Hard Target

by Barbara Phinney

  Was he? She wasn't sure. In one way, she did understand, yet in another way, all remained elusive. She slipped off the couch, suddenly restless. "Tay, I-"

  A sharp rap on the door startled her. Yet, thankful for the diversion, she hurried to it. It was a young porter, delivering two thin sheets of paper. Taking them, she thanked him and shut the door.

  "What is it?" Tay asked, still sitting.

  She scanned the papers. "It's a fax of a newspaper article. The cover letter says it's from RCMP headquarters in Ottawa. Some guy named Andy."

  Tay moved to his laptop and opened it. "That's Andy Bonner, a cop in Ottawa. He said he would try to dig up what he knew about Chayo. What does he say?"

  She smoothed out the thin sheet and began to read out loud. "'I tried to call your cell phone but it must be shut off. Figured I'd just fax this old newspaper article I found, instead. I highlighted the parts you might be interested in.'

  "'By the way, I heard through the grapevine that Sergeant Atkinson's boss, Colonel Smythe, bawled you out for not getting rid of the sergeant yet.'"

  A chill rushed through her. She felt the blood drain from her face as she finished reading it. "'I put my name on the list of volunteers to go down there, so I hope that Sergeant cooperates with us when I show you how things are done.'"

  Something hard and cold lodged in her throat. Silence rang through the suite. Finally, she glanced up from the paper now swimming before her eyes, and blinked Tay into focus. He stood there, his face tight with a frown.

  She steeled her back. "You've done it again, haven't you? You said you weren't here to get rid of me. But I'm going to take all the blame, just like I did three years ago." She cursed. "I trusted you."

  Chapter Twenty-one

  "Dawna, wait-"

  Her rude suggestion for what he could do was physically impossible. Tay tried to capture her hand, but she was too quick as she snatched up the notes Tay has set down. That done, she spun. With her feet apart, her shoulders slightly hunched, she looked ready for hand to hand combat.

  He stood in her way to the door, and judging by the deadly look on her face, he'd say she was ready to kill to reach it.

  He could stop her physically. He was bigger, stronger, but he'd take his share of the pounding in the attempt. Besides, he didn't want to fight her. He wanted to make love to her. "Listen, Dawna. Let me say something."

  "Let me leave."

  "Not until you hear what I have to say."

  "Answer my question first. Is what your friend, Andy, saying true?"

  He wanted to lie. But he was sick of lying and at the same time, he didn't want to lie to her. Not to Dawna. Not to the woman who had suffered for so long. "Yes, he was. Colonel Smythe threatened that he'd send another contingent down here."

  "And about your being here to ruin me?"

  "The CO gave me that authority. But I had no intentions of using it."

  "You lied to me."

  "Would you have let me help you if I'd told you the truth?"

  "I should have believed you when you first said it. I trusted you, and again, that was my mistake."

  She pulled in a deep breath and stood even taller. "We have nothing more to say. I'm leaving. I have an investigation to complete. And you're not pulling me off it."

  "I said I wasn't going to."

  "Right," she sneered. "Don't you remember threatening me with dismissal when the doctor came to treat my knee? Don't you remember asking the ambassador and Lucy to leave us alone so you could inform me you had the power to do so?"

  "I remember," he answered quietly. "But I wasn't going to. I should never have said that. You don't deserve to be sent home because of this anymore than you deserved to be disciplined three years ago."

  "So why is Colonel Smythe threatening to do just that? The old CO who disciplined me has retired. It shouldn't matter to this guy."

  "He has some politicians on his back. They probably have the media on their case, remembering what happened."

  "And you would let them blame me. Someone has to take the heat for this and I can see by this fax, that your buddy knows you all too well."

  "He doesn't know squat."

  She scrunched up the fax sheets that she realized she still had in her hand. "And even though you knew this would happen, you were ready to use me, in more ways than one." She threw the paper ball at him and stormed out.

  Tay stood there, stock still, knowing with every second that passed, Dawna would be further away. But he couldn't tear out after her.

