Hot Target

by Marliss Melton

  She noticed a reflection in the glass of someone standing well behind them. The sparse shock of white hair, the distinct shape of the man's head, caused Juliet to suck in a breath. She whipped around to find the person she'd just glimpsed. Hans Coenen?

  All she saw was the back of a head as someone strode out of sight behind the staircase. Ignoring Tristan's puzzled call, she gave chase, her heart thudding in the expectation of confronting Coenen for a second time. Had he followed them? Seriously, was he stalking her even now?

  Rounding the staircase, hearing Tristan right behind her, she drew up short, searching the aquarium's crowded lobby. The man she'd seen had disappeared into the crush of visitors.

  Maybe she'd imagined him. After all, there'd been no indication Coenen had followed them farther than Rockaway Beach. He would have had to linger long enough to see them swap out vehicles.

  Tentacles of fear reached into Juliet's brain.

  "Hey." Tristan curled a hand around her elbow, pulling her around. He searched her distracted face before looking around the lobby. "Did you see something?"

  Her imagination had to be running amok due to lack of sleep. No one in the crowd remotely resembled Coenen. "No."

  The feel of her phone buzzing in her purse provided an excuse not to discuss the matter. Pulling it out, Juliet noted the unfamiliar number. "I think this is the FBI getting back to me." Glancing around for a quiet place to answer the call, she spied a set of glass doors behind them leading to a quiet patio overlooking the bay. "I'm going to take this call out there."

  Tristan had caught sight of the touch pool just inside the doors. "I'll be right here," he said, causing her to glance at the stingrays circling the shallow water. "Stay where I can see you."

  She nodded at him, answering the call at the same time. "Hello," she said, pushing through the door onto the sunlit but chilly terrace. The breeze from the bay threatened to snatch her voice away.

  "Mrs. Whitby? This is Renata Blumenthal from The People's Eyes Mural Center."

  Renata's accent, so like Juliet's mother's, stirred her emotions.

  "Oh, yes. Hello, Ms. Blumenthal." Juliet hadn't honestly expected the woman to call.

  "How is your vacation going, my dear?"

  "Great, thanks."

  "Sorry it took me so long to identify the artist who painted the mural you inquired about."

  Anticipation pulsed through Juliet as the door clicked shut behind her. She pressed her phone to her ear to hear over the cries of seabirds. "You found him?"

  "It's the work of a local artist who passed away two years ago. His name was Peter Goyle."

  Victory buoyed Juliet's spirit at the confirmation that they'd located Dieter Goebel's final stomping grounds. Now if only they could connect the spymaster to Hans Coenen, they could attribute a motive to her parents' killer. "Sorry to hear he passed away. He must have touched the lives of many people through his artwork."

  "Oh, I'm sure he did. I also discovered some of the other murals he painted. Why don't you come back this way, and I'll point them out to you in a private tour."

  "Oh, that's so sweet of you." Juliet paused to consider the woman's intent. Why would she go out of her way to appease the Whitbys' curiosity? Would it gain Juliet and Tristan anything to look at Goebel's most recent paintings? "We might do that."

  "Lovely," Renata exclaimed. "I'll put you down for the day after tomorrow in the morning. Would that work for you?"

  "Um... sure." Juliet figured she could always cancel if neither Hilary nor Tristan saw any benefit to meeting the woman again.

  "I'll see you Thursday, then. Shall we say ten in the morning?"

  "Yes." Juliet made a mental note to put it on her calendar. "Thank you," she tacked on.

  "You're most welcome, dear. See you soon."

  "Bye." Thumbing the call to a close, Juliet let the wind whip her loose hair as she reflected on Renata's invitation. The woman had confirmed the intelligence Hack had gleaned from some mysterious source. All the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

  Hearing someone approaching behind her, Juliet mustered a polite smile and stepped aside to allow access to the door. A powerful hand closed without warning around her upper arm. Turning her head, she gasped her dismay as Hans Coenen plucked her cell phone from her grasp and nodded toward Tristan.

  "Look."

