Chapter Seven
“A shooting range?”
“I saw it when we were driving earlier.” Bronnik forced playful enthusiasm into his tone. There was no way he was telling her he wanted to be sure she could defend herself with a firearm, if it came to that. “Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asked, although he could guess the answer.
“Can’t say I have.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she followed him through the main entrance. “Can’t say it’s a particularly burning, unfulfilled desire either.”
“One round and you’ll be addicted,” he assured her. They approached the slim, middle-aged man at the front desk.
“One lane, two shooters please.” He took out his wallet. The man looked at him skeptically.
“You got ID?”
Lacey dug out her driver’s license, which the man barely glanced at before handing it back and staring at Bronnik expectantly. Normally he would’ve produced his driver’s license as well, but he sensed it might be quicker if he skipped to the second option. He slid his badge across the counter.
The man’s eyes lit up. “Special Task Force,” he read with a newfound reverence. “What are you doing all the way out here in Kansas?”
“Visiting my girlfriend,” he supplied. Lacey offered a little wave.
“Well, welcome to America,” the man said warmly before turning around to ring up the lane rental. Bronnik glanced sideways at Lacey, who caught his gaze and rolled her eyes.
“At least he’s friendly,” he murmured.
“Special rate for the Special Task Force,” the man said when he returned with target sheets and two pairs of ear defenders. “Free of charge today, if you’ll do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s see what you’re shooting.”
He obligingly unholstered his weapon from the small of his back, cleared the chamber, ejected the magazine and handed it over.
The man turned it over in his hands. “Beretta 92FS. Nine millimeter. Very nice. Any problems with the locking block?”
Lacey shifted her weight impatiently. Bronnik shook his head. “Not thus far.”
“Very nice indeed,” the man repeated, and passed the weapon back. “You’re in lane three,” he said with a smile. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I should’ve known this would be your idea of a fun afternoon,” Lacey grumbled, draping the ear defenders around her neck as they walked through the corridor to the indoor range.
“How can you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried?” But she was wrong—this was his idea of work, not play. If it was up to him and not a matter of practical necessity, he would have suggested they get coffee, walk around a bookstore, see a movie…
Which sounded suspiciously like a date, he realized with mild alarm.
“Do you know how this works?” He clipped the paper target onto the motorized track.
“Only from what I’ve seen in movies. You go first, so I can see how you do it.”
He hesitated. The point was for her to learn, not for him to show off. But at the same time, some long-dormant, adolescent part of him was eager to impress her. It was a strange impulse for a man who never struggled to attract women and wouldn’t particularly care if he did. It sat uneasily.
“Go on then.” He put on the ear defenders and turned around so his back was to the target. “Send it out as far as you like, then tell me when.”
He heard the squeak of the clip moving away down the track and eventually coming to a halt. He held the Beretta in two hands, pointed down, and focused on keeping his breathing steady and easy.
“Go,” Lacey called. Bronnik spun, sighted and shot in one quick motion. He squinted at his results as he lowered the gun and she began running the target back to the booth.
The bullet had gone through a hairsbreadth left of the center. Not perfect, but he’d take it.
“Wow,” Lacey breathed, popping her fingertip into the hole in the paper sheet. “That’s incredible.”
His nonchalance was completely affected—on the inside, his chest was puffing like a robin in spring. “Most of what I get called out on are kidnapping and hostage situations. I don’t have the luxury of time in those instances—I need to be able to burst into a darkened room, locate the perpetrators and disable them before they can harm the hostage, who they’re often holding at gunpoint. Precision, speed and confidence are essential.”
She simply stared at him in response, the complex activity behind those pretty green eyes a mystery to him, as usual.
“Your turn,” he urged, and sent the target back down the range, though not very far. Her expression was wary as she took her place at the booth.
He stood behind her, giving the supple curve of her hip a light pat. “Feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructed. “Safety comes off like this. Check the chamber to make sure it’s clear. Are you right- or left-handed?”
“Right.” Her voice was uncertain, and he had a stab of guilt at putting her through an exercise she was clearly unhappy about. Still, he knew he had to press on.
“Step out a bit with your left foot.” He reached around her and put the Beretta in her right hand, steeling himself against the heady rush of desire that flooded through him at the proximity of her body.
“Right hand grips here.” He moved her fingers into position. They were soft and small in his big hands. “Left hand wraps around the frame. Hold it tightly, and bring it up.” Keeping his hands over hers, with his arms on either side of her, he gently helped her heft the weapon until her elbows were almost completely straight.
“That’s it,” he murmured. The sweet, delicate scent of her was intoxicating. He blinked hard to clear his mind—it didn’t work. “Take aim. Easy, slow breaths. And fire.”
The shot resonated in the empty range, and Lacey let out a muffled squeal as the recoil threw her back against his chest.
He gritted his teeth against the surge of physical arousal that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt her arms sag and he locked his own, keeping the gun held up.
“That’s it, hold your stance—and fire,” he called, and she squeezed the trigger a second time.
