Secure Target 1

by Rebecca Crowley

  “Is there anyone you might need to call?” Detective Harris spoke up. “Any family or friends who need to know about this?”

  She considered his request. Her mother was dead, her brothers were useless. She’d never met her father. She had lots of acquaintances but no particularly close friends. Her extended family was all out of state, and she hadn’t seen most of them for years.

  Lacey drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “No, I can handle this on my own. So what am I supposed to do?”

  Bronnik’s stare was unblinking. “Whatever we tell you.”

  Lacey fumbled with her keys as she opened the front door to her humble ranch house. Bronnik stood with his back to her, scanning the area of her tiny yard and the neighbors’ houses beyond. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling the sound of the few cars that passed down her quiet residential street.

  “Come in,” she said as she opened the door, but he swept past her and into the entryway with a hand upheld to keep her in place. His right hand hovered over his pocket, and as his black ski jacket shifted she saw the gun holstered on his hip.

  Somehow the sight of his weapon made the situation all the more real. She shuddered involuntarily.

  She lingered in the doorway, trying to imagine what her house must look like to him. The creaking floorboards. The sagging window frame in the kitchen. The broken tiles in the bathroom. The mismatched, second-hand furniture. He must be taking in how small, how shabby it was, exactly the sort of ramshackle dwelling appropriate to the type of virtuously blue-collar yet ultimately anonymous woman whose photo might appear in a newspaper article about her violent, unprovoked death.

  Those newspaper photos were always happy. Provided by the family postmortem, no doubt—little one-by-one-inch glimpses at a person’s whole life. She wondered if they would use the photo with the novelty check for her—but then clamped down hard on that line of thinking.

  She may not be exceptional, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Eventually Bronnik returned and nodded for her to proceed inside the house. He cast a last glance over the front yard before shutting the door.

  “The bedroom’s through here. I’ll just grab some clothes and be right out.” But he trailed her into the bedroom wordlessly and watched while she unearthed a duffel bag from the back of her closet.

  She followed his gaze around the room, regretting every crumpled article of clothing strewn across the floor. She sighed inwardly. At least the rest of the house was tidy.

  “What’s all this?” He gestured to the cluttered table that held her sewing machine and design projects in various stages of completion.

  “Oh, sometimes I make clothes,” she said dismissively, as though it were a trivial hobby rather than the serious entrepreneurial ambition she’d been developing for some time. Thankfully the detailed business plans were tucked safely in the drawer, away from his restless, inquisitive gaze.

  She tried to focus on the task at hand, to gather up any clothing and toiletry essentials she might need over the next few days. Thando was waiting for them at the hotel so she really shouldn’t dawdle, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate while Bronnik was in such close proximity. The room seemed smaller than ever with him in it, like he filled every spare inch of space.

  Lacey waved toward the bed, which for once was free of laundry. “Have a seat. I won’t be long.”

  He lowered himself onto the bed, a little stiffly, she noticed with curiosity. She felt better without him looming behind her and turned her attention to her drawers with a renewed sense of purpose.

  His cell phone rang just as she began to line the bottom of the bag with a few pairs of jeans.

  “Sorry,” he muttered from behind her, and answered the phone. “Hello?”

  Lacey could just make out a tinny female voice on the other end of the line. He spoke in a language that was unfamiliar to her, although she could tell his replies were curt and a little impatient.

  She moved to her vanity to gather up her cosmetic essentials, and as she swept them into a bag she paused to steal a glance at him in the mirror mounted over the table.

  At least she had a good-looking bodyguard. He had close-cropped, wheat-colored hair, a high forehead and steely-blue eyes. The straight line of his nose had an almost imperceptible bump on the ridge, suggesting it had been broken, and a small scar cut through the stubble toward the back of his square jaw and trailed a short way down his neck.

  The thought of a blade on his neck brought her present reality crashing back down around her. She was inching further out of the numb disbelief that had enveloped her like a blanket from the moment three policemen stormed into her place of employment. Her sense of imminent danger—and the accompanying fear and panic—became more palpable with every passing minute, threatening to consume her.

  Lacey shook her head resolutely and zipped her makeup case shut, then threw it in her duffel bag. Keep it together.

  Bronnik ended his call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. As she moved to her closet to grab some shoes, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “What language was that? German?”

  The ensuing pause made her wonder if what she’d thought was a perfectly reasonable question was perhaps the dumbest thing she’d ever said.

  “Afrikaans.”

  “Oh, okay. Is that what they speak in South Africa?”

  “Some people do.” Now he sounded bored. She hustled to choose the last few articles of clothing with an exasperated sigh. It wasn’t like this was her idea of fun either.

  After another minute she turned and hoisted her bag onto the bed where he sat. His expression was expectant, and she dropped to the floor, sliding her laptop out from under the bed. She followed its power cable to where it was plugged into the wall socket, and as she yanked it free and began to roll up the cord she asked, out of sheer boldness, “So was that your girlfriend?”

