by Lara Lacombe
He approached the desk quietly until he stood behind her, glaring down at James. His friend looked up, his smile of amusement morphing into a smug, knowing grin as he took in Thomas’s glower. Claire turned around, as well, so he made a concerted effort to soften his features. “Did Agent Reynolds keep you entertained while I was gone?”
She nodded. “Oh yes. He’s quite the storyteller.”
Thomas’s eyes flicked back to James. “Is he? I guess marriage agrees with him.”
James merely grinned at the barb. “It does,” he replied.
“He showed me the wedding pictures,” Claire said, looking back at James. “It looked like a beautiful ceremony, and your wife was stunning. Did you know they were married on the beach?” she asked Thomas.
“Yes,” he gritted out. “I was the best man.”
“Oh,” she said. “I must have missed that. I was so focused on her dress.”
James bit his lip to hold back a laugh, and Thomas indulged in a brief fantasy of reaching across the desk and punching the other man in the mouth. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because James let out a strangled sound that he tried to cover with a cough.
“Are you all right?” Claire asked.
“He’s fine,” Thomas said, placing a hand on her arm. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” She stood, her expression uncertain as she looked from Thomas to James. “It was nice to meet you,” she offered, sticking out a hand for James to shake.
Thomas saw the wicked gleam in his eye, but before he could intervene, James bent over Claire’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “My pleasure,” he said gallantly. She blushed, smiling shyly. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“It’s under control,” Thomas said, just as Claire responded, “Thanks.”
With a final glare at James, Thomas steered Claire to the elevators. As they stepped inside, the phone in his pocket vibrated, alerting him to a new message. He pulled it out, flipping open the screen to read the text from James. Not interested? Doesn’t look that way to me.
Thomas quickly typed out a crude reply, then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Glancing over, he noticed Claire standing near the wall of the elevator, arms wrapped around her torso. Great. He had probably scared her with his temper. “Everything okay?”
She looked at him, frowning slightly. “I’m fine. You just seemed grumpy, so I was going to leave you alone.”
He thrust a hand into his hair, smoothing it back. “Sorry about that. Talking to my boss always seems to put me in a bad mood.”
“He didn’t look very friendly.”
“He isn’t. He’s the new guy, and he’s trying to make his mark in the department. He’s just going about it the wrong way, if you ask me.”
She nodded. “And you don’t get along.”
“Not really.”
“So that’s why you got stuck babysitting me.” It was more of a statement than a question, making him wonder what, exactly, James had said to her.
“What makes you say that?” he asked carefully.
“Oh, please,” she said, spreading her arms out. “I’m not an important person, which means guard duty could have been foisted onto any rookie with a badge. The fact that a senior agent was assigned to my case is a bit odd, and now that I know your boss doesn’t like you, it’s easy enough to see that you’re being punished for something. So, what’d you do?”
“Excuse me?”
“What did you do?” she repeated. “Why did you get stuck with me?”
He gaped at her, unsure how to respond. “I’m not stuck with you,” he began, leading her out of the elevator when the doors opened.
“You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me,” she said.
He huffed out a small laugh. “No, I can see I don’t,” he muttered.
As they climbed into the car, he could tell by her expectant silence that she was waiting for additional information. “Look, our last operation went badly. I can’t really go into details, but our superior officer was canned. Agent Harper is now in charge, and he’s bent on cleaning house. He doesn’t trust any of us, and he particularly doesn’t care for me, because I’m not appropriately afraid of him.”
“I see.” Was that amusement he heard in her voice? He quickly glanced over, but her expression was neutral, giving no hint to her mood. “But make no mistake, you are in danger, and I will work to keep you safe.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together. “I appreciate it,” she said quietly.
He reached over, laying a hand on her arm for reassurance. “It’s my job.”
She placed her hand over his, holding it against her arm. Tingles raced up his fingertips at the contact, and he fought the urge to stroke his thumb over her skin. She gave him a small smile, her large gray eyes soft and warm, then withdrew her hand. He pulled back his own, realizing too late that he shouldn’t have touched her. Now that he knew what the warm satin of her skin felt like, he wanted to do it again. And that was just her arm—how would she feel elsewhere?
The air in the car became charged, expectant. Claire seemed coiled, as if she was waiting for him to make a move. He reached up to loosen his collar, suddenly warm in the confined space. He cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. Are you hungry?”
“A little. I have food at home. I can make us something, if you like.”
That sounded a little too domestic for him. If she were to cook for him, it would be all too easy to imagine that they were connected, had some kind of relationship, when the reality couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Why don’t I just pick up some burgers instead?” he offered. “I don’t want you to have to go to any trouble.”
Twenty minutes later, they arrived back at her apartment, bags of hot, greasy food in hand. Claire went into the kitchen, grabbing napkins and place mats, then set a quick table while he locked the door and shrugged out of his jacket. As he passed by the desk, he paused. Something seemed off. He leaned over to get a closer look but didn’t see anything unusual save a crooked pen. Reaching out a finger, he pushed the pen back into alignment with its fellows. He must have bumped it on his way out last time.
