Hard Target

by Barbara Phinney

  "I'm sorry."

  He could see her blink. She tipped her head up to face him. Her jaw tight, her eyes wary, she answered, "You said that. All I wanted was for you to trust me. I'm good at my job."

  "It's hard for me. Not just to trust you, but everyone."

  Slowly, her expression softened. "I know. It's okay."

  "No, it's not. I think I understand what's wrong. My father didn't trust my mother to understand his need to be a good cop. Or even to share things that he should have shared. Work was always so important, and he made it more important than us. We were only supposed to support him because he had an important job. My mother resented his attitude and didn't trust him in return. Their marriage didn't last ten years."

  She bit her lip. "You lived with your mother after that?"

  He nodded. "Ironically, she had to work hard to support us and sometimes she had to put work first. But I think that lesson made her bitter."

  "And that's all you've known. Maybe your subconscious is just coming to grips with this, and that's why you're remembering your mother, now of all times."

  "Yeah, it's a tough lesson, and one I don't want to mess up," he breathed out in a single, disgusted exhale. "And I don't have any reason to expect you to trust me. I just want you to, that's all."

  Pain flickered in her eyes. "Are you going to tell me why you think Martin isn't involved in this case?"

  He thought again of the people still undercover. Of the strong South American connection. Of the man behind bars in the States awaiting a trial on trafficking narcotics and sending illegal arms to his South American friends, to be shipped somewhere else.

  He thought of the murder of the undercover operative two weeks before his assignment was complete. Then he thought of the mysterious group living somewhere in the US who planned to free their friend before his trial, using weapons hidden somewhere for that purpose.

  He couldn't talk about the case. Not here, anyway. There was already a security problem in this embassy. "No. But if it's anything, I'm not as sure anymore that Martin isn't involved with this embassy somehow."

  Dawna turned to the file spread out in front of her. "Maybe you should go back home. If Martin is in some way related to your CIA activities, he'll follow you there. That'll give me one less headache."

  For a moment, he considered it. But as soon as the realization hit him of what he was doing, he shoved the idea away. "Forget it. I'm not leaving."

  "Because you have a job to do, right?" She kept scanning the file.

  "Because I care about you."

  She snapped her head over and instantly, he regretted his words. She didn't believe him. "You're not going to leave because you've been sent here to make sure I fail. Admit it."

  "That's not true. Dawna, the Commanding Officer who punished you retired two years ago. HQ doesn't care anymore about what we did. But I do." It was a lie. He'd been an undercover operative for too long. The lies were flowing off his tongue too blasted easily. HQ did care about their image. They did have a long memory, and Tay was just placating her.

  God, what had he become?

  "You care about me?" Her tone was derisive. "And you want to prove you're done with running away when life gets difficult?"

  Tay jerked back. Dawna was right. Shit, she was so right. "I don't run away." Again, another lie.

  She straightened. "Yeah, sure. You want to prove that you don't run away like your father always did. He ran back to the police station when things got tough at home, right? And you want to prove you aren't like that." She gave him an exasperated look. "Even though you ran away from helping me, three years ago. You were just as much to blame for that night as I was. You wanted to screw me in that car as much as I wanted to screw you. We both got caught."

  "I didn't run away! I quit my job there because they wouldn't accept my offer of full responsibility. The Commanding Officer wanted an example and he chose you. So I quit."

  He shut up. He didn't dare say anymore.

  Dawna let out a disbelieving noise. "Sure you quit, but they couldn't bear to accept your resignation, so they kept your name on the nominal roll and kept you as instructor. Were they paying you as well?"

  He couldn't speak. She already knew too much, even thought she didn't believe it. And he was still officially an instructor there. Now that his work for the CIA was completed, he'd planned to return as instructor again. He was technically still here, wasn't he, in that capacity?

  He wished he could prove to her he'd quit as instructor solely on principle, but she wouldn't believe him. He'd already betrayed her once.

  And maybe it wasn't the whole truth after all.

