Secure Target (Elite Operators) (7 page)

“Time out,” he announced, stopping them short in their tense progress across the mall. “Let’s sit and talk for a second.”

He gestured to a high-backed wooden bench placed in front of a low, wide marble pillar adorned with a big glass bowl of orchids. Lacey dropped down on it stiffly, her arms crossed over her chest.

He felt the telltale vibration of his phone. “Sorry,” he muttered as he looked at the display. It was his partner.

“I’m sure you have a great explanation for that scene upstairs,” Thando began before he could even manage a greeting. “And I know you well enough to trust that you know what you’re doing, but you need to be aware that our American counterparts—particularly Detective Harris—are furious. They’re talking about sexual harassment and formal complaints.”

He cringed. Lacey glared at him from the bench. “I’ll fix it. Any sign of our man?”

“Negative.”

He ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“You’ll fix what?” she asked dryly.

He settled on the bench beside her and cast her a sidelong glance. Her face was set in irritation, her mouth pursed and her eyes glittering with antagonism. He was reminded of why he hadn’t bothered with relationships for years. He’d take a hostage negotiation over an angry woman any day.

“I took it too far upstairs. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission—I shouldn’t have kissed you at all,” he amended. “I apologize.”

She seemed to be turning this over in her mind. After a beat she spoke with much less hostility in her voice. “Will you get in trouble over this?”

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and was about to explain further when his phone buzzed again. He snatched it out his pocket, tapping his foot impatiently. “Yes?”

“If you touch her again,” Harris hissed on the other end, “I will have your badge so fast it’ll make your head spin. I don’t know how y’all do things in South Africa, but here in America we have standards of conduct, is that clear?”

“Understood.” He waited while the detective alternately threatened and scolded him. When the man’s anger had finally run down, Bronnik ended the call.

Lacey’s playful, amused expression told him she’d overheard some of the policeman’s noisier utterances. He hoped the sheepishness he felt didn’t show too obviously on his face.

“I know it’s petty, and ten years on I should really be over it, but Tilly was such a bully in high school. She was one of the very worst. I love that she’s probably calling all around town, telling people that that loser Lacey Cross has gotten herself engaged to a super-hottie from overseas.”

He couldn’t contain a broad laugh, both at the Americanism and its application to himself. “Super-hottie” made him think of a smoldering Brad Pitt, not a lanky Afrikaner.

“And why should that surprise anyone?”

She shrugged, stretching her legs in front of her as she leaned back on the bench. “I guess my life has always been pretty simple, pretty boring. There’s not much to me. I left college to take care of my mom before she died, and then went straight into the same job I have today. I’ve got a decent social circle, and that’s about it. Nothing worth traveling to the other side of the world for.” The eyes she turned to him were clear and frank, not self-pitying.

“I work, I run, I straighten the house, I do a bit of sewing, sometimes I go on underwhelming dates.” She shrugged. “But for the most part, one day is a lot like the next.”

“Yet you’ve handled the threat against your life like a seasoned professional. I have colleagues who couldn’t face down this situation as calmly as you have. In my mind, that means there’s quite a lot to you.”

Her lips curled into a barely perceptible smile. “Would it be weird to say I’m almost having fun?”

His phone buzzed again, and he looked down to where it rested on his thigh. It was Agent Carver. He rolled his eyes as he took the call.

“Look, Harris has already given me—”

“He’s here,” Carver hissed down the line, and every one of Bronnik’s nerves went on high alert. “Second floor, heading your way. Jeans, red sweatshirt with the hood pulled up.”

Concern clouding her eyes, Lacey put a hand on his wrist, but he held her at arm’s length as he scanned the shifting crowd of people moving above them on the second-floor terrace. “Someone needs to get Lacey out of here. Then we’ll let him come at me.”

“I don’t know,” Carver said hesitantly. “We can’t be sure he won’t prefer to stay with the girl. You may not be worth it to him if you’re not protecting her.”

“The plan was to expose her only as long as it took to draw him out. If we have confirmation that Hardy’s here, she needs to be secured.”

“Just hold her there until you have him in sight, and then we can extract—”

“Pull her out
now
,” Bronnik commanded, his jaw tightening in irritation. “I’m not leaving her in the firing line for another second, is that clear?”

Carver’s pause was loaded. “Thando’s on his way,” he said tightly, and hung up.

“What’s going on?” Lacey asked, but he was already reaching for his weapon, his gaze fixed on the shoppers overhead.

