analyst,” John says. “She knows where Jozdani is.”
Viktor’s pupils dilate, then he peers at me with renewed interest. He steps back.
“Search her,” Viktor says.
A man steps forward while the one holding my arms stiffens his grip.
“No,” John says. “You don’t have to.”
Viktor tells me, “Take your jacket and shirt off.”
For me to do that, the man holding me has to let go of my arms. He does so, and I stare at John on the floor. His eyes are blazing, teeth bared in a snarl. He shifts, trying to move, but there are three men holding him down, one with a gun to his head.
Silently, I take off my jacket. I have a T-shirt on underneath. The man in front of me steps forward and lifts it without ceremony. I feel his sticky hands touching me, and I close my eyes.
“She’s not wearing a wire, goddamn you!” John shouts from behind us.
“Lower your pants,” Viktor tells me calmly.
There’s a commotion behind him, and my eyes open to find John struggling to rise. There’s a flash of metal as the butt of a gun rises and strikes his head. The dull thwack is a sickening sound. John grunts but doesn’t fall. He fights the two men on either side of him, even with his hands cuffed behind his back. His face is mottled with rage.
Viktor seems the essence of cool. He tells the man holding the gun to my head, “Shoot her.”
“No,” John says.
He’s breathing heavily, and I see a trickle of blood pouring down the side of his forehead. The two men holding him are leaning back, and he’s straining forward. I can see they can’t hold him back for much longer. I have a feeling if I wasn’t here, John would have finished these guys off. I can’t help feeling I’ve messed this up badly for him.
“Then get back down,” Viktor says to John. He turns back to me. “Pants off.”
“You’re gonna die for this, Viktor.” John grinds out the words.
My eyes are closed, palms clammy. I lower my pants all the way without stepping out of them.
“Shoes off,” Viktor says. I have no choice but to do as he says.
My panties and sports bra stay on, but I have to remove my socks and shoes. I have to turn around, and Viktor walks around me as if it’s a show he’s enjoying. My cheeks are burning, and I look up to the ceiling, avoiding all eyes.
“Get dressed,” Viktor says eventually.
When I’m done he takes photos of me, as well as of John. Then he looks at me, angling his head. “So, where is Jozdani?”
I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but I know one thing: John is trying to save my life. I need to come up with something fast. What’s the farthest place inside the United States I can think of? Or should it be abroad? Viktor is watching me closely, blocking John. I think as quickly as I can. I need to pick a place far from here that will take time to get to.
Jozdani sounds like a Middle Eastern name. It seems reasonable to guess Viktor is looking for this Jozdani character.
Whoever this Viktor is—from his accent, I think he is either Russian or Eastern European—he’s here, right? He must be following a trail. Safer to stick inside the United States.
“In a town outside Seattle,” I say.
John’s voice is loud. “She knows half the address. I know the other half. Kill us and you get nothing.”
Viktor’s eyes are searching my face, and I can see a glimmer of excitement in them. Did I say the right thing? I hope so.
