Images flashed through her mind, individual stills of their life together—the way sunlight teased red-gold highlights in his hair and how he’d blush when she pointed it out, how he’d roll over in his sleep and search for her hand under the covers without ever waking up, the way his cologne somehow wove through her closet and into her clothes so she couldn’t help but catch whiffs of his signature scent throughout her day. With her John Hancock, those memories would fade to black and white. They’d become unrepeatable, those precious moments, discarded as if they’d been a sin. Or worse, a mistake.
The AD didn’t blink. “There’s a cost to doing business.”
“Is that why you didn’t arrest Downing when you should have before the banquet? Was the cost too high?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone.
Ice crackled over her skin as the AD’s stare turned arctic. “What part of stay out of it did you not understand, Agent Valentine?”
“Lives were on the line. Mine included.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest and resisted the urge to sit on the edge of the bed as a bone-deep weariness overtook her. Damn. And she’d been doing so well today too. A little quieter, but not by much, she continued. “We’re way the fuck beyond clearance. I was beaten and tortured for your cause, yet you can’t answer a question?”
The AD’s expression never wavered. He merely regarded her as a father might a child having a temper tantrum. She gaped at him, at a loss to understand this man she’d emulated for so long. What was so important about his job that he couldn’t milk so much as a drop of human compassion and kindness from his soul?
“Oh my God…” Alex staggered backward as she put two and two together and came up with the launch codes to this man’s motivations. “You did this for political gain? You maneuvered us. Treated us like nothing more than pawns on your chess board and all for political gain.” She grasped at the edge of the mattress for support. “Tell me. How grateful was the president for his public rescue? How high would you have strung up your conveniently tainted operatives if it had all gone wrong and your ass had been hanging in the wind?”
“You’ve always had a quick mind, but your comprehension on this matter is juvenile at best.” This time the corners of the AD’s mouth creaked upward, but the light in his eyes remained cool. “Where do you think our funding comes from? How exactly do you think directors are made?”
Ignoring his shallow answer, Alex flashed back to her conversation with the AD in the hall after Simon’s arrest.
“That’s what it all meant. That’s what you were saying without saying, and why you wanted me to keep my nose out of it.” She pushed away from the bed and paced a few steps before letting out a rueful laugh. “It’s hard to smoke someone who has all the facts. I was your cost of doing business. You were going to burn me—send both me and Simon to prison—if this all went wrong and the president got killed.”
For so long, Downing had eluded them by conducting most of his criminal transactions outside the US, or by layering them under so many middlemen they never managed to cut off the head of the beast. The man had enough political and financial industry connections to buy his way out of any rumors or real trouble. So, when the occasion presented itself to bring him down with an assassination attempt on live television, the AD and those above him must’ve seen the opportunity as well as its inherent risks. By setting up a known felon and his ex-lover to get their hands dirty on the operation, they were playing it smart. At least, that was one way to look at it, if you weren’t the person with the crosshairs on your chest.
Motions wooden, Alex turned to her bedside table and opened the top drawer where she’d placed her journal, e-reader and a few bucks. The lone remaining item was a leather bifold holding the badge she and Simon had recovered along with the papers in Downing’s safe. She traced the worn edge before picking it up and flipping open the cover. Her badge had meant everything to her for so long. Too long. In clutching it in one hand and the career ladder in the other, she’d almost lost the one thing, the one man, she should have been clinging to all along. Simon might not even want her in his life, but it was time to let go of things that could be clutched and manipulated and forced to heel. It had taken losing him once and finding her way back to him to show her what mattered most.
Alex squashed with extreme prejudice the only pang of regret that dared rear its head. Setting the papers down, she placed her badge on top of the tidy pile and met her boss’s—former boss’s—gaze. “Some costs are too high.”