After five rounds Bronnik was struggling to keep a grip on himself. Lacey’s minutest movements sent shockwaves dancing up and down his spine. The swing and shift of her glossy dark hair was hypnotizing. He felt like he was drowning in the touch and smell of her, hurtling toward a sensory overload that could only be relieved if he pressed her against the wall, ripped off her clothes and made love to her until she moaned his name in ecstasy.
His vision blurred at the thought. Carefully he guided her arms toward the floor and took the Beretta from her, thumbing the safety into place and shoving it into the holster clipped at the back of his belt. He plunked his ear defenders down on the ledge.
She turned to face him, flexing her fingers as she reached up to remove her own headset. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed.
“How did I do?”
The last thread of his control snapped with a twang. “Amazing,” he managed hoarsely, and then his lips were on hers, his fingers buried deep in her thick, silken hair.
Lacey made a stifled sound of surprise, and his breathing froze—had he misread the signs? Maybe she didn’t want this, maybe he should stop, he should’ve asked her—
And then she relaxed in his arms, slipping her hands up his chest to grip his shoulders. Her touch left a trail of sizzling sensation in its wake, and he shuddered involuntarily, the force of the kiss resonating all the way through to his core.
Without breaking contact he scooped his arm under her thighs and hoisted her to a sitting position on top of the ledge at the end of the firing booth. She opened her jeans-clad legs and he pressed between them, redoubling the pressure of his mouth as she crossed her ankles behind his knees.
Lacey parted her lips tentatively, shyly. He responded in kind, and she slid her arms around his neck. Encouraged, he began to ex
plore, gently probing her mouth with his tongue. She moaned softly, and he stiffened and ached. She was so soft and pliant under his hands, yet he could sense a thinly concealed flame burning within her, an untapped ferocity that fascinated and excited him. Her fingers dug into the taut muscles of his back, and he kissed her hungrily, feverishly, desperate to fill a need he’d never had before.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, the repetitive buzzing piercing the silence of the range.
He pulled back from her, growling a few choice words in Afrikaans. She watched him take out his phone like she was in a daze, her eyes dreamily half-closed, her mouth swollen. If this was Harris calling to give him another lecture on propriety…
“He’s in the ventilation system.” Thando’s voice was urgent when he took the call. “We saw him crawl in, but he could be anywhere by now.”
Bronnik looked up at the big metal duct that ran along the ceiling, spanning the length of the long, narrow room. He swallowed hard and reached for his weapon.
“FBI units are surrounding the building. Hold him if you can.” Thando’s tone dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. “But if he attacks you, take him out. Don’t wait for tactical backup and an arrest. End this if you can.”
Bronnik’s mind raced as he envisioned several potential conclusions to the next few minutes—and clamped down hard on the ones that involved Lacey’s blood anywhere but coursing through her veins. He looked at her, and she stared back, her brow wrinkled in confusion. He opened his mouth with nothing more than an “okay” on his tongue when a crashing metal clang sounded above him, a section of steel grating fell from the ceiling, and the man who’d loomed large in his nightmares for six months was standing before him.
The shriek that tore from Lacey’s throat was so involuntary that as soon as it registered she clamped her hands over her mouth as if she could stuff it back in. She slid off the ledge where she’d been perched. Bronnik motioned her behind him, his eyes never leaving the intruder, the Beretta drawn and held at his hip.
“Hello, Lloyd,” he said coolly.
“Sergeant Mason. It’s been some time.”
Lacey tried not to gape. This was Lloyd Hardy? This forty-something, squat, balding man barely three inches taller than her? He didn’t look remotely threatening—except for the four-inch knife clutched in his right hand.
“How’s your leg?” Bronnik asked flatly.
Hardy chuckled and it was a sinister, blood-chilling sound. “Much better, thank you. How are your internal organs?”
She sensed Bronnik tense in front of her, but when he spoke his voice was as even as if he was discussing the weather. “Ticking over quite nicely, as far as I can tell.”
“I caught you sampling my wares earlier.” Hardy was suddenly agitated, his face contorting. “Impolite though that is, I hope you don’t think it’s going to make me lose interest. Tomorrow night she’s mine, no matter where your clumsy farm-boy hands have been.”
“Not this time.” Bronnik sounded certain.
“I should’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago.” Hardy brandished the knife to emphasize the last three words.
To Lacey’s surprise and slight concern, Bronnik laughed. “It’s not my fault you’re a terrible shot. Come on, Hardy, this has gotten old. Aren’t you tired of running? I don’t think you want to die, but the longer this carries on, the more likely you’re going to finish this in a body bag instead of a courtroom.”
Hardy’s eyes narrowed to slits, but he lowered the knife slightly. “Don’t lie to me, Mason. I know what the Special Task Force is like. Bloodthirsty, muscle-headed thugs the police only scrambles when it needs its dirty work done. I outsmarted those bumbling homicide cops one too many times, so they called in their even more bumbling heavies.”
Bronnik held out his hands in a gesture of offense, resulting in his gun pointing away from Hardy. “Now that’s harsh, even for you. I could’ve shot you thirty seconds ago. In fact, I could’ve shot you several times since I took this case. I don’t want you dead, Hardy—why would I? All I’m saying”—he shrugged—“is it’s a lot easier to escape from a prison than a graveyard.”
