Secure Target 1

by Rebecca Crowley

  He hesitated a minute, his expression indecisive as he asked, “Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?”

  His request, and the formality of it, was so unexpected that Lacey wasn’t sure what to say. He was essentially her bodyguard, so it seemed inevitable they’d be eating together. Unless he meant—

  Doubt clouded his handsome face, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m sorry, that was completely inappropriate. You must be going through hell worrying about tomorrow, I don’t know what I—”

  “Bronnik”—she stopped him with a hand on his knee—“I’d love to. Now please get that cut taken care of before you bleed all over this lovely shooting range.”

  He grinned. “On your orders, miss.” He saluted, and loped off into the parking lot. She sat back and considered what he’d said—that she must be going through hell.

  In fact, she was having the time of her life.

  Which couldn’t possibly be normal—could it? Ten minutes ago she’d genuinely feared for her life, and now her blood thrilled with excitement and adrenaline.

  Maybe she was in shock—maybe this was a delayed reaction—or maybe she had some little-known version of Stockholm Syndrome. She’d just faced down the man who intended to kill her—there was no way the emotions careening delightfully up and down her nerve endings could be what they felt like.

  Thudding desire. Heady anticipation. Absolute certainty that Bronnik would keep her safe.

  A few minutes later Detective Harris came in and motioned for her to join him, jolting her out of her reverie. “Let’s get you back to the hotel. These guys don’t think Hardy will try again today.”

  She followed the policeman into the rapidly fading midwinter dusk. It was late afternoon, but she could already see the faint glimmer of the moon in the twilight sky. She paused in the open passenger door of Harris’s patrol car and gazed out across the parking lot. What had been an empty stretch of asphalt when they’d pulled in hours ago was now buzzing with activity, flashing lights, radios crackling, men in uniform milling around.

  Over the top of one of the cars she spotted an ambulance, its back door open and the interior light burning bright. Inside, with a uniformed EMT bent over his extended arm, Bronnik stared back at her.

  His lips curved, and he winked.

  Chapter Eight

  “I guess I’m a divorcee,” Lacey remarked wryly when Detective Harris led her to a new room in the same hotel where they’d stayed last night. The adjoining door was closed and locked, and armed police officers lingered in the corridors. The detective looked at her quizzically but said nothing. She figured she must be a lost cause in his estimation.

  “Thando Zarda is across the hall,” he informed her stiffly. “Bronnik Mason will be next door. Let one of the guys outside know if you need anything.”

  He took his leave, and Lacey shook her head, wondering that someone who’d surely seen as much crime and disorder as he had could be so scandalized by a tiny extra-professional indiscretion.

  Not her problem, she decided as she faced down the empty hotel room and the vacant hours stretching ahead of her.

  She tried watching TV but quickly found that, having experienced the real thing, the sorts of police procedural dramas she normally enjoyed now seemed synthetic and hollow. She pulled a paperback out of her duffel bag and read a few pages, but she couldn’t concentrate on the story. After a few lines her eyes blurred and she began replaying the scenes she’d lived with Bronnik that day—the weight of his arm over her shoulder, the dry warmth of his hands as they’d covered hers, the hard press of his arousal through his jeans—she blinked and the page came back into focus, and she couldn’t remember a word she’d read.

  She put the book aside, flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, giving herself over to her thoughts.

  She wasn’t a nun—far from it. She’d had after-a-couple-of-dates sex, she’d had casual but recurring partners, she’d even had the odd one-night stand. But no one had set her body on fire like Bronnik, and all they’d done was kiss.

  She crossed her arms behind her head. What was it about him that was so different from the others? Obviously he was handsome in a rugged way, his body was super sexy, and he wasn’t a complete jerk—those were the boxes Lacey normally hoped to tick. On top of that he had a cute accent, a decent sense of humor and an unexpectedly boyish charm. Yet while those were all true, they weren’t the spark that set Lacey’s passion alight. That was harder to put her finger on.

  It wasn’t the sharpshooting, the elite tactical skills, the lethal intensity that lay beneath the tanned blond exterior. It wasn’t his physical power, his lack of fear in the face of danger or his enthusiastic response to high-risk situations.

  It was the way he’d defended her from her brother, and his fury at a man’s disrespect for a woman. It was the sincerity with which he admitted his mistake with Hardy’s previous victim, the humility and honesty in his explanation. And although it should be completely counterintuitive in her situation, it was his decision not to kill Hardy when she knew he had the chance.

  He was a good man. At his deepest core, he was a good man.

  Lacey had no idea when to expect Bronnik for dinner, or where they’d be going. She got ready early, grateful that she’d packed a simple but flattering green dress with a small white chevron pattern. She pulled on black stockings and fastened a silver necklace with a solitary jeweled charm, but decided to leave the flats-versus-heels question until she found out their destination.

  She gave her hair one last fluff in the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed, prim and expectant.

  After twenty minutes of waiting, Lacey decided she might as well kill some time on the Internet. She logged on to her laptop and checked her e-mail, then read the local news. The incident at the firing range had been reported in a brief paragraph as “police responding to a weaponry malfunction”, and the mall shooting wasn’t covered at all. The FBI certainly knew what it was doing when it came to the press.