  Following Coenen's gaze through the glass, Juliet realized that Irena Kapova was standing close behind Tristan, who watched in fascination as the stingrays were being fed. Returning Juliet's mystified gaze, the woman drew a glinting stiletto from the pocket of her fawn-colored jacket then tucked it out of sight again. The message was clear. Tristan was not to be involved.

  "Let's talk," Coenen suggested, tugging Juliet away from the door and windows, out of sight from Tristan, who was reaching to pet the stingrays. "No need to provoke, my comrade. She's a tad unstable, that one." Coenen's conversational tone struck Juliet as entirely at odds with his reticence the day before.

  "What do you want?" she demanded, refusing to budge another inch beyond the corner of the building. "Why are you following me?"

  Coenen slanted her a chiding look. "I've come to warn you, Miss Rhodes." His expression as well as his voice conveyed concern for her safety.

  As the same time, his casual use of her surname caused a chill to sweep through Juliet.

  "I'm a reasonable man," he continued affably. "Having considered the allegations you made yesterday, I am compelled to take countermeasures."

  His words implied the subtlest of threats.

  "The accident that befell your parents was most tragic," he acknowledged.

  Juliet's thoughts flew to her surveillance device, lying useless in the pocket of her purse. If only she were wearing it now, for his words suggested he was well aware of precisely what had occurred, in spite of his denial at Rockaway Beach.

  "Yet you waste your time trying to prove my involvement." Coenen sounded like a father giving advice. "Should you persist in persecuting me," Coenen paused, turning his head and making her realize that from where he stood, he could still see Tristan and Kapova. Looking back at Juliet he added, "Let's just say the consequences wouldn't be worth it. My friend would take great delight in slitting the throat of a U.S. serviceman. She's also a crack-shot with a pistol."

  A buzzing filled Juliet's ears. Good God, Coenen had been behind the traffic stop the previous day. Worse than that, he'd just threatened Tristan's life! She felt her cheeks grow cold as the blood drained from her head toward her fast-pumping heart.

  Leaning toward her, Coenen whispered as if they were conspiring together, "She used to be KGB."

  That statement slid into Juliet's psyche like a ghost walking through a wall. The KGB hadn't existed since 1991, yet even today the acronym invoked fear and mistrust.

  Too shaken to respond, she stared at Coenen through dilated pupils.

  "I've kept you long enough." He started to hand her cell phone back, then appeared to reconsider.

  A cry of denial escaped Juliet as he hurled it over the railing. The sound of plastic shattering on the rocks below assured her the phone was now useless.

  "Have a good day, Miss Rhodes." With a nod, Coenen turned and walked casually toward the crowd thronging the outdoor steps to the Great Tide Pool.

  Dismissing him as he disappeared behind a troupe of teenagers, Juliet whirled back toward the glass doors. Tristan! However, Kapova had already vanished. Tristan still knelt at the pool's edge, thoroughly engaged in playing with the sea creature, blithely unaware of the threat that had just been issued.

  Seeing him unharmed, Juliet's knees went weak. She tugged at the door but found herself suddenly too feeble to haul it open. Belated shock rendered her lightheaded. She clung to the door's handle, drawing deep breaths to compose herself.

  To think that Coenen had braved the popular tourist attraction's security cameras to issue an ultimatum! If she persisted in her investigation of him, Tristan could wind up killed. And what
if he found out about Emma and Sammy?

  Coming from anyone else, Juliet might have dismissed such a threat as a ruse. After all, Tristan was more than capable of defending himself. But Coenen had been trained by the ruthless Goebel, so why would he bluff? As for Kapova, if she was ex-KGB, she might, in fact, be capable of slitting Tristan's throat if she caught him by surprise. She could more easily shoot him from across a parking lot. All the training in the world couldn't protect a body from a bullet.

  Tristan's job was dangerous enough as it was. The thought that she might be responsible for his death was unthinkable. "Hell, no," she breathed. Coenen didn't get to take the life of anyone else she loved.

  Oh, so you love him now?