  He just stood there and muttered out a few choice words for Colonel Smythe.

  Tay found Dawna in her office half an hour later. As soon as he'd found the strength to move, he called down to the front desk and ordered a taxi. In the tin can of a car, he waved twenty American dollars, a week's wages here for the driver, to get him to the embassy in less than ten minutes. The guy nearly killed him with his driving.

  His heart still pounding from the insane taxi ride, Tay stormed in past the vigilante. "Dawna, we need to talk."

  She opened her mouth to speak, but glanced over Tay's shoulder. At least the new vigilante's presence kept him from hearing another barrage of profanity.

  Behind him, Tay heard the phone ring. The vigilante answered it. Both he and Dawna waited, holding their breaths. Lately, the phone only brought bad news.

  But the phone was replaced and nothing happened.

  Dawna glared at Tay. "Put your sidearm in the vault while you're in my embassy, Mr. Hastings," she said with cold precision.

  "Dawna, it's late. Let's get something to eat-"

  "I'm planning on having a Cheez Whiz sandwich for supper, thank you. I believe that there are some standing orders you have to read? Or perhaps you could write another report to Colonel Smythe?"

  When she stood, he asked, "What are you going to do?"

  "Finish my investigation. Find out who poisoned the ambassador. Even if I have to interrogate every last person in this city. That's my job." She walked into the security office and stopped in front of the vault, waiting for him.

  He gritted his teeth. "You don't have to supervise me. I know your codes. I memorized them, and I know you haven't had time to change them since I came."

  "Suit yourself. But I don't want you in my office when I get back." She threw him a scathing look. "And I'll be changing the combination on the vault tomorrow."

  "We need to look at that fax you threw at me. Where are you going?"

  "Down to the shelter. I'm going to start with my supper and look at all the personnel files." She walked to the door and turned around. Tay stood there, half-hoping she would somehow calm down and listen to reason, but the lethal expression remained. The new vigilante glanced back and forth, sensing the tension despite the language barrier.

  Behind Dawna was Lucy. She had been walking past, a file in her hand. For a too-brief instance, something taunted him, but Dawna's sudden pivot dissolved it. Lucy leapt out of Dawna's determined path, then hurried out of sight.

  His shoulders sagged. All through the reckless drive over here, he'd rehearsed his words. Now he knew the lip service he had been planning was worthless. The words were all lies, anyway, a result of too many years doing undercover work.

  He knew what he should really say. But he'd have to corner Dawna first. And that meant giving her time to cool down.

  Tay turned to face the vault. At the vigilante's desk, the phone rang again. The man answered in Spanish. It was nearly always another vigilante, or escolta on that line.

  But the man switched to halting English. "Yes, Sergeant. I will come."

  Tay turned to watch the man leave. Had Dawna called him from his post? He glanced at the vacant seat. Closed circuit TV cameras monitored the rear courtyard and the front and rear entrances. Now, they were left unmonitored.

  The vigilante knew better.

  No one had seen anyone leave the small package of explosives on the front step. Maybe because someone had left their post?

 
Tay spun and punched in the code to open the vault. Once he'd secured his weapon, he would seek out Dawna and order her to enlighten the new vigilante on proper protocols, which meant not leaving his post for any reason.

  The tiny light on the panel blinked green and he drew open the heavy door. Tay stepped over the threshold, pulling out his side arm with one hand and reaching for the clipboard with the other.

  He heard a swishing noise a millisecond before the blunt object hit the nape of his neck.

  Staggering, he tried to turn around, but strong hands spun him back. Someone yanked his gun out of his hand and shoved him forward.

  He hit the back cabinet hard.

  He tried to shove himself away, dizzily, hoping to swing around and kick his assailant hard in the gut.

  No good. The door slammed shut. His foot hit the steel panel too late. He heard the electronic click as the door locked him in the vault.

  Slumping down, he wondered if the darkness around him was natural or whether his consciousness was slipping away.

  Tay reached out and found a cold steel handle. He wasn't unconscious, thank God. Pulling himself up, he rapped his head on the drawer that had somehow glided out on well oiled rollers. He'd grabbed the stupid drawer handle.