  "I can't prove my words right now, but maybe someday you'll believe me."

  An odd expression flickered over her face, something akin to the softness of a few minutes ago. Did she want to believe him? God knew there was still an attraction between them. The way she kept her distance, her long, tempting looks when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He knew she still felt the sparks between them. He felt them, too.

  Dawna returned to Ramos' file. A few silky strands of pale hair fell down, obscuring her eyes. Tay gave in to the temptation and brushed them back over her ear.

  She jumped slightly. His hand settled on her shoulder.

  "Tay, don't." Her tone was soft, begging, her gaze still on the file. "Please? I have a ton of work to do."

  "We both do. But it can wait."

  "This is important."

  "As important as us?"

  She stilled. He saw the line of her jaw tighten, until the curve of it closest to her ear pressed out against her soft skin. She was fighting him. Fighting her own attraction, and that idea spurred him on.

  He leaned forward. "The ambassador is safe for the moment, Dawna. You've already looked at that file and found nothing of any use. We've brainstormed enough for the day. We need a break. We need a diversion for a little while."

  She pushed herself to standing and turned to him. Again, he swept a wayward lock of blond hair from her cheek.

  He could feel her lean into his hand.

  When he stretched out his arms, she walked into them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Her kiss was warm, tasting sweet, as if tiny crystals of sugar from the pastry she'd eaten earlier still lingered there. He coaxed open her mouth, and boldly invaded it with his tongue. She turned pliant in his arms, all but her tongue, which dueled with his until she stilled it with a gentle nip.

  He pressed her against her desk, his hip brushing the corner of her keyboard. She ground herself into him, one of her legs curving around his until he needed to spread his stance to steady them both.

  Heat burst in him. It must have ignited her as well. She twitched slightly. Her hands plunged through his hair, her fingers raking it. He loved the feeling, the wild abandonment it epitomized.

  They managed to turn and sprawl over her desk. His left hand supported the small of her back and he felt his knuckles dig into her keyboard. Across the word processing program were vees and bees and insane sets of numbers. The computer chattered out clicks of protest. He felt his empty holster dig into the soft flesh below her ribcage. Her leg curled over his thigh as his mouth slid down to her neck.

  He shouldn't be doing this to her. Not here in her office. Even with the door closed, the sense of privacy he needed just wasn't there.

  But taking her back to his room meant something more. Something serious. This kiss in her office was no different than that night in his staff car.

  He groaned. He didn't kiss her in his suite for the very reason that it would lead into far more dangerous territory. But here in her office, he was setting her up again, and setting himself up just as easily to slide away and leave her with the humiliation should they be caught.

  He couldn't do that to her. With an ache inside of him, he pushed himself off her. "The next time I kiss you, it will be someplace a hell of a lot more private."

  The heat of her reaction to his kiss flo
oded into Dawna's face as she leapt off her desk. What kind of a fool was she? Anyone could walk in here, or that temporary vigilante sitting at the desk just beyond her office door, or maybe Julie Legace, coming to tell her how wonderfully the ambassador was recovering.

  Oh, that kiss was so incredibly inappropriate.

  She cleared her throat and briskly gathered up the file. "Don't worry, there won't be another kiss."

  Tay grabbed her elbow, forcing her to look at him. His hazel eyes darkened and filled with a need that made her shiver. "You're wrong, Dawna. There will be another kiss, but the next time, we'll be able to see it through to the way it should end. In bed."

  She couldn't answer him. The image he created with his slow, forceful words not only fused her feet to the floor, but made her knees liquefy. Heat built in her, that old familiar ache made worse by his kiss a moment ago.

  Finally, she found her voice. "Nothing will happen until we find whoever is responsible for attacking us. Ramos, Cabanelos, Martin. Or Manuel Chayo for that matter. I want whoever did this. I don't even care if that person is dead. In fact, it'll save me a lot of paperwork."

  She tapped the bottom edge of the file she'd grabbed to straighten it. She was ready to add that nothing would happen as long as there was distrust between them. But as soon as she opened her mouth, he said, "Say that again."

