Hard Target

by Tibby Armstrong

  “Fine. So I slept with her.” Several glorious times, and he wouldn’t trade a single one of them for all the first editions in the University of Oxford’s Bodleian Library. Kneeling now, Simon peered at the crack along the edge of the frame. It gaped wider where they’d inserted the scope. “Is there a booby trap?”

  Jenny snorted. Simon blinked at her in confusion and then recognized the pun. He pursed his lips and gave her a hard stare.

  “Sorry.” She tamed the corners of her mouth into a more serious expression.

  “You know how to get to the heart of a matter, Jenny.” Günter searched Simon’s face for signs of God-only-knew-what.

  Standing, Simon decided the less he said the better. Even a fool might pass for intelligent if he didn’t open his mouth.

  “Can you work with her?” Günter leaned against the wall and kicked up one foot so his sole rested on the walnut paneling. “Because we could make a case for her partner taking her place.”

  Simon recalled last night’s bet with Alex and wondered not for the first time in the last eighteen hours why he hadn’t just let her walk out the door. Then he felt the overwhelming tightening in his chest that said against all logic Alex remained more important to him than air. Yet he knew he had very little common sense when it came to her. In a life or death situation would he make the wrong choice because he found himself too distracted by his emotions?

  “I don’t know.” That was the truth. He really didn’t know. “One minute I know where I stand. Where she stands. Then, it’s like— She’ll say or do something I don’t expect and I’m completely out of my element. It was easier when I just thought I hated her.”

  “It’s harder to hate someone in person,” Jenny observed softly.

  “Sometimes it’s easier.” Simon snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I’ve never hated her.”

  Now that he’d spent several days in Alex’s company—discovered her vulnerabilities and rediscovered her body—he knew he could never approximate that bitterness with her again. The love she’d expressed earlier had sliced him open, exposing the raw pulp of his emotions as if they were no more than a forbidden fruit ripe for the plucking. She’d caught him off guard. The shock and confusion she’d seen on his face had forced her to lock down the fortress surrounding her heart. While he knew all of this, he remained at a complete loss as to the solution. Love seemed such a long way off from his universe, and yet it had never orbited so dangerously close.

  He shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. “We have a bomb to defuse.”

  “There’s no booby trap,” Gun said.

  “So it’s safe to pry open?”

  “It’s packed with C4 and a remote detonation device.”

  “You’d think they would’ve made it difficult.” Simon snorted at the simplicity of the setup. “They really thought we wouldn’t look?”

  Günter paused, the thin blade of his knife flashing to a halt in the act of prying open the two sections of the frame. “Do you think there’s a reason why they didn’t make it difficult?”

  “Why would there be a reason?” The question came from Jenny, who now sat on the sofa, legs curled underneath her as she searched for information on the FBI servers.

  “There’s always a reason for why and how someone chooses to employ a particular explosives device,” Gun said over his shoulder.

  Jenny drew her brows together in a quizzical expression.

  “Different bombs do different kinds of damage and some situations require more precise timing than others,” Simon explained.

  “Like an assassination,” Günter finished.

  “That’s comforting.” Tugging her hair elastic out, Jenny rearranged her ponytail. “So you think that’s what they’re trying to do? Assassinate someone at the state banquet?”

  “Depends on what else you find out in your research.” Simon held on to the frame as Günter continued prying at it to dislodge the wood glue. “Once we know who else will be there, it’ll be easier to determine who Downing’s target is.”

  It was dinnertime before Günter finally cleared all the glue away and the frame loosened enough to be pried apart.

  “It’s 6:00 p.m. already?” Simon peered worriedly at the afternoon light. It was hardly nearing dark this time of year, but Alex should’ve returned ages ago. “Any luck on finding out who the guest of honor is at the banquet?”

  “A few people… One is receiving a humanitarian award.” Jenny pressed a button and the printer in the little office began to whir. “The rest are receiving medals for contributions to the arts. I also got your intel on the venue security.”