  Almost without thinking, she clicked to the Special Task Force video she’d saved in her favorites. She watched, for what must have been the hundredth time, Bronnik’s attentive stare in the briefing, his kick to the door, his hefted weapon—

  The knock at the hotel-room door startled her out of her reverie. She paused the video and leapt up, smoothing the front of her dress one last time before opening the door.

  Bronnik was a tall drink of water in crepe-soled tan desert boots, slim-fitting jeans, and a heather-gray sweater pulled snugly over a white-collared shirt.

  “Hi,” she breathed, realizing just how much she’d missed him in the few hours they’d spent apart. “Come in.”

  “There was a lot of housekeeping back at the range,” he said apologetically. “I hope you’re not starving.”

  “Not at all.” They stood in the center of the room, awkwardly silent, until she realized she wasn’t wearing any shoes.

  “So.” She glanced down at her feet. “Did you have somewhere specific in mind?”

  “One of the patrolmen recommended somewhere.” He dug in his pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. “Henry’s Steak House? Have you been there?”

  “I have.” She smiled stiffly, trying to put them both at ease, although she was just as nervous as Bronnik seemed to be. “It’s really nice.”

  “Good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I’ll get my shoes on.” He walked over to look out the window as she leaned down to where she’d stowed her shoes in the bottom of the closet. Henry’s was definitely not a high-heels eatery, and she tugged on a pair of silver ballet flats.

  “Ready,” she announced, rising—and froze when she saw Bronnik leaning over her laptop.

  “I see you found my small-screen debut.”

  She stared at him from across the room, paralyzed by guilt. She deserved whatever he had to say to her. She felt like a creepy stalker, not just digging into his past but obsessing over it.

 
; His face cracked into a grin. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t even realize this was on the Internet.” He squinted at the screen, checking where she’d paused the video. “But you haven’t watched my best bit. Sit down, I’ll show you.” He motioned her over.

  She dropped dutifully into the chair, still stewing in silent humiliation at Bronnik’s discovery despite his assurance to the contrary.

  He leaned over her with one hand on the back of her chair, the other reaching across her to skip through the clip.

  “This is a few years old.” He clicked through to find the section he wanted. “I was just finishing my jump training. Here we go.” He hit play and straightened.

  The voiceover droned on about being prepared for any high-risk situation as the scene opened on the interior of a military-style airplane. About fifteen men in camouflage fatigues and black helmets were cramped inside.

  “That’s me, there.” He pointed at the screen.

  She peered at the small figures in the video. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said, daring to add a hint of playfulness in her tone.

  “Be patient. You’ll see.”

  The voiceover gave an explanation of static-line parachuting, and then said that when training to be operators, the Special Task Force recruits were expected to be proficient in freefalling. On the screen a door slid open in the airplane, and a man hustled the recruits out one by one. In turn they each belly-flopped into the sky, sailing down toward the clouds. As one of them approached the door, he turned at the last minute to give the camera a big, cheesy grin and a thumbs-up.

  Of course, it was Bronnik.

  Lacey laughed out loud at the sheer audacity of it. When she looked up, he was grinning down at her.

  “Okay, that was pretty cool. And I mean the skydiving, not the goofy face.”

  “My mother nearly had a heart attack when this went out,” he said as she switched off the laptop. “Knowing I had a dangerous job was one thing, but it was quite another to watch her youngest child and only son throwing himself out of an airplane.”

  She shut the lid of the computer and stood up. “I’m sorry for prying into your life like that. I did an Internet search on your name last night—I was just trying to find out more about the person who was guarding me. I didn’t mean to be weird or anything.”

  He gave her that thoughtful, evaluating look she saw so often. “It’s not weird. You were trying to learn more about a man you’re spending a lot of time with. It’s good sense, actually. I don’t understand why you continually apologize for doing sensible, smart things.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize I apologized so much.”

  “You do, and you shouldn’t,” he said with unexpected firmness, retrieving her coat from a chair and holding it out for her to slip her arms in. When she turned to face him, his tone was gentler. “You’ve got great instincts. Don’t second-guess them.”

  She tipped her head to look up at him and nodded, warmed by his confidence in her. He trailed his finger under her chin, and she felt his touch all the way down to her toes. He motioned toward the door.

  “Shall we go?”

  Henry’s Steak House wasn’t exactly fine dining, but when Lacey walked through the door of the rustic eatery with Bronnik at her side, she was as happy as if they’d been entering a five-star restaurant in Paris. Although she didn’t immediately spot anyone she knew, she felt like all eyes were on them as the hostess guided them to a wooden-benched booth. She slid into her seat with a smug smile. Why shouldn’t people stare at the sexiest couple in the room?

  Then she was hit with a wrenching thought.

  “Are we still being followed?”

  He didn’t look up from his menu. “Surveillance is in place, yes.”

  She flopped back against her seat, limp with disappointment, and then gave herself a rough mental shake. Okay, so maybe there were some plain-clothes officers keeping an eye on things. She was still on a date—or what might be loosely categorized as a date—with the hottest guy she’d ever been out with, and for whom her feelings were growing with every passing hour. She wanted to savor this, not spoil it with thoughts of who might be watching.

