Secure Target 1

by Rebecca Crowley

They sat in stunned silence for a moment, watching her car burn.

  When he finally turned to her, his expression was thoughtful. “Do you have a passport?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bronnik gazed across the concourse in JFK, watching Lacey pick up and put down various I Love NY-emblazoned objects in one of the airport’s many gift shops. She hefted a large snow globe featuring the city’s skyline, shook it with a grin, then turned it over, saw the price tag and returned it to the table with a horrified shake of her head.

  “Thando,” Bronnik inquired. “Am I insane?”

  His partner looked over the edge of his newspaper as Lacey held up a T-shirt. “Yes and no,” he answered ambiguously, and continued reading.

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  Thando lowered his newspaper with a sigh. “Yes for insisting on guarding her yourself rather than leaving her in FBI protection when you’ve got an open case to work and you know she’s becoming a personal distraction.”

  Bronnik winced. “And I’m not insane because?”

  Thando tilted his head, watching the young woman across the concourse. “Hardy’s threat has escalated rapidly. He’s never bombed anything before. He seems determined for her to die just for the sake of thoroughness or completion, even if he’s not there to do it. In all likelihood his plan is to return to Cape Town just long enough to lure you back there, separating the two of you and letting the protection around her weaken until he sees his chance to dart back and take her out. If he managed to escape the FBI’s custody, there’s a strong chance he’ll be able to evade them again to attack her. Hardy won’t expect you to bring her back to South Africa, so he’ll be on the back foot. You’re invested in her safety in a way no one else seems to be. She’s safest with you.” He folded back a page and raised the newspaper again, signaling an end to the conversation. “Even if it means dragging her to the other side of the world.”

  “Dragging” was certainly an exaggeration. Bronnik recalled the scenes of the afternoon, and how baffling it had been to see someone with an active threat against her life, who’d just watched her car go up in flames and narrowly escaped being in it at the time of the blast, so happy and excited.

  After the bomb squad had swept Lacey’s house to ensure it was safe he’d sat on the bed, waiting while she bustled around the room, pulling warm-weather clothes from high shelves and peppering him with questions about the climate, the beach, the food, everything.

  In the car on the drive to the Kansas City airport, he and Thando exchanged sidelong glances in the front seat while Lacey chattered away on her cell phone in the back.

  “Cape Town. South Africa! No, it’s summer there—it’s the southern hemisphere. I’m not sure—I could be there awhile. Ah, I guess you heard from Tilly? Yes, with him. Bronnik Mason. He’s a cop, but a special kind. Like SWAT.”

  After she hung up from one such call, he eyed her in the rearview mirror. “Why are you speaking to everyone now? Two days ago there was no one you wanted to call.”

  She shrugged, already dialing another number. “Then I would’ve been calling with bad news that no one could’ve done anything about. Now that I have something good to say, I want to share it.”

  “You’re still in a lot of danger,” Thando cautioned. “This is protective custody, not a vacation.”

  “I know,” she replied, her cheerful tone belying her assertion.

  Her upbeat mood persisted through the flight from Kansas City to JFK, faltering only in the first few minutes of a bumpy takeoff when she suddenly clamped her hand on Bronnik’s forearm, holding him tightly.

  “It’s okay.” He put his free hand over hers. “It’s just the wind blowing against the plane. Nothing to worry about.”

  She nodded, relaxing her grip slightly. “I haven’t flown in about ten years.”

  And now she was on her way to the end of the earth. And he was the one leading her there.

  He snapped back to the present as Lacey made her way over from the gift shop.

  “Everything’s so expensive.” She wrinkled her nose as she flopped into the plastic chair beside him.

  “We’re boarding soon anyway.” He reached into the inner pocket in his jacket and retrieved their boarding cards, passing one to Lacey.

  Her mouth dropped open as she read hers. “Business class?” she squealed, turning to him with a face so full of exhilaration, he couldn’t help but smile. Even Thando had a touch of amusement in his expression as he folded his newspaper.