Lloyd Hardy was trembling. Lacey wrapped her arms around herself, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. Was he about to burst into tears or explode with rage? Neither one struck her as a fantastic option.
The three of them stood in silence for a long minute, the air practically crackling with tension.
Distantly, Lacey heard the shuffle of footsteps in the corridor outside the closed door that led into the range. Panic flew into her throat. Whatever was happening in here, Bronnik seemed to have it under control, and he seemed to be getting somewhere, but if anyone surprised Hardy now—
Before she finished her thought the door burst open and a team of men wearing bulletproof vests and helmets marked FBI swarmed in with automatic weapons, barking unintelligible orders.
“Dammit, not now!” she heard Bronnik shout over the din, but then there was a pop and a flash and the room filled with what she assumed was tear gas. Her eyes welled uncontrollably and she gasped for air, her throat burning.
She could just make out Bronnik dropping to a crouch, then a flash of movement and the glint of a blade. She watched through watery, squinting eyes as Hardy’s slight figure moved toward the blurred blue shape of Bronnik’s shirt, and something came to life inside her.
She screamed Bronnik’s name as she sprinted forward, her lungs burning, and then she pulled back her leg and kicked with all her might at what she hoped was Hardy’s arm. As the blade scraped across Bronnik’s forearm she realized she’d gotten his thigh instead, but it was effective regardless. The flash of the knife disappeared, and Hardy seemed to melt away into the hazy smoke filling the room.
“We’re losing him—dammit, I can’t see a thing!” A familiar voice rang through the fog, and Lacey spotted Thando rushing past her at the same time one of the other FBI agents grabbed her around the waist and forcibly dragged her out of the room and down the corridor.
Although the clean air in the main reception area was welcome, her pulse raced with worry for Bronnik. “Let me go,” she demanded, pulling against the agent’s iron grip.
“Sit here,” he instructed, dumping her into a cheap plastic chair behind the cash register. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”
The shop owner stood against a back wall, his eyes big and glittering with excitement. Two FBI agents stood at the entrance to the corridor, and she could see another by the front door, plus more out in the parking lot. With all this personnel, surely they could catch Hardy—right?
Ten minutes ago she was lost in a passionate kiss that was easily topping the list of her life’s most erotic moments. Yesterday morning she was a receptionist in a dental practice whose biggest concern was whether to stop by the grocery store on the way home from work. Now she was surrounded by law enforcement, and her foot still twanged where she’d attempted to dislodge Hardy’s knife from his grip.
Everything was happening so fast. Angry male voices shouted over crackling radios, the flashing lights from the police cars threw strange blue shadows across the room, and despite the cloying humidity of a room filled with far too much testosterone, she shuddered.
After an interminably long wait that in reality couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, she heard Bronnik’s voice coming down the hallway. It would’ve been hard to miss, because he was shouting.
“And now he’s gone again! Who’s going to find him this time? Are you going to do it?” He appeared in the doorway with Thando close behind, his brow furrowed in anger as he berated Agent Carver. He was holding his left wrist, and there was blood on his sleeve.
“We had to act—you’ve said yourself that he can’t be underestimated and every opportunity has to be seized,” Carver insisted. “I didn’t know you wanted to negotiate—we could’ve brought in a professional for that.”
Bronnik’s expression would’ve withered the most resilient flower
, and he drew breath to reply, but as they stepped fully into the room she saw his gaze come to rest on her. She sat up in her chair, unable to contain her smile, and his face softened almost imperceptibly. He spoke to Agent Carver for another minute, closing the conversation with an irritated shake of his head, and as Thando followed the FBI agent into the parking lot he crossed the room and dropped into the chair beside hers.
“You saved my neck with that kung-fu kick of yours.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ever considered a career in an elite tactical unit?”
“It was nothing,” she tossed back in a tone that gave no indication of her heart’s delirious, adrenaline-fueled cartwheels. “You’re bleeding pretty badly. You are aware of that, I hope?”
“I am indeed.” He adjusted his grip on the injured limb. “I’ll be fine. I wanted to check on you first.” His face grew serious. “Hardy skipped out. We think he got back into the air vent in the confusion and managed to get away from the building before anyone spotted him.” He shook his head incredulously. “FBI personnel everywhere and he walks away. I’m not sure I’ll ever know how he does it.”
Lacey bit her lip. They still had a long way to go. “I’m glad I saw him, in a way. I feel better now that I know what I’m up against.”
Bronnik regarded her steadily for so long that she began to shift under his gaze. “You’re a remarkable woman,” he said finally.
“Thanks, I guess.” A hot flush crept over her cheeks. She shouldn’t be this shy about accepting a compliment from someone whose tongue had been in her mouth not a half hour earlier. She flushed even more deeply at the memory.
“I need to get this taken care of.” He indicated his arm. “But at some point we’ll have to talk about what happens tomorrow, and what happened this afternoon.” He paused, and the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And what happened right before what happened this afternoon.”
There was no fighting it: Lacey let herself wallow in a combination of embarrassment and excitement at his last statement.
Secure Target 1 Page 7