  Günter laid the frame on its back and Simon held one side as Gun held the other. They nodded to one another and lifted evenly at the same time. Setting the top piece aside they both folded their arms and stared at the section still on the floor.

  “That’s a bloody lot of C4,” Gun said.

  “I’ve seen more.” Simon met his friend’s stare and knew they both recalled that awful evening in London last year in the tunnels under MI-5 headquarters.

  “Jenny…” Günter began.

  “Not leaving,” she said, the laptop perched on her outstretched legs.

  “Christ.” Günter blew out a breath. “I hope we’re not about to create a new open-air living space for Tallis.”

  Simon laughed despite the tension that sent a sickly sweat popping out across his upper lip. “That should’ve been my line.”

  “I think you’re rubbing off.”

  They grinned at each other, a little crazy. In theory, simply unhooking the ignition wires from the blasting caps and removing the tiny devices should defuse the bomb. C4 in itself remained stable and relatively safe until detonated with a primary explosive.

  “Why am I doing this when you have more experience?” Simon asked as he unfolded a pocketknife.

  “Because you’ve read about all of those pesky little things that can go wrong if you fuck it all to hell.”

  Simon tried not to think about all those things and sliced through the first wire with a flick of the knife.

  “Christ on a crutch! You could have warned us!” Günter shouted.

  “What? You’re still standing here, aren’t you?” Simon swiped at the sweat threatening to drip into his eyes. “And if you weren’t you wouldn’t know the difference by now.”

  Even the sound of Jenny’s typing had stopped. Face pale, features drawn, she threatened to chew her lower lip off with worrying it between her teeth. Making short work of the other wire, he sliced it clean away from the ignition device then pulled the blasting caps from the C4 by the frayed wires and tossed them in a metal explosives box Günter had produced.

  “Why do you need to put them in the box?” Jenny asked.

  “In case there’s C4 residue on the caps.” Simon stood on shaking legs and brushed damp palms on his jeans.

  “Let’s get her together then.” Günter’s tone was all business. “Then talk about the plan for tomorrow.”

  By the time they finished seamlessly gluing the two sides of the frame together, full dark had fallen and Alex still hadn’t returned. They couldn’t exactly plan without her. Simon dialed her phone and received no answer. Remembering the state of her apartment and Downing’s warning about her involvement, he cursed himself for allowing her to go alone.

  Günter placed a hand on his shoulder and Simon stopped pacing. “What?”

  “She can probably kick your arse, mate. She’s fine.”

  “Yeah.” Running his fingers through his hair, Simon shook his head. “But she’s not bulletproof.”

  “Hey guys?”

  “What is it, sunshine?” Günter dropped his hand and faced his girlfriend.

  Simon sat at the table and pretended to fuss with the police band app on the laptop while he performed searches on Alex’s name and FBI.

  “I think I know why Downing is interested in the awards ceremony…” Now she had the room’s full attention. “He o
wns a load of mining interests in a country run by a President Alistair Boswani. The humanitarian award recipient.”

  News coming out of Africa recently hadn’t been pretty on the mining front. Many countries engaged in unsafe mining practices that exploited the health and well-being of both workers and the ecosystem. Some tides were turning thanks to the efforts of a vocal minority, but the battle had been uphill and the victories hard won.

  “What’s Boswani’s story?” Günter asked.

  Light from the laptop flickered across Jenny’s pert nose as she scrolled through a website. “It appears he’s shut down all of Downing’s diamond mines.”

  “The man has so much money it shouldn’t matter.” Simon perched his chin in his hand and searched his memory for the most recent money laundering transactions he’d completed for Gibbons. It’d be a safe bet they were actually for Downing. “Unless he was running a lot of his funds through the exports…”

  Even Simon couldn’t be sure. The layers of deception involved in big-time money laundering ran so deep he couldn’t and wouldn’t have all the pieces. It was a safe guess, however, to assume the story lay somewhere in that direction. Cut off Downing’s mines, cut off a major arm of his overall operation.