  “We’re public servants of the Republic of South Africa,” his partner informed her with feigned solemnity. “We travel in style.”

  “Plus I’m six-foot-three and it’s a fifteen-hour flight,” Bronnik added. “Forcing me to sit in coach would defy the Geneva Conventions.”

  A few hours later they were fed, watered and hurtling through the sky towards Johannesburg. The flight attendants dimmed the lights, and the passengers began reclining their seats into the flatbed position.

  “Try to keep things clean,” Thando called from his seat across the aisle. “If you two get arrested for public indecency, you’re on your own.”

  Bronnik rolled his eyes as he stretched out on the elongated seat. He and Lacey had two seats together and they faced each other now, both of them lying on their sides.

  The cabin was dark and hushed around them. For the first time since that morning’s ominous phone call he let himself relax, putting his job and this unending manhunt aside. Immediately memories of his night with Lacey flooded the free space in his mind, and as he gazed at her sweet, heart-shaped face smiling beatifically at him from across the short distance between their seats, a heady mix of arousal and affection stirred deep in his core. He took her hand in his own, winding his fingers through hers, and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips across the smooth skin over her knuckles.

  Her emerald eyes were luminous in the dim cabin.

  “I know I need to take this seriously, and that I’m still in danger,” she whispered. “But I’m so glad I didn’t have to say goodbye to you today.”

  His heart clenched, and he fought the urge to gather her into his arms and press his face into her hair. He could still smell the hints of berries and vanilla from her bedroom.

  But he couldn’t love her. Not while she was in his care—not while he was still guarding her life.

  He shrugged on his professionalism like a heavy, burdensome overcoat. He put a quieting finger to her petal-soft lips.

  “Shh. Try to get some sleep.”

  He rolled over and stared, unblinking, into the darkness. Any joy at returning home or eagerness to show Lacey around Cape Town was eclipsed by bleak, crippling worry. He’d been lucky this last time—and really, it was Lacey who’d gotten them out alive. Would he be so fortunate a second time?

  He was facing his greatest enemy, on his home turf, and the stakes were higher than he could have imagined possible. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished, absurdly, that the flight would never end.

  By the time they boarded the flight from Johannesburg to Cape Town, the novelty of international travel had worn thin for Lacey. She felt greasy and unclean, she was tired, and she had no idea what time it was. Landing at OR Tambo airport had been anticlimactic—rather than the exotic, verdant version of Africa she imagined, the plane touched down over a sprawling metropolis that looked smoggy and congested. The two Special Task Force officers whisked her through a special immigration line as they flashed their badges, and then it was another boarding gate on another sterile concourse, waiting for yet another flight.

  Lacey spent most of the two-hour plane journey to Cape Town dozing against Bronnik’s shoulder. Shortly before they landed he shook her awake and pointed out the window.

  “Look, we’re nearly there.”

  She rubbed the grogginess from her eyes and peered out.

  Unlike the urban sprawl that had greeted them in Johannesburg, the landscape beyond the window was varied and far more untouched. An eno
rmous rock formation slumped across the green land below.

  “That’s Paarl Rock,” Bronnik murmured over her shoulder. “This is the wine region.”

  She gazed out over the diverse terrain. It was so much more complicated and rugged than the prairies she was used to at home.

  “Is this where you’re from?”

  He shook his head. “I grew up outside a town called Swellendam, which is east of here, at the foot of the Langeberg mountain range. We’ll have passed it by now. It’s a couple hours’ drive from Cape Town.”

  As the plane banked toward the runway, the buildings and roads of Cape Town spread out before them, edged by the clear, turquoise water of the sea. A hulking, flat-topped mountain stood blue and hazy in the distance, standing guard over the city like a sentinel. She concluded it must be the famous Table Mountain, the one fact she picked up from three minutes spent flipping through a travel book in the airport in New York.