  “Do you want a beer?” she asked, opening the drinks menu. “I think they have some good microbrews here.”

  “I would love one.” He looked longingly at two frosty tankards on a nearby table. “But I’m still on duty, technically.”

  Her heart sank. So it wasn’t a date, after all. “Out of curiosity, what do your colleagues think about this?” she asked a little testily, gesturing to indicate the two of them at the table.

  He closed the menu and placed it on the table with infuriating calm. “About what?”

  “Whatever this is we’re doing.”

  “What are we doing?”

  Lacey sighed, exasperated. “I have no idea. Are you on duty or aren’t you? Is this police supervision, or is it something more?”

  He tilted his head thoughtfully. “What do you mean, something more?”

  “Would you stop repeating everything I say?” She could feel her grip on her temper loosening. This evening was not going how she’d expected, at all, and they hadn’t even ordered yet. “What is that, some interrogation technique they teach you? Because if you’re aiming to irritate the truth out of your suspect, it’s very effective.”

  “Special Task Force doesn’t interview suspects, although I have had interrogation resistance training.” He picked up the menu again. “You can torture me for days, I won’t say a thing.”

  Lacey stared at him, incredulous, before bursting into laughter. “You are absurd, you know that? You’re like a real, live action hero.”

  He looked her in the eye then, deep blue sapphires boring into her own. “I have a job, and I do it well. Right now, that job involves keeping you safe.”

  She rolled her eyes, but he held up a hand to halt her protest. “I’m also a man, Lacey, and when I’m not doing my job, I’m a single guy looking for someone who, um—” He wavered, and then hesitated. “Looking for someone to be with, in whatever form that may take.”

  She stared at him, bewildered. What was he implying? Her expression must have betrayed her confusion because he sighed. “All I’m saying is that you’re a beautiful girl I’d like to get to know, and I would’ve asked you to dinner tonight even if we’d caught Hardy today and everything was over. Okay?”

  She swallowed hard, her heart in her throat. “Okay.”

  He smirked. “Two languages and I still struggle to articulate myself.”

  She just smiled. She was too overcome with excitement and—dare she articulate it even to herself—hope to speak just yet.

  Lacey ordered a glass of wine with her meal and when their food arrived, Bronnik tucked into his steak with gusto.

  “So tell me”—he said in between bites—“about your mom.”

  “Pretty serious topic,” she remarked, but his brows lifted expectantly.

  “Okay.” She drew a breath. “My father left when I was a baby and was never heard from again, so she had a lot to contend with right from the beginning. She did the best she could, and she was a sweet, forgiving woman who never had a harsh word for anyone. But I hope I turn out to be completely different from her.”

  “How so?”

  Lacey considered her response. It wasn’t something to which she’d given much thought, but after the past two days it seemed surprisingly easy to explain. “She let herself be bullied by men. By my father, by her boyfriends after he left, and especially by my brothers. You’ve seen how well that turned out.” Her smile was bitter. “So as an adult I’ve been incredibly careful about dating. Maybe too careful. But I live in fear that I’ll wake up one morning and find myself trapped in a relationship where I don’t have a voice, with a man who has no idea who I am and no interest in finding out.”

  He nodded slowly, and she suddenly felt embarrassed at her self-disclosure.

  “You seem pretty fearless,” she said, keen
to deflect attention away from herself. “But there must be something that scares you. What is it?”

  He considered this for a moment, and as Lacey took a sip from her glass, she realized this was something unique about Bronnik—he wasn’t remotely self-conscious about silences in conversation. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever meeting someone so completely self-assured.

  “It used to be failure,” he concluded finally. “I had a major failure on this case, and that’s been humbling.”

  He leveled his cool gaze on her. “But I’ve learned a lot over the past six months. Maybe turning thirty had something to do with it, maybe it didn’t, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Death has never scared me. Six months ago I stared straight into its face, and I’m still not afraid of it. What scares me now is that my life will be empty. I love my job, but it’s lonely, and at the end of the day it’s pretty meaningless. I see guys like Thando, guys with wives and kids, and they’re so good at the job because they personally have so much at stake. They run faster and hit harder so they can get home to their families in one piece at the end of the day. Guys like me just sign up for extra shifts.”

  Lacey had a sudden urge to rush across the booth and crawl into his lap, throw her arms around his neck and tell him he was the most amazing man she’d ever met, that she would be there for him every night, that his life would never be empty if he would only let her share it with him. The rush of emotion she felt for him was so sudden and strong she felt off-balance.

  Was this it? Panic rose in her chest. Was this what it felt like to fall for someone?

  “Anyway.” He picked up his fork. “That’s enough heavy discussion for one night.”

  She nodded and turned her attention to her own meal. But as she stole a glance at him from under her eyelashes, she questioned whether things would ever be the same.

  As Bronnik walked her down the corridor to her hotel room, Lacey noticed that the patrolmen on duty had the courtesy to avert their eyes. She wondered, not for the first time, just how much trouble he was bringing on himself with this association.