  He slammed shut the drawer and the sound bounced around the tiny vault. He swore, hanging onto his head like the Quasimodo under a ringing bell.

  He stood again, and pounded the door with his fists. He screamed out, but the sound of his voice drilled back into his head twice as loud.

  He rolled to one side, propping himself up against the left wall. What had just happened?

  Someone had shoved him into this blasted vault, that's what happened.

  Dawna? God knows he deserved it after the way he'd treated her. He'd chosen to lie to her about Smythe's ultimatum. He'd wanted her to trust him so much, and yet he hadn't returned the trust.

  Tay staggered up to standing, again, reaching at the same time for his sidearm.

  It was gone. Panting gently, he felt along the short wall to the door, then along the door to the cabinet. He flipped the clipboard that had fallen and the metal clip smacked his chin. Searching, he splayed out his hands along the top of the cabinet, then down to the floor. All over.

  No gun.

  The air seemed hot, now. Hot and close. He took a deep breath. Whoever had shoved him in here had snatched the weapon right out of his hand. Despite the total blackness, he shut his eyes.

  Focus. Focus. Someone wearing...blue?

  Like a vigilante's uniform? Blue like Dawna's outfit?

  No way. No blasted way. He would not consider that she had pushed him in here.

  Fine time to trust her.

  So, if it wasn't Dawna, who was it? Where were they now? With Tay out of action, slowly suffocating, Dawna was vulnerable.

  Tay worked at the collar of his shirt. He was losing air. He was losing control, too. He couldn't see a blasted thing, and yet, he sensed the walls closing in on him. He could feel them.

  Claustrophobia. What a time to remember the psychologist's warning. Three years ago, after extensive tests, the psychologist had warned him he was predisposed to suffer from it. Maybe if the shrink had delved a little further, he would have seen a connection to that evening so many years ago, when Tay had climbed out of bed and hid in his mother's closet. He'd wanted to jump out at her. To scare her. In his foolish, juvenile mind, he wanted to make her happy, so she wasn't crying all the time. Jumping out of the closet made his friends laugh. It would work on his mother, too.

  But he hadn't jumped out. His father had come home and he'd spent hours in their closet, listening to them argue.

  Tay wiped his sweat-drenched forehead. His panting echoed through the vault and back to taunt him.

  Breathing exercises, the doctor had suggested.

  Yeah, breathing exercises.

  In, out. In, out. Again, he shut his eyes, drawing in a deep, even breath slowly, taking his time, focusing on Dawna's sweet face. Outside in the sunshine, the light hitting her incredibly blonde hair...

  Under control, easing the air out of his lungs, pushing it harder to empty them completely, focusing on pushing out the fear. He couldn't lose control. Dawna needed him.

  In, then out. Sagging back, he pulled up his knees.

  Something in his pocket bit into his ribs. Quickly, he straightened and dug into his pants. The embassy's cell phone, not yet returned.

  Relief poured into him. Fingering the keys with his eyes closed, he found the power button. He had no idea where the speed dial was. He didn't even know the number of this embassy.

  He clenched his jaw. It lit up, briefly, but the number pad lights winked out. He had no idea what the settings were on this thing, and no time to play around with them.

  With another deep breath, he fingered the key pads again. Andy Bonner's number came to mind first, so Tay carefully pressed the keys, praying he'd hit the right ones.

  Then he hit the send button.

  Static. Not much but enough for him to doubt if his signal was getting through the steel of the vault.

  "Bonner here."

  It was barely audible over the static, and Tay cringed as he yelled into the phone. "Andy! It's me, Tay!"

  Static followed. "Tay? I can hardly hear you."

  "I'm locked in a vault in the embassy!"

  More static. "-did you say?"

  "I'm in a vault! Someone locked the door!" He moved around the room, leaning as close as he could to the door, hoping it would improve the signal.

  "-Lucy Porter?"

  Tay frowned, not understanding his friend's words. "What did you say?"

  "Did you get my fax?"