  With a glance over at him, she asked, "Say what again?"

  Tay stared at her. "Say what you just said, again."

  She frowned. Gone was the dark, exciting look of passion. Gone far too easily. "I said that I don't care if the guy dies. It'll save me a ton of paperwork."

  He smiled, but there wasn't any warmth in it. "Not your exact words. You said, 'Ramos, Cabanelos, Martin. Or Manuel Chayo for that matter. I want whoever did this. I don't even care if that person is dead.'"

  "I meant it."

  "When you said Man-you-el Chay-yo, something clicked. I've heard something about Chayo before. I can remember the TV reporter saying his name the same way you just said it. It was a drawl that you don't usually put on your words."

  "What kind of report was it?"

  Tay pressed his lips together in frustration. "That I don't remember. I just remember the name."

  "Can you call your friend again?"

  Tay shook his head. "He didn't have anything important. But he said he'd keep looking. I did ask him to dig up something on Joseph Martin."

  Dawna was silent. "Know anyone in the media?"

  Tay grinned. "Not anyone who would provide me with free information."

  Dawna sat down at her desk and reached for her address file. "Maybe Jeff can help."

  "Who is this Jeff, anyway?"

  His cool tone tempted her not to answer, but the word trust lingered within her. "He's my American counterpart at the embassy in Buenos Aires. We were on a course together, and he owes me a few favors for helping him with his tests. He has a buddy down there that's with the CIA. Maybe Chayo has shown up on their radar."

  She got through to Jeff immediately. His bold, sexual style was still there, but she had to cut him off. It didn't feel right anymore, not after Tay's heady kiss. Not after the word trust had come to mind. She told Jeff what she knew about Chayo and asked if he could find out more. He promised to call back.

  As soon as she hung up, the phone rang again. It was the receptionist with a call for Tay. Dawna handed him the phone, and was ready to leave, when he shook his head. "Don't go."

  Tay shocked even himself by asking Dawna to stay. But it was time. She was right when she said he couldn't trust anyone. He wanted to change that.

  "Hastings here."

  "It's me," his contact said.

  Tay cut to the chase. "I'm looking into why Joseph Martin is in Bolivia. He's a Co-Op student supposedly working in Buenos Aires."

  "We've been asking the same question around here. Has he approached you?"

  "He tried to kill me."

  The contact swore.

  "Why the hell is he following me?"

  The contact sighed. "We have no idea. As soon as the security officer at the embassy in Buenos Aires raised the red flag, we started to look at his file, but there's nothing in his history to suggest he would want you dead."

  "Any activities in university?"

  "Can't find any."

  "I was told he was interested in South American history."

  "History's his major. This guy's a real bookworm, Tay. A geek."

  "For a geek, he has some excellent fighting skills. I still have the bruises."

  "California isn't the easy sunshine state the ads want you to think. It's got its share of thugs and Hispanic gang warfare. And Martin has spent the last ten years there. Before that, he lived in Canada-"

  "Canada?" That caught Tay's interest. Dawna even perked up. "Where?" he asked.

  "Ottawa." The tone of the contact's voice changed. "Wait, he was just a kid when he left Ottawa. Got adopted out of the country by a childless couple. He's had no contact with anyone there."

  "When was he taken out of Ottawa?"

  "Eleven years ago. His mother went insane and she lost custody of him before she entered a mental hospital."

  "And his father?"

  "Nothing on him. She must have been a single mom. The dad never took responsibility, I guess."

  Tay sat down in Dawna's chair and looked up at her. She set one hip on the corner of her desk, facing him with an intense look.

  Without thinking, he reached out and rested his hand on her knee. Such an intimate gesture and yet she didn't push it away. He liked touching her. In the back of his mind, something was working, stimulated by the excitement of her firm, warm flesh under his palm.

  "Tay," his contact added, "Until we figure this out, don't approach the guy."

  "Like I said, that's too late. He pulled a gun on me and took me for a joy ride."