  Then they were bumping on to the ground, the pilot braking as they sped down the runway. As the plane taxied toward the gate, she turned to find Bronnik grinning broadly.

  He squeezed her hand. “Welcome to South Africa.”

  Lacey waited while Bronnik and Thando stopped into the main immigration and customs office to discuss Hardy’s arrival into the country. The airport was smaller than in Johannesburg, although it was bustling and busy on this Saturday morning. The air was warm and humid, and she copied her companions by folding her winter coat over her arms.

  “We’ve probably beaten him into the city,” Thando was explaining. “He’ll most likely travel through Europe, take advantage of the extra layers of immigration to switch up his identities, change passports. I’d expect him sometime this evening.”

  “You say he has a bullet wound to the shoulder,” the immigrations official said. “Surely he can’t be that hard to spot.”

  The two officers exchanged knowing glances. “You’d be amazed,” Thando said simply. “Anyway, we’ll arrange for some plain-clothes Task Force operators to observe the immigration queues around the clock. They’ll know what to look for.”

  With this errand concluded they progressed through the airport. When they reached an indoor taxi kiosk, Thando drifted in that direction.

  “I’ll grab a cab home.” He looked pointedly at his partner. “Have you arranged accommodation for Miss Cross?”

  “I thought she could stay with me,” Bronnik replied, his tone bordering on sheepish. He turned to her. “Unless you’d prefer a hotel?”

  “I’m happy to stay wherever’s easiest,” she said carefully, not wanting to get him into trouble. This reversion to a formal, police-and-target relationship after their long night as lovers was proving trickier than she’d anticipated.

  Thando sighed, and for the first time he showed a hint of real exasperation. “Fine. Go get some rest. Sergeant Mason, I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  Bronnik frowned at his departing partner’s figure before seeming to shake himself out of his thoughts. “This way,” he instructed. “I’m parked in the long-stay lot.”

  Lacey trailed him obediently, craning her neck as she took in all the different languages chirping around her and the range of people dressed in everything from shorts and flip-flops to colorful African prints.

  They stepped into the cool quiet of the parking garage, and he led her down one of the aisles. She peered at the row of cars ahead, trying to guess which was his. The sporty red convertible? The slick black SUV? Surely not the dark blue minivan—

  “That’s us, there.” He gestured toward the end of the row. She followed the direction of his arm and couldn’t smother the laughter that bubbled up as soon as she realized where he was pointing.

  Bronnik was leading her toward a rugged, boxy white Land Rover with a spare tire hung on the back. An extra row of headlamps was mounted above the windshield, mud splatters crept up the chassis, and a South African flag sticker had been slapped above the rear bumper.

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  “What?” Bronnik asked, hauling open the back door and shoving their luggage inside.

  She shook her head fondly as she made her way to the passenger-side door. “I should’ve guessed this is what you drive.”

  “The Defender is a highly practical, all-terrain vehicle.” He patted the hood. “Although I didn’t realize you were planning to drive.”

  She frowned. “I wasn’t, why?”

  He smiled. “We drive on the left in this country, Miss Cross.”

  “Oh, right.” She scurried around to the other side and climbed up into the cab beside him. The interior was clean and bare, the seats were leather, and as she buckled her seat belt he put his badge on the dashboard and shoved the Beretta into the empty cup holder.

  He put the key in the ignition, and when he started the car the CD player came to noisy life, filling the car with a loud, pumping beat.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Bronnik called over the music, punching a button to switch it off. He grinned cheekily, throwing the Land Rover into gear and backing out of the space.

  “Okay, let’s head home.”

  The airport was situated fairly centrally, and once they were on the highway Bronnik told her it wouldn’t be more than a half-hour drive. The sky above was a deep, clear blue, and Table Mountain loomed ever closer.

  He cranked down his window and inhaled. “Smell that?”

  “Diesel fumes? Burnt rubber? Air?”

  “Africa,” he corrected, his smile sublime.

