Secure Target (Elite Operators) (22 page)

Her efforts at silence must have failed in some way, because Hardy looked over and, seeing that she was awake, curled his lips into a disturbing smile.

“Hello, princess.” The cool, serpent-smooth tone of his voice sent a chill dancing across Lacey’s nerves. “How are you feeling?”

Her heart was beating so fast and pumping so much adrenaline through her body, she thought she might faint, or throw up, or both. Her fingers trembled in her lap.

She wished desperately that Bronnik had told her what to do if she was captured—and then just the thought of him had tears welling in her eyes. How would he find her? How could he possibly get her out of this mess?

She forced a slow, rasping breath into her tight lungs. She had to stay calm if she was going to get through this. She had to be smart and strategic.

He would come for her. That thought was her anchor, and she lashed all of her flailing emotions to it.

Since she hadn’t had Bronnik’s interrogation resistance training—the dinner where he’d mentioned that seemed so long ago, the restaurant in Topeka so impossibly far away—and she had zero insight into the appropriate psychological tactics for serial killers, she decided honesty may be her best option, at least until she could figure out something else.

“I’m a little thirsty,” she replied finally, her voice croaking barely above a whisper.

“That’ll be the tranquilizer wearing off,” Hardy informed her matter-of-factly. He rose from the chair and walked across the room to a water cooler stocked with little paper cups. As he moved, she noticed he held his left arm awkwardly, presumably from the gunshot wound a few days earlier.

He came back with the cup and held it to her mouth. Lacey found the man’s proximity at once repulsive and slightly humiliating, but her throat was burning, so she allowed him to tip the water between her lips. When she finished he resumed his place in the chair and looked at her expectantly.

She could only think of one statement he might be waiting for, and it was ludicrous. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied cordially. He sat back and balanced one ankle on the opposite knee. “I suppose you’re wondering about tonight’s agenda.”

She bit back several sarcastic responses, figuring it wouldn’t pay to be facetious. She settled for a nod.

“Tonight”—he smiled, revealing a row of small, square white teeth—“we’re going to make your boyfriend very unhappy.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call him my boyfriend,” she replied frankly. She wouldn’t—would she?

Hardy raised a skeptical brow. “He brought you halfway around the world. He kept you at his house. He ran after the car like a maniac when I took you.”

Her heart soared with hope at this last piece of information, but she kept her face carefully neutral. “I don’t know how he feels—he hasn’t told me. Anyway, does it really matter? He wasn’t involved with any of the other women you killed, as far as I know.”

Hardy’s smile was broad. “I’m almost sorry that it’s you, Lacey Cross. You have so much more spirit than the others. I might have even let you go after the last time, if you’d been smart enough to leave well enough alone.” His face suddenly darkened and twisted, and his voice became a hiss. “But no, you went straight into his arms. Right there on the floor, right in front of me. He was all over you. It was disgusting.”

He leapt up from the chair and began pacing the room. “That stupid farm boy, swooping in thinking he’s some kind of hero, strutting around with his fancy toys,” he muttered, seemingly half to himself. He spun to face her, his eyes practically glowing with venom and hatred. “He hasn’t done much of a job saving you, though, has he? He’d be full of holes if you hadn’t picked up the moron’s gun.”

He cackled, apparently delighted by the memory of the tussle in Dr. Woodward’s office. She kept quiet, although a clammy chill had settled over her skin, and she was shivering involuntarily.

“It was a mistake,” he spluttered, his forefinger stabbing the air in front of him. “The first one was a simple mistake, and if those arrogant freaks in the homicide unit hadn’t labeled it a murder in their petty report, none of us would be here. They’d still be chasing petty thieves and carjackers, and I’d buying cocktails in Mauritius with fake bills. And then, to send that meathead Mason and his Task Force cronies charging after me? The police are practically begging me to kill you.” He threw up his hands in frustration.

Lacey must have frowned, because in the next instant Hardy was on his knees in front of her. “She just made me so angry,” he said pleadingly, his palms pressed together. “She humiliated me, and she had to suffer. But I realized straightaway that what I’d done was wrong, and if the police had just been willing to listen, to hear me out…”

His voice trailed off as he gazed down at the carpet. She swallowed hard. The full extent of Hardy’s insanity was becoming clear, and it was terrifying. There was no telling what he would do from one minute to the next. She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds and said a silent prayer that Bronnik was already on his way.

“Anyway,” Hardy said, collecting himself as he stood up and brushed off the knees of his khaki pants. His uncanny smile was back. “I suppose you think that big, dumb blondie is going to save you.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she replied with absolute honesty. Hardy reached out and stroked her cheek with his finger, and it took every shred of her will not to recoil at his touch.

“Let’s give him a call, shall we?” Hardy lounged against the reception desk at her right and took a phone from his pocket. He dialed a number and pressed a button to put it on speaker. The tinny ring on the other end echoed in the empty room.

“Hello, Lloyd,” Bronnik’s voice rang out from the speaker. Just the sound of it made Lacey want to sob and scream for him to save her, and she worked hard to keep as still and silent as possible. She knew it wouldn’t be wise to agitate Hardy any more than he seemed capable of doing all on his own.

“Evening, Sergeant. How are you?”

“To be honest, I’m a bit upset.”

Hardy caught her eye and smirked.

“You vandalized my car,” he continued, and Hardy’s attention snapped back to the phone. “The wiring in the steering shaft is a complete mess now. That vehicle is a lovingly restored 1995 Land Rover Defender. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find replacement parts for a car like that?”

Hardy’s face was knotting in irritation. She hoped desperately that Bronnik knew what he was doing. “I’m sure you can have it reimbursed as a professional expense,” Hardy shot back impatiently. “Now perhaps we can address the matter at hand?”