  "Did you report it to the local authority?"

  "No."

  "Don't. It will only spook him. Let me know his movements. And I'll do some digging here." He rang off.

  "What's going on?"

  Tay looked up at Dawna. He dragged the chair closer to her, and spread her legs apart. He had no intentions of letting his hands roam any further than her knees, but the idea sorely tempted him. "Martin is one of those geeks without so much as a smudge on his record. But I did find out he spent time in Ottawa."

  "When?"

  "When he was a kid. He got adopted by a couple about eleven years ago. His mother entered a mental institution and must've given up custody of him."

  Dawna shifted out of his reach. "You've spent most of your life in Ottawa. How old is Martin?"

  "Twenty-one." He caught her meaning. "Dawna, I was only a teenager then."

  "Capable of fathering a child, though. And you said he looked familiar to you."

  Sinking back in his seat, Tay felt his mouth fall open. "I won't tell you I was an angel, but there's no way I could be that kid's father. What little sex I had twenty-two years ago, I used a condom and the girl didn't get pregnant."

  "They aren't foolproof and believe me, girls can be quite emotional, enough to need medical help."

  He stood. "Dawna, I swear I've got no offspring floating around. I wouldn't father a child and then take-" He cut himself off, unsure if the words he'd planned to say would even be the truth. And suddenly, with this conversation, he wanted to tell the truth.

  She sighed, and he noticed she'd averted her eyes. "I'm only offering possibilities. You keep telling me Martin has nothing to do with this embassy. If that's so, then why did he arrive at the same time you did?"

  "I don't know. He didn't come in on the same flight. Mine was an air force flight that was delayed leaving Miami, and he came from Buenos Aires."

  He stepped closer to her, taking in the soft pantsuit, the creases caused by his kiss. The urge to run his hands up under the hem of the tailored jacket-like blouse hit him square in the gut. Her skin would be warm. He remembered it from three years
ago. Heat from the hot South American sun blasted through the window. Air-conditioning wasn't considered necessary in the wintertime. And after their kiss, he bet her skin wore a sheen of perspiration. Slick, smooth.

  He knew he'd promised the next time he kissed her, he would finish it in bed, but he couldn't help himself. He drew her back into his arms.

  They kissed again, a languid, gentle kiss as if they had absolutely nothing better to do with their time.

  She was beginning to trust him again. No way would they kiss so easily if she didn't completely trust him to behave himself, and not do anything so foolish as finish this lovemaking on her desk.

  It was a heady feeling, this rediscovered trust. As heady as the kiss.

  A short rap cut into his thoughts and Dawna leapt away from him. Smoothing down her suit, she called out, "Come in."

  The new vigilante opened the door and peeked in. "Sergeant Atkinson? I have a telephone call for a Mr. Hastings. Long distance."

  Tay had already sat back in Dawna's chair. "Can you patch it through to here?"

  "No, señor. I do not know how."

  Dawna opened the door wider. "I can show you." She walked into the security office. A moment later, Tay picked up the phone and spoke into it, "Hello, Hastings here."

  "Mr. Hastings, this is Lieutenant-Colonel Smythe."

  Smythe was Dawna's CO. He ran his unit with a sharp eye for detail and penchant for heavy-handed discipline. He didn't like anything that could tarnish his image of how things were supposed to run. Tay knew by the tone of his voice, he wasn't happy.

  "Mr. Hastings, I have read over Sergeant Atkinson's reports."

  "Is there a problem?" Dawna's reports were thorough. He'd read a few before flying down here.

  "I'm not satisfied that all is being done to preserve security at the embassy. The ambassador poisoned, shots fired, missing security guards, all after a bomb blast? Your own report to me is sketchy at best."

  Tay bristled. His one and only report was sketchy because at the time he'd written it, he'd only been on the ground for a matter of hours. "Investigations aren't completed overnight."

  "I'm well aware of how long investigations take, Mr. Hastings," Smythe snapped. "I am a police officer myself."