Frowning, as if he couldn’t believe she’d be so stupid as to trade her job for a relationship and a future she had no indication existed, he took the folio. “I never expected you to practice such poor judgment, Valentine.” The AD stared down at her, expression inscrutable. “Tell me. Do you have any reason to believe Dr. Jakes capable of honorable conduct? He’s a criminal, a thief and a liar.”
A nurse bustled in with some pills and Alex waved her off.
“You’re talking about a man who saved my life after I asked him to place everyone he cared about—including himself—in danger.” She moved toward him with controlled fury, her steps as carefully measured as her words. “He did everything we asked and more.”
They stood nose to nose now.
“If that’s not honor, then I don’t know what is,” she said, so angry now the words tumbled out on top of one another. “But I’ll have to forgive you for not recognizing the quality when you see it.”
The AD gave her one last hard stare before pivoting on his heel and stalking from the room. Alex watched him go. With every step that carried him farther away, additional weight lifted from her shoulders. Buoyed by the knowledge she’d made the right choice, she grabbed her bag. Screw waiting around. She didn’t need a doctor’s permission to leave. Belongings packed in under three minutes, she shouldered her duffel and walked out of the hospital and toward her new life. Or at least her apartment.
Alex traversed Greenwich Village streets awakening with traffic and commerce and sniffed the air. A hint of fall greeted her in the damp crispness. She bought flowers and fruit from a little market, said hello to her mailman, and made it almost to her front stoop before she remembered the wreck that awaited her inside. Closing her eyes, she wondered at the intelligence of quitting her only source of income when she had an apartment without working wiring or an intact mattress.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Well, nothing could be done now. She’d job hunt later—probably get a position with a bank or a security research firm. Not all was lost. Only a little damaged for the time being.
Pushing the door open, she expected the stench of rotten food and water damage. Instead she encountered a hint of lemon oil, shiny floors, fresh paint and a vague chemical scent that reminded her of a furniture show room. She blinked a few times at a new couch with a big red bow placed jauntily on top.
Simon…
Alex stepped inside, half expecting him to appear. Her mind’s eye had him wearing only his pajama bottoms. His glasses would be folded over his waistband. He’d pad barefoot toward her and… Oh God. Her libido—it worked. A wide-eyed tour of her apartment revealed new everything—curtains, linens, bed, dresser. All that had been destroyed he’d restored with loving care and matched to the best of his abilities.
“Oh Simon.” Alex traced her fingertips around a frame holding the picture of them from the Coney Island photo booth, then turned, smiling, to study a collage he’d created of all of Ryan’s surveillance photos of him.
So you don’t forget me… his handwritten note read.
How could she ever forget him?
“Sweet, isn’t it?”
The memory of that voice alone had haunted her drugged haze as she healed the worst of the damage. Hearing it now, issued by the man behind her nightmares, turned air to ice in her lungs. Alex forced her numb feet around, her progress marked by the rush and retreat of white noise in her head. One minute it was all she could hear. The next, she’d hear cabs honking or the thump
of bass as an invincible teen sped by. Her body moved reluctantly, fighting her command to face the monster until the last possible moment.
John Downing leaned casually inside the open front door she’d been too stunned to close and lock when she’d found her apartment restored. Hand fluttering to her throat, she mentally searched for a weapon without looking around. As long as he thought she was too scared to fight him, she might stand a chance. In her peripheral vision Simon smiled at her from the collage, a goofy smile on his face, and she knew she’d fight this battle and win. For him.
Downing stepped past the threshold, stalking her as she moved backward toward the kitchen. “How are you, smart girl?”
“What do you want?” She didn’t have to fake the tremor in her voice. Alex fervently hoped the question would prompt Downing to answer. She needed to buy time, but it was at a premium and her credit was maxed out.
Running his fingers lightly along the edge of a table, Downing shrugged and studied the small space as if seeing her place for the first time, and she wondered inanely if he’d really never been inside before.
“I thought I might find Dr. Jakes visiting.” Downing gave a false smile. “I have a gift for him.”