  Oh, my God. She drew a sharp breath at the realization that—yes, she did. She'd probably loved him since the cruise. But in her stubborn refusal to get involved with him, she'd fooled herself into thinking otherwise. Looking at him now as he grinned down at the stingray he'd befriended, her heart swelled with emotion.

  He must have realized how much time had lapsed, for he straightened off the ledge and looked for her. Glimpsing her expression, his smile of fulfillment faded. He leaped off the ledge and hurried in her direction.

  What the hell would she tell him? Not the truth—she couldn't.

  If Tristan learned that Coenen had threatened her, he would stick to her like white on rice, if only to protect her. The possibility that Kapova might target him at some unexpected moment wouldn't even phase him. He'd be more concerned about Coenen coming after Juliet, whether she ceased her investigating or not.

  Opening the door between them, Tristan searched her pallid face. "You OK, honey?"

  The concern in his voice made her heart melt with love for him. Her nose tingled as the urge to cry overwhelmed her. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

  He stepped outside, letting the door fall shut behind him. "Was it the FBI calling?"

  She shook her head and sought a normal-sounding voice. "No, it was Renata Blumenthal."

  "Oh, her." His eyebrows came together. "What did she say?"

  "That an artist named Peter Goyle painted that emblem."

  Tristan shrugged. "OK, so we were right."

  "She invited me up to look at some of Goyle's other paintings, but I don't see the point. I think I'm done," Juliet added with a shaky breath. "I think I'm ready to leave now."

  His expression reflected confusion. "Already? We haven't even seen the IMAX movie about the rescued otter."

  He sounded so let down that she nearly relented. But realizing how hard it was going to be to push him away made staying any longer impossible. "I'm sorry, Tristan. I need to leave."

  She caught herself glancing in the direction Coenen had disappeared. The man would certainly be somewhere close, watching her response to their conversation.

  "What's going on, Juliet?"

  Tristan was watching her through narrowed eyes. His tone demanded honesty. The impulse to tell him everything rose within her with the force of a geyser. Still, she managed to repress it. Tristan would never back out of her life if he knew of Coenen's threat. He'd hover ever closer, making it impossible for her to ensure his safety while also resisting his effect on her emotions. She'd wanted to break up with him anyway. Now she had good reason to.

  "I'm done," Juliet repeated, forcing the words through a tight throat.

  He frowned and cocked his head. "Done with the aquarium?" he asked carefully.

  She licked her suddenly parched lips. "Done with my investigation," she said, searching for a reason to excuse her change of heart. Tristan had to believe his help was no longer necessary. "I've thought about it, and I don't see the purpose of going after Coenen anymore. It was Goebel who put him up to it. Coenen was merely the messenger. And Goebel is dead so... that's it."

  Tristan's eyes had turned to slits as he pondered Juliet's explanation.

  "There's no point to my being here," she persisted, desperate to make him believe her. "I have work to do at home. I think I'll head back today."

  Watching Tristan's face freeze over like ice on the surface of a pond, Juliet's heart gave a spasm of protest.

  "Seriously?" he demanded. Anger colored his voice. "I thought you were enjoying yourself."

  She had been—way more than she wanted to. "I did," she admitted.

  "What about us?"

  The question made her waver—until she pictured blood gushing from a bullet wound in his chest. She forced an answer through her aching throat. "I told you this from the beginning, Tristan. There is no us. I don't do relationships. Nothing can change that. Please take me to your dad's to get my bag. I'll take an Uber to the airport."

  Disbelief swam in his gaze as he stared down at her. "You can't do this," he finally said.

  "I'm sorry." She reached for the door, intending to haul it open.

  His palm struck the glass before she got the chance. "Wait."

  Startled by his vehemence, Juliet gazed up into Tristan's thunderous countenance and quailed. In her peripheral vision, she could see people watching curiously.

  "If you go through with this, I'm not going to come crawling on my knees, begging you to change your mind. This'll be it. You won't see or hear from me ever again."

  His words hit her like a fist to the gut, driving the air from her lungs. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him and sob I don't want to!

  Terror for his safety locked her trembling knees and grappled her emotions into submission. His safety took precedence over justice for her dead parents. After all, nothing would bring them back, not ever. Tristan, though, was very much alive, and she intended to keep it that way.