  When she straightened, he was wearing a bemused half smile. Just that hint of warmth transformed his face from stony and intimidating to slightly boyish, and Lacey wondered what it was like when he grinned.

  Probably as bright as a thousand-watt bulb.

  “It was my sister.”

  “What did she want?” She plunked the laptop in the bag and zipped it closed.

  He shrugged as he rose from the bed. “She likes to check in on me. She’s very maternal. I thought when she had children of her own she might stop, but instead she’s gotten worse.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Ready?”

  To leave her house for what could be the last time as she prepared to face down a serial killer with a perfect success rate? Sure. Absolutely raring to go.

  She nodded and reached for the bag, but Bronnik took it first and threw it over his shoulder. When he looked at her again his face was all business.

  “Back out the same way we came in. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come through.”

  She waited while he gave the house another once-over, and then she stood by the front door while he prowled all around the yard and the car. Finally he opened the passenger-side door and motioned for her to get in.

  “Quickly.”

  She darted across the lawn, her feet sinking into the snow. There was almost no traffic on the street now—everyone was holed up inside, waiting for the blizzard to run itself down. The silence that only a few hours earlier would have been cozy and comforting was now heavy with secret threats and hidden dangers, and she shuddered as she leapt into the car.

  With a last glance up and down the road, Bronnik swung into the driver’s side, threw her bag into the backseat and started the engine.

  Bronnik guided the car carefully over the snow-packed roads, stealing a glance at the clock on the dashboard. Thando should have had plenty of time to inspect the hotel by now. If there were any problems, he would’ve called.

  He cast a quick look at Lacey. She was staring out the window, her chin on her hand.

  She was the prettiest one yet. />
  And may prove to be the hardest to keep safe. She seemed too stoic, too calm. She wasn’t displaying any of the signs of fear that years of hostage rescue had trained him to expect. He worried that she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Or was she simply too trusting in the ability of the police to protect her?

  That kind of confidence was dangerous.

  He set his mouth in a grim line as he considered the dire police track record so far. Three girls dead on the homicide unit’s watch before they threw in the towel and called in the Special Task Force. He hadn’t been on the case more than a few weeks when Hardy killed his fourth victim, and then he took a knife to the gut and lost weeks of investigation as he recovered.

  He’d been arrogant and sloppy that day in the parking lot. It was unforgivable, and he’d be damned if he let Hardy claim another innocent life.

  He thought about the pride that permeated every inch of Lacey’s home. Second-hand furniture lovingly repaired and restored, carefully coordinated artwork covering cracks in the walls, the meticulously hand-sewn curtains on the kitchen windows. Its resemblance to the house he’d grown up in—raised by his mother on a struggling, remote farm in the countryside near Swellendam, over the mountains from Cape Town—had been eerie.

  Something sharp, insistent and long dormant had stirred way down in his gut as he’d watched her move around her bedroom, handling and selecting clothes and toiletries and paperback books. They were intimate, deeply personal symbols of daily life, of days lived free from threat or danger. He wondered about each item as she placed it in her bag. Were those her favorite jeans, chosen because she wanted to feel her best given the danger she faced? Or were her favorite ones in the wash, and these were the third-best pair that had never fit quite right? What was significant about the necklace she plucked from amongst the others in her jewelry case? Had she wanted to read that book for a while and hadn’t had the time, or was it just the first one to hand?

  For reasons he couldn’t articulate, he was instantly fascinated by this woman, and immediately drawn to her in a way police operatives were taught to steel themselves against. Sure, she was drop-dead gorgeous, but that wasn’t what filled him with a rushing, prickling compulsion to protect her against all odds, to keep her safe and let her return to this bedroom full of trinkets and stories, safe and unharmed.

  Lacey turned suddenly, her face full of curiosity. He braced himself, snapping back to the present. She was finally engaging with the case, and would want to know everything about their previous dealings with Lloyd Hardy.

  “How tall are you?”

  Or not.

  “What did you say?” he managed after a second.

  “Sorry. Is that too personal?”

  “No, just not the question I was expecting. I’m six-three.”

  She nodded as if his height made perfect sense. “What question were you expecting?”

  “Something about the case. Thus far you haven’t seemed that interested.”

  Lacey’s expression was arch, and there was a chill in her tone Bronnik hadn’t imagined she could possess. “Excuse me if I’m not reacting to the news that I’m the target of a homicidal maniac in the manner you prefer.”

  He said nothing, peering straight ahead through the falling snow. He did indeed have his doubts about her reaction, as she put it, but this wasn’t the time to mention them.

  After a tense moment, she sighed. “Look, to say this is scary and unexpected is the understatement of the year. I’m just trying to deal with one thing at a time. I figure the details will come together eventually.”

  “Fair enough.” They were almost to the hotel, and his focus sharpened. He had to ensure they weren’t being followed before they reached their destination. He took a left turn on Topeka Boulevard and headed north.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Is your sister older or younger?”

  “Older.” The snow was coming sideways now, and the steering wheel shuddered as the car crunched over a patch of packed ice. What was an African native like him doing in weather like this? He increased the tempo of the windshield wipers.