She looked behind her as she continued to back away but froze at the sound of a slide chambering a bullet. Her stomach fell at the thought she might not see Simon again.
“Turn around, smart girl. I want to see your face when I pull the trigger.” Downing laughed at his little joke. “I wonder which will be more classic? Your expression or Jakes’ when he sees what’s left of your head?”
“Please don’t.” She made certain her voice trembled with fear instead of the anger that threatened to overwhelm her ability to think rationally.
She’d always been taught to enter into any encounter assuming that the enemy had greater physical strength than someone as small as she. However, Downing had just made the only mistake she needed him to make—one that would place him in her power if she could strike without conveying her intent. She waited, forcing her breath to come in gulps, until he gently brushed a gloved finger along her ear. Slowly, she began to turn until she caught his weapon in her peripheral vision. He held it cockily, even negligently, in his right hand while he rested the fingers of his left on her shoulder to turn her.
While time had been at a premium, luck was in high season. Alex spun around. It took precisely a half second to move the muzzle out of range of her body and another half second to form a wedge of her hands to catch Downing’s wrist with her downstroke. A well placed knee to his abdomen, just above the groin, and a vicious kick to the back of his knee had him howling in pain and scrambling to defend himself against what was now her fight. A twist of his hand, just the right pressure against his fingers, made him drop the gun he’d never had the opportunity to fire.
Without cuffs or the benefit of the weapon, Alex remained at a minor disadvantage as Downing attempted to swing at her. She blocked his blow, trapped his arm under her armpit and followed through with the heel of her hand to his jaw. His chin snapped upward with a satisfying crunch and he slid to the ground. When she stood, intending to look for the gun, he grabbed her ankles and yanked. Alex toppled hard, the end table catching her at the temple. Everything went fuzzy and then black, like a television shorting out and going dead. Her last thought was an apology to Simon. Her last imagined sight, his handsome face.
Simon rushed through the door, dropping the bags of groceries he carried. Too late to save Alex from a nasty blow to the head, he threw himself on Downing even as the man went for his gun. Simon snarled and gripped the fingers of his free hand around Downing’s neck. The hard ridge of an Adam’s apple against his palm, he squeezed and bore down as the blond monster before him gave up on his weapon and instead clawed Simon’s hands. Vision narrowed, enraged growls erupting from his chest, Simon squeezed so hard he knew he left fingerprints on the flesh beneath his palm.
“Simon!” Ryan’s voice came to him. “Stop!”
The agent moved in and kicked the gun well out of Downing’s reach. Simon heard the warning in his voice. Knew the man had a taser or a gun trained on him. He slammed Downing’s head against the floor, hard, for good measure, but battle won he slowly loosened his grip and moved off the barely conscious man. Ryan lifted the gun from the floor and tucked it away.
“Why?” Simon towered over Downing, the words seeming as if they came from somewhere outside him. “Why’d you do this to me?”
Downing’s laughter, broken though it was, made him crazy, and he tried to lunge forward. Arms locked under his own and immobilized him. Simon stared down at the freak as he laughed harder and pointed a finger in Simon’s direction.
“You really never knew?”
Simon bucked hard, but Ryan never loosened his hold.
“Knew what?” Chest heaving, spittle flying from his lips, a part of him knew he appeared crazier than the bastard at his feet.
“You did this to yourself.” Downing pressed a shaking hand along his own brow. “Your first job with the CIA. You brought down my chief money man. My nephew. He was a son to me. It only seemed right you replace him.”
Simon’s knees gave out and only Ryan’s fierce hold kept him on his feet. “What the fuck?” he croaked.
“My family for yours. He died in prison before his trial. Had to be put down before he could plea bargain.” Downing’s face turned feral with pain and rage before he began to laugh again. “You brought it all upon yourself.”
On the floor behind Simon and Ryan, Alex moaned.
“You help her,” Ryan said. “Let me take this bastard in.”
Simon nodded.