  "I understand," she managed.

  An expressionless mask usurped Tristan's frown. His lips thinned, and his eyes turned hard as marbles. "Let's go." He clipped the words out, pulling the door open and gesturing for her to precede him.

  His cold tone made her want to cry. However, sensing Coenen's gaze on her person, Juliet lifted her chin and walked back inside the building. Her vacation with Tristan had come to a sudden, heartbreaking end. It was better this way. He could move forward unaware of the threat against him. Sure, he'd be sad for a while. He might even hate her. But she had to believe he wouldn't be alone for long.

  She'd done the right thing. If only it didn't contradict every emotion pulsing through her body. So much for protecting her heart by keeping her distance. That rational about love not being real when it happened on vacation? She couldn't have been more wrong.

  * * *

  "Which airline?" Tristan asked as they neared Monterey Regional Airport.

  Juliet didn't respond right away. "United," she finally answered, her voice barely audible over the roar of a plane taking off.

  The tension was thick enough to carve. The two of them had scarcely exchanged a word since leaving the aquarium. He had driven Juliet to his father's house to get her stuff but had refused to make up some excuse for her abrupt departure. His silence forced Juliet to explain to a baffled Holly that her sudden decision to leave was because she'd decided to suspend her investigation. Listening to Juliet's excuse, Tristan wondered why on earth she would do that.

  Between their time together in Mexico and the last few days spent non-stop in her company, he'd thought he'd gotten to know Juliet fairly well. She wasn't the type to let an injustice pass. Nor was she flakey or flighty or prone to sudden changes of mind. So what the hell was going on? Something had happened that was making her act this way, only he had no idea what.

  "I'll call an Uber," she'd insisted when she'd come out of her bedroom with her suitcase. He'd watched her grub in her purse for her cell phone, stop, and look like she'd just remembered something.

  "Where's your phone?" he'd asked since she obviously couldn't find it.

  "Doesn't matter." Juliet shook her head, refusing to explain. "Maybe I can use the house phone."

  Her closed attitude made Tristan's temples throb. "How can it not matter?"
he'd demanded, chasing her down the hall. "You use your phone for work. If you left it at the aquarium, I'll take you back to get it."

  She'd kept her back to him, schlepping her suitcase down the stairs. "I accidentally dropped it off the patio. It's gone. Broken."

  What the hell? Her excuse was so blatantly a lie. Half an hour later, it still mystified him. How could she have dropped her phone off the patio and not mention it? Exactly what had he missed in those ten minutes he'd been petting stingrays?

  Had he said something earlier that she'd taken the wrong way? He wanted to ask, but he was sick and tired of her pushing him away. Damn it, he'd been celibate for six months simply to earn the right to date her. He'd helped with her investigation with the hope that time spent together would remind her of how great they got along. He had never felt as much chemistry with any other woman as he had with Juliet, and he probably never would.

  Nevertheless, neither his sacrifices nor his actions had gotten him what he wanted. Why should he further dent his pride by demanding an explanation?

  Slowing next to the curb at the terminal, he slanted her one final look. She had donned a pair of sunglasses and was gazing out the passenger window, her face averted.

  As Tristan popped the lever to open the trunk, she reached for the door handle, about to scramble free. In spite of his pride, he found himself grabbing her arm to delay her.

  "If I did or said something wrong, I just want to say I'm sorry." His gruff apology was a last-ditch effort to bridge the gap.

  She froze. Watching her profile, he saw her lower lip quiver. For a second, he believed she might turn to him and tell him it was all her—that she needed time to adjust to being with someone. Juliet's chest rose on a shaky breath. As she turned her head and looked him in the eye, he was pleased to see tears glimmering behind the lenses of her sunglasses. At least she was feeling something. His heart went into free fall.

  "Good-bye, Tristan."

  With her words, his optimism nosedived. She thrust her door open and sprang from her seat. By the time he arrived at the back of the vehicle, she was lifting her suitcase out of the trunk. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she set it on the curb, turned, and strode away, wheeling it behind her.