  “How much older?”

  “Clara is five years older, Heloise is eight.” There was a car embedded in the snow on the opposite shoulder, its emergency lights flashing. He regarded it warily. Where was this damn hotel?

  “You have two older sisters!” Lacey exclaimed with what he felt was excessive delight. “Who was that on the phone earlier?”

  “Heloise,” he muttered, scanning the road ahead. At last, the hotel appeared on the left-hand side. He checked the rearview mirror for what felt like the millionth time, but there was no sign of a tail.

  “I have two older brothers,” Lacey was saying as he pulled into the parking lot of the chain hotel.

  “I know.” He parked the car and switched off the engine. He yanked his phone from his pocket and called Thando, who answered on the first ring.

  “All clear,” his partner said without preamble.

  “We’ll see you upstairs.” He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face Lacey in the cramped interior of the rental sedan.

  “Here’s the plan. We’re going to be Brian and Linda Miller, a married couple, in town from Springfield, Missouri. I’m a professor at Missouri State and I’m here to meet some academic colleagues at Washburn University. We left the baby with your mother so you could tag along.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the two cheap gold bands, sliding one onto his left ring finger. “Give me your hand.”

  Lacey stared at him incredulously, then suddenly burst into peals of musical laughter.

  “I’m sorry, this is ridiculous,” she managed between gasps of air. “Linda Miller? We left the baby with my mother?”

  “This is not a game,” he scolded, his voice louder and harsher than he’d intended. Her smile vanished instantly.

  “Your life is at stake,” he continued, forcing himself to stay calm. “And it’s my job to keep you safe. If an alias and a shared room complicate Hardy’s efforts to find you by even fifteen minutes, that’s fifteen minutes we want to have at our disposal.”

  She nodded soberly but didn’t speak. She extended her hand and he put the ring on her finger.

  He squinted disapprovingly at the result. “It’s far too big, but it’ll do. Be careful not to let it fall off.”

  Her eyes were downcast, and on impulse he took her hand in his and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. Slowly her long-lashed, emerald-green eyes lifted to meet his.

  “Everything will be fine,” he lied. “Let’s go in.”

  Lacey drew a deep, shuddering breath. He released her hand, and she unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car. He grabbed her bag from the backseat and joined her for the slippery walk across the snowy lot.

  She tilted her chin to look up at him. “One question.”

  “Which is?” He scanned the lot around them, trying to note whether he’d seen any of the cars on the drive over, or if any had been parked in Lacey’s neighborhood. The thickening blanket of snow was marred by only a few sets of footprints, and their shallow depth suggested they were at least a half-hour old. Hardy wasn’t here—he couldn’t be.

  “Why a professor? Why not a salesman or something? Surely hotels have more of those coming through. An academic would be memorable.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. It was a good question. Maybe she was more switched on than he’d imagined. “University faculties are very international. They recruit professors from all over the world.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s reasonable they might hire a South African.” At Lacey’s furrowed brow, he couldn’t contain a slight smirk at his next admission. “I can’t do an American accent. It comes out like a cross between John Wayne and Sylvester Stallone.”

  She grinned, her upturned, heart-shaped face looking practically angelic as tiny snowflakes dotted her dark hair. Bronnik’s stomach clenche
d as he thought about the threat facing her, and Hardy’s twisted, leering face popped into his mind like a remembered nightmare.

  He took her by the elbow as they approached the door to the hotel.

  Not this time, Hardy.

  Not ever again.

  The elevator glided to the top floor. Lacey was bursting with questions, but Bronnik’s face was stony with concentration, and she figured it would be better to wait until they reached their room. Being in transit seemed to make him nervous.

  Their room. She hadn’t failed to clock his earlier mention of a shared room as part of the decoy. Surely he couldn’t be serious—Thando had probably booked an adjoining twin, and the two men would share that one.

  Of course there could be worse roommates. She stole a glance at the trim length of his body beside hers, and as her swift, evaluative gaze came to rest on the determined set of his square jaw, she couldn’t suppress a shiver that she assured herself was due to the frigid weather.

  When the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open with a ping, Bronnik emerged first, casting his eyes back and forth in the hallway. Without warning he took a firm hold on Lacey’s forearm and pulled her briskly down the corridor. She was forced to fall into a half-jog to keep up with his long-legged stride.

  He stopped abruptly when they reached a room midway down the hall. He swiped the card and opened the door in one swift motion, guided Lacey inside and took a last look up and down the hallway before he stepped in and shut the door behind them.

  “Hello,” came a deep voice from within the room, and Lacey couldn’t contain a brief shriek.

  Thando laughed, rising from his seat on the bed. “Good girl, already on the alert.”

  “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. Bronnik moved past her, dropped her duffel bag on the bed and paced to the window to look out. The door to the adjoining room was propped open with a chair.

  “But how did you…? Don’t you need the person on the other side to open their door as well?”

  Thando’s smile was kind, and not at all patronizing. She decided he must be the good cop in this duo.