  “So you’re thinking if he kills this Boswani fellow it’ll free up the stranglehold on Downing’s mining operations?” Günter asked.

  Jenny’s ponytail bounced as she nodded, emphatic. “And the president would just be collateral damage.”

  The digits on the clock cycled to 8:00 p.m. “I can’t wait for Alex any longer. I have to transfer that stuff to Downing.”

  Movement on the security feed from the lobby caught Simon’s attention and he watched as the doorman held open the lobby door for Alex. She struggled with three large pizza boxes, but still smiled and took time to chat with the man.

  Long minutes went by until the buzzer sounded. By that time, Simon already stood by the entrance to the flat. He flung the door open without looking at the security monitor, and his stupidity earned him a bark from Gun. He didn’t care. He was too busy staring at an unharmed Alex laden with enough food to feed an army.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped.

  Smile falling from her face, she pushed the cartons into his chest and stalked past him into the flat. The scent of pepperoni wafted to Simon’s nostrils as the bottom-most box warmed his hands. Trailing Alex into the kitchen, he mentally kicked himself for behaving like her boyfriend. He had no right to question her unless he admitted to caring about her.

  Shit. He really did. He cared about her.

  Plates rattled as she took them from the cabinet and placed them on the counter alongside silverware and napkins. Shoulders tight, movements jerky, she laid out dinner for them all before pouring herself some milk.

  Arms crossed over his chest, Simon watched her, unspeaking, and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he said, “I’m sorry. Thank you for dinner.”

  She nodded and moved to step past him. Gently he encircled her upper arm with his hand. The well-defined muscles of her biceps flexed under his fingers as she tensed to jerk away then visibly willed herself to relax. He turned her to face him and lifted her chin so he could brush her mouth with his. Candy sweetness, glossy, smooth and warm, met his lips. Running the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth, he coaxed her open and swept inside for a fuller taste. When he finally lifted his head they both breathed heavy.

  “I was worried about you,” he said. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  Points of color blossomed at the ridges of her cheeks. Simon, brows drawn together, willed himself to await her answer.

  “They took the fingerprints from me. Wouldn’t let me have access to the data.”

  “Shit.”

  “Wait. I’m not finished.” She placed slender hands on the gentle swell of her hips.

  Simon folded his arms once more and jerked his chin at her. “Go on.”

  “I waited until everyone went home and broke into the lab.”

  “Alex!” Hands dropping to his sides, he gaped at her.

  He didn’t know whether to kill her or kiss her. That she’d risk so much for him struck him at once as absurd and amazing. The idea he hadn’t trusted her with his own piece of news gnawed at him, but he justified his actions with knowledge of what a betrayal would mean to Lily.

  Swallowing visibly, she said, “I owed you.”

  The husky hitch to her voice said she found the moment as emotionally upending as he. And while he knew it should make up for everything—that she wanted it to amount to an act of atonement—the tiny, sane part of him that remained knew the scars he still bore from that year in prison couldn’t be healed by this or any other gesture. Eventually he’d have to ask himself if he could look far enough past his internal demons to allow Alex to remain in his life.

  For now, all he asked was, “What did you find out?”

  Producing a folded piece of paper from her pocket, she held it out to him. He took it and opened the precise creases, flattening them on the counter before he bent his neck to read the data sheet.

  He scanned it and read it again. “How can this be?”

  “For whatever reason, he wanted you,” Alex said. “He took his time and set things up so you couldn’t refuse.”

  Ice formed in Simon’s veins, trickling outward with glacial slowness until it encased his limbs in a cold fury that crackled like frozen lightning. “I’m going to kill him.”

  While before he would’ve celebrated if John Downing were caught in a vicious crossfire, now he wouldn’t settle for anything less than being the one to pull the trigger.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, how’re we going to do this?” Slouching on the couch in jeans and his tight black t-shirt Simon appeared every inch the tired rogue. Every few moments he glanced at the digital clock on one of the LCD displays in a nervous tick.