They ate quickly but quietly, then sat in silence for a bit. Finally, Claire let out a sigh. “What you said in the car...” She trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Do you really think I’m in danger?”
He nodded. “I think we have to assume you are, for now. Why?”
She moved restlessly on the chair, as if she was trying to find a comfortable position. “It just doesn’t make sense! I keep going over Ivan’s death—his murder—and I can’t come up with a reason someone would have wanted to kill him. Or me, for that matter.”
“Once we find out what the list means, I think we’ll be closer to knowing what’s going on and why you’re a target.”
“How long will that take?” Her eyes were pleading, and he wished he could say something, anything, to reassure her.
He wanted to touch her again but settled for crumpling his napkin into a ball. “I’m not sure. It’s a priority though, which means people are working on it now. We should know something soon.”
She nodded, eyes downcast while she tore her paper napkin into strips. “I guess we’ll just have to wait then, won’t we?”
“For now.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of waiting, my relief should be arriving soon.”
“How will that work?” she asked. “I don’t have a spare bedroom, so where is this person supposed to sleep?”
“They won’t,” he informed her. “Their job is to stay awake and make sure nothing happens to you while you’re asleep. They’ll probably just sit in the living room and watch TV, if that’s okay with you.”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I suppose. Maybe I’ll wa
tch TV with them. I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight anyway.”
He gave her an absent smile as he pulled out his phone. Had the officer called to say he was running late? But no, he hadn’t missed any calls, had no new messages. What was keeping them?
“I’m going to run downstairs,” he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Make sure the officer isn’t roaming around lost, or locked out of the building. Lock the door behind me, and don’t open it for anyone but me, okay?”
“All right.” She nodded.
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
After locking the door behind Thomas, Claire busied herself with clearing the table, throwing away the trash from dinner and returning the place mats to their drawer. She was tired, so tired, but she didn’t want to sleep. I can’t stand another nightmare. She shuddered.
She wandered aimlessly through the living room, pausing here and there to run her fingers along a shelf or to pick up a picture, only to put it back down again without looking at it. Her thoughts raced, her mind whirring as she tried to figure out what the list of words meant, why Ivan had sent them to her. Was there a hidden message for her? What do you want me to do, Ivan? she silently pleaded.
Unsurprisingly, there was no answer to her question. The room was still and quiet, and it seemed somehow smaller without Thomas. Ironic, that, since he took up so much space. She’d grown used to his presence in the few hours she’d known him, and she missed him already, even though he’d only been gone for a few minutes.
Not good. She couldn’t come to depend on him. He was going to leave after this assignment was completed, so she shouldn’t start thinking about him as any kind of fixture in her life. She was having trouble keeping her emotions in check though. He was so charismatic she felt drawn to him, a powerful pull that was almost magnetic.
She absently rubbed the spot on her arm where he had touched her in the car, trying to recapture the tingle she’d felt when his palm had rested against her skin. His touch had sent zings of awareness up her arm to settle into her belly, making her feel something aside from the general horror of the day. She idly wondered what his hands would feel like elsewhere on her body but shook her head. No sense in wishing for things that would never happen. He was a professional, and she would only embarrass them both by coming on to him.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She glanced through the peephole to see a small, dark-haired man holding out a badge. “Dr. Fleming? DCPD.”
She frowned slightly, considering. Thomas had said not to open the door to anyone but him, but the man did have a badge and was obviously the police. Maybe they had just missed each other in the elevators? She flipped the lock and opened the door, stepping back to let the officer inside.
He gave her a friendly smile as he entered the apartment, his hazel eyes darting around to take in his surroundings. “I’m Victor,” he said, offering his hand.
She took it, returning his smile. “Claire. Did you happen to see Thomas? He’s wandering around looking for you.”
The smile faded from his mouth, and his eyes grew cold. Claire took a step back, alarm bells clanging in her head as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. What have I done?
“Tall guy? Red hair? Yeah, I took care of him,” he said, taking a menacing step forward. She saw a glint in his hand just before he drew it up to her neck, but before she could register what that meant, a cold pressure appeared at her throat, making her freeze in place. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“Where is the package?”
Her throat felt impossibly tight, but a small moan escaped. Victor drew back a hand and slapped her, hard. Her eyes watered, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. “Where is the package?” he repeated calmly.
“I—I don’t have it,” she stammered.
He considered her for a beat, then shrugged. “Fine. We’ll do this your way.” He pulled the knife from her neck and pressed the tip to her cheek, bracing a forearm across her shoulders to keep her in place. She pushed against him, but he pressed himself flush against her, trapping her hands between them.
“One last time—where is the package?”