“Yes, I suppose we can. What did you call to tell me?”

“I have your woman,” Hardy jeered proudly. “And if I’m feeling charitable, I might tell you where we are. Not that that’s likely to do you any good, though, when all is said and done.”

“I want to speak to her.” Bronnik’s words were clipped and firm, and any trace of humor was wiped out.

Hardy’s lips quirked. He was enjoying this. He wanted Bronnik to make demands, and he wanted to be in control of whether or not they were met.

“I’m not sure that’s part of the bargain.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I have some assurance that she’s all right.”

Hardy sighed in exasperation.

“Oh, all right then.” He nodded to her. “Go on, say something to your idiot boyfriend.”

Her mind raced. Could she somehow give him a clue to her location? Tell him something about Hardy that would help him find her? This could be her one opportunity to save herself. Her throat went dry as she felt panic rising in her chest.

She managed a plaintive, “Bronnik,” and her voice cracked tearfully on the first syllable. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath and steeled herself. She had to be tough so he could be tough. When she spoke again her tone was even and unwavering. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt.”

“Not yet, at least,” Hardy added with a chuckle.

There was a prolonged, dangerous silence on the other end of the line.

“Tell me what you want, Hardy.” Bronnik’s voice was flat and utterly devoid of emotion. If anything, he sounded disinterested. He would come for her, wouldn’t he? She felt the anchor of her hope beginning to come loose and start to drift, and with it came a dizzying mix of emotions.

“I want you, Sergeant Mason,” Hardy replied with a sick smile. “Just you. None of your little Task Force friends, and you know I’ll be checking to make sure you don’t try to sneak any in. I know how you pathetic men like to travel in packs.”

“Anything else?”

“No weapons. No Kevlar, no blades, no guns.”

“Fine. Where am I headed?”

As Hardy spelled out the address, her hysteria rose again. The call was ending, this was her last chance to communicate something, anything, to Bronnik—but what? She wanted to tell him she loved him, that even if she never saw him again she wanted him to know that. It would enrage Hardy, but it would be worth it. Resolute, she opened her mouth and drew breath to speak, but just as the words began to form in her throat Hardy pressed a button and ended the call.

What was left of her optimism dissolved and vanished, leaving only fear and despair in its place. Bronnik was coming here with no backup and no weapons. And if he decided he felt like it, Hardy could kill her at any point.

Hardy turned to her with an eager grin, withdrawing a knife from a sheath on his belt. “Now we wait.”

Bronnik looked down at the phone and pressed a button to clear the display panel. Then he hurled it at the cinderblock wall. It shattered on impact, sending a shower of plastic shards raining down noisily on the floor.

“Mason,” Thando admonished sharply. “That’s enough. Get hold of yourself.”

“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered hotly, ignoring his partner. “If he thinks telling me not to bring a gun is going to change that, if he thinks I couldn’t do it with my bare hands, he’s never been more wrong.”

Thando scrubbed a weary hand over his face. Dassie looked down at the floor. There were ten operators in the overlit, white-walled room and Bronnik knew they all thought he was insane. He’d seen their eyes flicking back and forth, full of secret meaning, as Thando had briefed them on the situation while Bronnik sat by his side, fuming in silence. He knew there would be whispers in the canteen, in the corridors, on the firing range, that Mason had come unhinged. He chased this guy for six months, they’d say, until he fell for one of the women himself, like a fool. He tried to run down the car until they found him on the sidewalk, they would whisper, slumped right there on the pavement.

He knew what they thought. And he didn’t give a damn.

“I am going to kill Lloyd Hardy,” Bronnik repeated, loudly, enunciating each syllable. “I swear to God, he will by dead by dawn.”

“Better hurry then.” Warren pushed into the room, shutting the door behind him. “It’s getting late.”

“Has everyone on this force gone mad?” Thando threw up his hands. “Copley, you should be in hospital.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, ripping the admission bracelet off his wrist as he spoke. “It was just a fast-acting tranquilizer. Amateur, really. He got very lucky.”

“You did get a shot off before you went down,” Dassie noted. “Put a nice hole in Mason’s wall.”

Warren pursed his lips in annoyance. “Let’s talk about something else. What’s the plan?”

“Mason just spoke to Hardy,” Thando explained. “Hardy wants him on the scene alone, no weapons. He gave us an address.”

“So I’m going to drive over there and break his neck,” Bronnik informed him.

Warren rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re not. Are we thinking concealed backup? Roof entry? Is there a map of the building?”

Warren’s dismissal turned Bronnik’s already simmering rage into a rolling, consuming boil.

“Why is no one taking me seriously?” he addressed the room at large. “This is not a game—there’s a woman’s life at stake.”

“We know it isn’t,” Warren said, in the tone adults use for explaining things to children. “That’s why we need to be sensible.”

“Sensible?” Bronnik’s laugh was hollow and bitter. His anger had built to such a consuming level, he felt he didn’t even know these men anymore. There was no way they could understand what he was going through. This was just another routine hostage situation for them. None of them had any idea what he stood to lose, when he’d only just found it.

He advanced on Warren, poking a finger in his chest to punctuate his words. “I don’t have time for sensible,
jou naaier
,” he cursed vehemently. “I have to get in there and take what’s mine.”

Warren laughed in his face, and it took everything in Bronnik not to haul back and punch him. “I’d like to see you try.”

White-hot rage coursed through Bronnik’s veins. His hands clenched at his sides. Warren stepped closer.

“Do it,” he whispered. “I know you want to.”

He narrowed his eyes. The room around him had gone tense and silent. The last remaining part of his logical brain wondered what Warren was playing at. The rest of him just wanted a fight.

Before he could even register that his friend had moved, Warren pulled back and slapped him across the face. Hard.