“Sure you’re all right?” Ryan slowly released him.
A bleak, removed feeling told him he was probably in shock, but that had to be a sight better than what Alex experienced right now.
Simon took one last, bitter look at Downing, who still rolled brokenly on the floor, laughing intermittently. “Get him out of my sight before I change my mind and kill him.”
Ryan cuffed Downing as Simon went to Alex’s side and tenderly lifted her from the floor. She felt so light, her collarbone prominent where once muscle had padded the skin. On his way to Alex’s bed, Simon paused in the small living space to let Ryan and his prisoner pass.
Downing examined her slight form bundled in Simon’s arms and quirked a swollen smile. “This isn’t over, smart girl,” he said.
Clutching Alex more tightly to him, Simon growled, low and feral at the man he’d come to think of as his personal nemesis. “I’m glad you were here, Ryan. Because I’d hate to think of the mess this fucktard’s blood and guts would make all over the new sofa.”
“Yeah. I’m not so glad.” Ryan jerked the cuffs upward and Downing hissed as Simon passed both men on the way to the bed. “I might’ve helped you bury the body.”
“Come to think of it, why are you here?” Simon settled Alex’s head gently against the pillow. When Ryan remained silent, he spoke over his shoulder at the agent.
The man’s gaze lingered on Alex’s face, his expression sad and a little hollow. “I came to talk her out of making a mistake…”
Simon brushed a silken strand of inky black from Alex’s pale forehead. “What mistake?”
“I think I’ll let you two work it out. Take care of her, okay?” With a glance, Ryan told him everything he’d wanted to know about his relationship with Alex. He loved her and he was letting her go.
“Wouldn’t think of doing anything else,” Simon answered. “And thank you.”
Ryan nodded and closed the apartment door softly behind him.
* * * * *
Throbbing pain behind her right eye greeted Alex as she swam to consciousness. Knowing she should be dead, she wondered at the soft mattress and the soothing hand at her brow. Bright light made her squint and someone clicked off the overhead. In the softer glow of the bedside lamp she managed to take in the man sitting at the edge of the bed.
Spiky hair
, concerned frown, dimple in his right cheek. Simon.
Alex smiled, then winced at the pain the movement caused.
“Hey, sweetheart.” No voice ever sounded dearer.
“Hey there…” Alex began, before remembering Downing. Fear clawed at her chest and she sat upright so quickly the room swam.
“Easy.” Simon pushed her down against the mattress.
“Where is he?” An image of the man’s face, the obvious shine of his dental work and too-perfect hair made her wish for a scrub brush inside her brain, but unfortunately some things could never be cleaned.
Simon shifted his leg where it rested along the edge of the bed and leaned closer to her. “Ryan made me do the right thing.”
“Shoot him?” she asked, more than hopeful.
His laugh was short and sharp.
“No.” Expression flat and hard, he trailed fingers around her ear, skimming past the bruised place at her temple. “Though I wish you’d been awake since we’re of the same mind. He’s in custody.”
Silence fell as she contemplated the idea that the man who’d terrorized her for days was finally behind bars. Rain ran down her windowpane in thick rivulets, and all she could think was that she’d been right earlier with her weather prediction. Too bad she hadn’t been able to predict that Downing would see her as the most expedient avenue to Simon.
“I, um, made you some tea.” Simon leaned over to lift a mug from the bedside table.
Alex dutifully took it because she knew drinking it would make Simon feel better. She drew in a breath to answer him and stopped. Sniffing, she turned her head—slowly this time—to face him. “Do I smell juice?”
Simon glanced toward the shoji screen. “Yeah. Sorry. I have to clean that up.”
“You were out buying groceries when I came home early?” she guessed, sipping the tea and fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. God, he made awful tea.
He smiled, rueful. “You’re always so damn early for everything. It’s endearingly annoying, you know. We’ll have to cure you of that bad habit.”
Hard Target Page 24