  The fax. After Dawna had crumpled it all up and fired it at him, all he'd done was scoop it up. "What did you send?"

  "-newspaper article. She's linked to Chayo. And her son's-" Static cut off his words.

  Tay screamed into the phone. "Call the embassy here! Tell the vigilante where I am. The code is two-three-six-four-nine-nine."

  Total static. Tay strained to listen, but there was nothing but grating static. He sagged. "Hope you heard me, Andy," he muttered as he shut off the phone.

  There was nothing to do but wait. Listening past his own erratic breathing to the sounds outside the office, he stayed stock still.

  As he stood there, the truth seeped into him. Lucy Porter. Manuel Chayo. A son.

  The accident that took her husband's life.

  That was it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Dawna's empty stomach growled in complaint. She ignored it for the moment, not only because she was still struggling to haul down the boxes of files, but also because she planned her own private supper while she read through the file of every single person who worked here at the embassy. Without Tay.

  She grunted, absorbing the weight of the first box as it slid off the top shelf. She would pull Ramos' file first. And read it again.

  The other employee records would be next. She'd pour over each one a thousand times if she had to. She wasn't going to leave this embassy until she knew who was responsible for the attempted murders.

  Her stomach ached. She dropped the box on the table in the bomb shelter's kitchenette, deciding to satisfy her hunger first. Although, part of the gnawing in her belly could very easily be attributed to Tay's betrayal.

  Forget it. Forget him. He'd proved again he couldn't be trusted.

  She grabbed a slice of hard bread from the freezer and smeared Cheez Whiz on it. It was icy cold on her front teeth as she bit into it, but if it stopped the growl in her stomach, she didn't care.

  Swallowing, she dropped the half-eaten slice onto the cutting board and went to retrieve the other file boxes.

  Lucy met her in the narrow hallway.

  Dawna jumped. "What are you doing down here?"

  The older woman smiled. "I heard you tell Mr. Hastings you were coming down here. Need some help?"

  Dawna flicked up her eyebrows. "You're s
o polite, Lucy. Admit it. You heard us arguing and you're curious about it."

  "A little, but I would never interfere. It's a private matter between you two."

  Today, Lucy wore a pair of blue pants and a neat blue jacket shirt, in a similar color to the pant suit Dawna wore. Over her shoulder was an oversized purse.

  Dawna frowned. Lucy was from the old school of secretaries. Plain skirts, modest blouses, nothing brighter than a dark green or blue. And never with a purse bigger than the attaché case she took her work home in.

  So why such a casual outfit? Was she going somewhere?

  Dismissing the question, Dawna glanced at her watch. "It's late. You don't need to help me. Mr. Taylor's worked you hard enough today. Go home and rest." She dragged a small step ladder over to the back shelf.

  "I'm fine. A bit restless, what with the ambassador lying in bed, unable to work."

  Dawna stopped reaching for the boxes and peered down at Lucy. She wasn't embarrassed talking about the ambassador this time, or at least in the dim light of the storeroom, it didn't show. She was, however, anxious.

  "He'll be back to work soon, don't worry."

  Lucy watched her. "He told me he'd come in tomorrow morning."

  Dawna found the box she wanted and pulled it halfway out. It was higher up than the refugee claimants. Balancing the brass cornered box above her head, she looked down at Lucy. "Were you talking to the ambassador today?"

  "He called."

  "When?" It had been several hours since Dawna had been over to his home.

  Lucy didn't answer right away. For a tense moment, Dawna looked down at her, wondering what Lucy was waiting for.

  The air around them changed, and not for the better.

  She shifted the box to take more of its weight. "When did he call you? Since Tay and I spoke to you?"

  Lucy peered up at her. "Yes." Despite the obvious tension in the storeroom, Lucy seemed eerily calm.

  A shiver ran up Dawna's back. She frowned. "He called to tell you when he was coming in?"

  "Among other things."

  "Like what?"

  "Personal business, Dawna." A small, controlled smile spread over Lucy's lined face. A face that looked so ordinary and yet, bore a familiar air about it, if that made any sense at all.