  The highway cut through sprawling acres of shantytowns on the outskirts of the city, which Bronnik explained were called townships, before descending into the lively, built-up central district. Lacey stared out the window, fixated by the newness of everything she saw. Tall office buildings, storybook houses, very expensive cars fighting for lanes right alongside very dilapidated ones.

  She suddenly remembered something she’d read on the Internet about crime in South African cities. “Is it okay to have the windows open? What if someone tries to carjack us?”

  He snorted. “They’re welcome to try. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She glanced at the Beretta tucked casually beside her thigh. In that moment she felt every one of the thousands of miles between her and everything she knew.

  They rounded Table Mountain on their left, and he shifted gears as they began to climb a hill out of the crush of the city center. The houses were small but picturesque and brightly colored, and the way they were stacked up on the hill made Lacey think of photos she’d seen of San Francisco.

  “This is Tamboerskloof, my neighborhood,” he explained. “And this is my street.” He took a right down a quiet, residential road. After a few minutes he pulled into the short driveway of a compact white house. Parking the Land Rover outside the closed door of the garage, he retrieved their luggage from the back while she slid down from the cab. She followed him as he unlocked a metal gate at the foot of the stone steps leading to the front door. That door also had a gate of white-painted bars over it, which he swung open to unlock the wooden door to the house.

  “After you.” He motioned her inside.

  She moved forward tentatively, taking in her surroundings. The front door opened on to the main living space, which had wood floors and sparse but decidedly masculine furnishings. A comfortable-looking leather sofa slouched in front of a TV, and one wall was lined with shelves packed with DVDs, CDs and more books than Lacey had expected. She walked over and ran her hands along the bindings, pulling out a mystery novel she’d recently finished herself.

  “So you’re a reader?”

  Bronnik cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave the arrangement of their suitcases an unnecessary amount of attention.

  “Let me give you the tour,” he said, straightening. “Not that there’s much to see. Policeman’s salary.”

  She followed him into an immaculate galley kitchen. “I don’t get too involved in anything in here.” He waved his hand dismissively and then
led her through a set of French doors to a small stone patio on a grassy hill with a stunning view of the mountains that cut through the city.

  “This is amazing,” she breathed, staring across at the rugged green mountain looming over the urban patchwork.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said quietly, almost shyly. “Anyway, the guest bedroom is through here.” He ushered her back inside.

  The small room protruded slightly adjacent to the kitchen, and also sported French doors to the patio. It was bare except for a small dresser and a bed made up in plain, navy-blue sheets.

  “Okay?” he asked, and she nodded uncertainly, unsure whether he wanted to know if she was done looking or if it would be sufficient for her needs. She hoped it was the former.

  “It’s not really a proper second floor,” he explained as he guided her back through the kitchen to a narrow spiral staircase at its end. “Just the master bedroom.”

  The stairs concluded at a door, which he pushed open and gestured for her to precede him.

  “Wow,” was all she could manage at first. The room had a vaulted, wood-beamed ceiling that housed high, tall windows. The same view from the patio was visible here, and the sun streamed through the panes, warming the hardwood floor. A large bed with a summery wicker frame stood at one end, the sky-blue linens pulled up but not fully made. It was flanked by two bedside tables, one of which held a reading lamp and a thick paperback.

  The other end of the room was dominated by a built-in closet and a freestanding dresser, the top of which was cluttered with framed photographs. Following the direction of her gaze, Bronnik moved to the dresser with a slightly embarrassed speed.

  “These are just family pictures,” he said hastily. “These are my parents, this is Clara’s wedding, this is Heloise and her kids, this is me and Clara’s kids, and that’s Heloise at her wedding.” He ran through them quickly, like he was reciting an inventory, and she barely caught a glimpse of the people in the photos before he was directing her attention elsewhere. “Anyway, bathroom’s through here.” He indicated a slightly ajar door to the right of the dresser. “I thought you might like to stay in here, because it’s got its own bathroom, and I’ll take the room downstairs.”