Tears streamed down her face and her body shook, her knees threatening to give out. “I don’t have it,” she repeated, sobbing. “Please, the FBI has it.”
“Wrong answer.”
He drew the blade down her cheek in an arcing cut and she screamed, the salt from her tears making the wound sting and burn. Warm blood trickled down her face as he moved the knife to her other cheek.
“I can do this all day, sweetheart,” he said in the tone of a man bored with life. “It’s really up to you. Just tell me where the package is, and I’ll stop.”
She drew in a shaking breath. “I told you already—I don’t have it!”
“And I don’t believe you.”
He was so matter-of-fact, no emotion in his voice at all. He watched her with a clinical detachment, unmoved by her tears, her pleading, her struggling. “You killed Ivan, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He pressed the knife harder against her cheek but didn’t cut yet. What was he waiting for?
“And Thomas?” Was he dead, too, lying in some abandoned stairwell in a pool of his own blood?
“Yes. And now I’m going to kill you.” He moved the knife from her cheek to her neck, holding it just under her jaw.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not much help to me alive right now, and it’ll be easier to search your apartment after you’re dead.”
“Drop it.” The deep voice came from the doorway, low and commanding. Claire sagged with relief. Thomas.
Victor shook his head, a wry smile curving his thin lips. “I knew I should have taken more time with you.”
Claire glanced over, biting back a cry at the sight of Thomas. He was standing in the doorway with his gun drawn, one hand pressed to the wound on his neck. His shirt was soaked with blood, and she could see it was still seeping through his fingers, running down his neck in thin rivulets.
“Rookie mistake,” Thomas commented. “Step away from her.”
“You see, the problem is that you’re too tall,” Victor said conversationally. “I’m not used to having to reach up so high. Messed up my angle.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter. “Next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.” Thomas took a step forward, swaying slightly. Victor noticed it and smirked.
“I think you may be right. In fact, I think I’ll just stay here, wait for you to bleed out, and then take care of the good doctor.” He jerked his chin toward Claire. Thomas followed his movement, his jaw clenching as his eyes tracked over the wound on her face.
“Or maybe I’ll shoot you first.”
Victor shook his head. “No, you won’t. I’m too close to her—you can’t risk hitting her.”
“Yes, he can.” Claire spoke quietly, her eyes locked on Thomas. Do it, she silently urged him, wanting him to take the shot. If she was going to die, she’d rather be shot by Thomas than slowly carved up by a madman.
He stared at her, blue eyes blazing in his pale face. She could tell by the set of his jaw he was fighting to find another way, but with Victor holding a knife to her throat and Thomas bleeding out before her eyes, she didn’t see any other options.
It’s okay, she mouthed, wanting him to know she understood. He shook his head slightly, taking another step forward.
“That’s close enough,” Victor warned. He pulled her from the wall, holding her in front of him as a shield. The knife returned to her throat, forcing her head up and her gaze off Thomas.
“Let her go,” Thomas said. “You can’t win this. Do you hear those sirens? They’re coming for you.”
He w
as right; the sirens that she had dismissed as background noise before were now louder, converging on her building. She felt a flutter of hope in her stomach at the thought that backup had arrived.
“Called in the troops?” Victor said, his voice a sneer in her ear. “Didn’t think you could take me on yourself?” He pulled her back into the kitchen, and she almost slipped as her stockinged feet met the tile. She grabbed on to his arm for support, terrified of falling on his knife.
“I don’t work alone,” Thomas replied. She heard a shuffle, figured he was following them. Was his voice getting weaker? Please, no, she thought. If he falls, it’s over.
Victor pulled her back another step, then paused. “I can see that I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll come back again another time. Soon,” he whispered in her ear. He angled the knife across her neck in a chilling caress before shoving her violently forward. She had a brief glimpse of Thomas’s shocked face just as she careened into him, knocking them both to the floor.
He pushed her off him, wrestling his gun hand free from the tangle of their limbs. “Freeze!” he called out, but it was too late. Victor had yanked up the window and jumped out onto the fire escape. The fading clang of his footsteps on the metal stairs was barely audible over the shrill symphony of sirens below.
Thomas struggled to his feet and stumbled to the sink. Bracing his hands on the counter, he tried to climb up, clearly intending to follow Victor.
“Thomas, no!” Claire reached out, snagging his shirt to stop him. “You’re seriously injured—you have to sit down.”
He tried to shrug off her hand but she held fast, pulling him away from the counter and guiding him to sit on the floor. “Stay here,” she commanded. She grabbed a towel and pressed it to his neck, biting her lip at the sight of fresh blood leaking from the wound. He sat, arms splayed on either side of his lap; his eyes were twin blue flames focused intently on her face. “You’re going to be fine,” she ordered, hating the tremor in her voice.
“What about you?” he asked, his gaze tracing the cut on her cheek. She reached up, wincing as her fingers touched the raw slice.