  Jenny pushed herself off the sofa and rubbed at her lower back as if it ached from sitting too long in one position. “Anyone want tea?”

  “Sounds good,” Gun answered.

  Simon just grunted and looked at the clock again.

  “No thanks. Coffee?” Alex asked.

  “Sure.” Jenny left the main work area to putter around the kitchen.

  Alex found the sounds of running water and clinking dishes oddly comforting. It had been a long time since she’d experienced that sense of homey companionship. Probably not since she’d spent time with Simon had she eaten with someone else outside of a restaurant, and her mother had never cooked.

  Memories of a dark-haired, wan-faced woman swam hazily before her mind’s eye and Alex looked up from the laptop monitor. Placing the pizza crust she’d been nibbling onto her plate, she focused on the chrome and glass around her. Thinking about her mother never went anywhere good, and they had a B&E to plan. Somehow they had to get into the MoMA tomorrow night, swap out the frames and escape without leaving evidence. The telephone repair plan was out. So now what?

  Jenny handed her a mug of coffee as the buzzer to the flat sounded. Alex glanced to the security display at the same time as Simon and Gun. Ryan stood outside, his go-bag slung over his shoulder.

  Alex’s heart leapt with relief and then plummeted with worry. What if he was there to tell her the FBI was on their way to arrest her for the fingerprint incident? Simon stood and walked to the door. Opening it, he hesitated for a moment before stepping aside to allow Ryan in.

  “Dare. What brings you here?” The unspoken question, How in the hell did you know where to find us? lingered as Simon crossed to Alex and dropped a hand to her shoulder.

  “I didn’t tell him,” Alex said, staring up at Simon, but his attention didn’t waver from Ryan.

  Ryan took a measured step forward and the two men faced off. Alex shifted her attention between the suited Ryan and the now thoroughly bad-boy Simon whose fingers tightened on her shoulder. At the territorial waves coming off her ex, Alex shivered. She’d
never seen him act this way and she found she liked it. Maybe a little too much.

  Something silent passed between the rivals and Ryan nodded, giving Simon one last look that said, If you hurt her again I’ll make you suffer.

  Simon removed his grip from Alex’s shoulder.

  “Ryan, what’s going on?” Alex asked.

  “I’m here to help you plan for tomorrow night.” Ryan, as usual, appeared perfectly guileless as he dropped his go-bag into a conference chair and began unpacking his laptop. “And to give you a warning.”

  Tousled hair and big brown eyes made him perfect for undercover ops that called for someone amiable and ingenuous. Alex narrowed her gaze. She’d seen this man charm his way past more than one mark’s defenses and she’d be damned if she’d be played now. Something was up.

  Stepping up to him, she got in his face. “Who sent you?”

  “Nobody, Alex.” Hurt flickered momentary, here then gone, in his expression. “We’re a team. Or have you forgotten?”

  He looked to Simon then to her, his meaning clear. Alex crossed her arms over her chest, not knowing what to say. If she could have Simon as her partner on this op, would she? Instead of Ryan? Or was there something more behind his question?

  She shook her head. They’d always just been friends. He’d never given any indication he’d wanted anything more. His strange mood was about their op. Nothing else. “It’s not a choice, Ryan. The AD set me up as his handler. You know that I can’t keep you close without arousing suspicion.”

  “And how close have you been keeping him?” The unexpected snap to Ryan’s tone as he pointed at Simon told Alex she’d misread the situation completely. Her partner wasn’t hurt. He was completely pissed off.

  “Look—” She searched for a way to douse the flaming poop she’d apparently stepped into, but Ryan cut her off with a slice of his hand.

  “Tell me.” He leaned in so close she could feel his breath hit her face. “Did you willingly give him the security password he used to hack into our systems tonight? Or was that something you let slip in the heat of the moment?”