“You need to slowly make your way over to that store on your right. Keep everything casual. Thando will meet you there.” There was a red shirt—but that was a middle-aged woman in a cardigan. Was that a hood at three o’clock? No, a knit hat. His eyes searched for any sudden or jerky movement amongst the shoppers that might give Hardy away.

“What about you? Where will you be?”

“I’ll be fine. Just head into that store and look through the racks like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Everything will—”

A red-clad figure bolted between two kiosks and then was gone, obscured by three teenage girls laden with shopping bags. Bronnik tensed, his hand on the butt of the Beretta. He shoved Lacey in the direction of the store as the phone in his pocket buzzed—and by the time he registered the sound of the bullet, it had passed just over his shoulder, the flowerpot was broken and water and glass were pouring down his back.

Instinctively he bundled Lacey to the floor as screams broke out amongst the terrified shoppers. He shielded her with his body, grimly aware that he was giving Hardy the perfect opportunity to shoot him in the back. He twisted a glance over his shoulder as he answered his phone.

“He’s on the move,” Thando shouted breathlessly—it sounded like he was running. “We’ve lost the visual now.”

“You need to get Lacey away from me. We’ll give him a second chance to take me out.”

“There will be police all over here in a minute. He may not want to risk another attempt in the same location.”

Bronnik swore under his breath. “We have to try. Have Harris meet us at the loading bay on the south side for a visible handoff. Then we’ll see if Hardy takes his shot.”

He hung up and straightened, pulling Lacey up with him. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, her eyes wide but unafraid. “Just wet. You have glass in your hair.”

He raised his hand, but she took a step forward and reached up, easing out a jagged-edged shard and brushing it to the ground. She removed two more pieces as he ducked his head, and each careful movement of her slim fingers through his hair sent aching throbs of arousal pulsating through him. When she stood back and said she’d gotten it all, he swallowed hard.

“Let’s find my colleagues,” he instructed hoarsely. “Time to go fishing for a shark.”

Detective Harris met them at the entrance to the loading bay as agreed. “Thando and Carver are in place,” he said by way of greeting.

He nodded. “Take her somewhere safe. If nothing happens, we’ll rendezvous in an hour.” He withdrew the Beretta from where he had reholstered it at the small of his back, under his shirt, and checked the magazine. The sky was bright blue, and he squinted against the glare of the snow that still lay thick across the parking lot. It was freezing. He regretted leaving his coat in the car.

“Bronnik?” Lacey was lingering on the sidewalk, staring at him. “Please be careful.”

He hoped his smile broadcasted a confidence he didn’t feel. “I’ll see you later.”

He watched Harris lead Lacey to his car, their shoes crunching on the snow, and some of the tension flowed out of him as he watched the detective shut her door. Although he was still seething at the FBI agent’s reckless hesitation, she was safe now, and his temper eased with that knowledge.

Getting shot at was part of his job, so Hardy’s near miss didn’t faze him on that account. But Lacey was an innocent and surprisingly intriguing young woman just trying to live each day the best she could. He understood that better than ever. And he’d strangle the breath out of Hardy with his bare hands before he let him take that away from her.

The engine roared to life and Harris’s car pulled out of the parking lot, leaving him standing in silence, alone on the empty pavement in bright daylight.

There was no easier shot in the world.

Bronnik squared his feet and gripped his weapon.

“Come on then,” he urged through clenched teeth. “Do it.”

Chapter Six

The twenty minutes Lacey spent sitting in the front seat beside Detective Harris, sipping coffee in the parking lot of a fast-food chain, were some of the longest of her life. Bronnik said they’d meet in an hour if Hardy failed to show, and she was beginning to worry that another forty minutes of waiting would give her a nervous breakdown.

Her stomach was knotted, she felt on the verge of tears, and her thoughts were careening wildly as she tried to sort through her emotions.

If Hardy didn’t show, Bronnik would be safe, but she’d still be in danger.

If Hardy did show, Bronnik would be in danger, but he might be able to stop Hardy and then she would be safe.

And what if Hardy did show, killed Bronnik and then came after her next? Even putting it in such clear terms mentally had her choking back a sob and wiping furiously at her leaking eyes.

Harris patted her hand. “I know it’s scary, hon. But we’re all doing the very best we can.”

“I’m just worried about what’s happening back at the mall,” she sniffed. He passed her a paper napkin, which she figured was as close as he had to a tissue.

“Well, let’s just hope he’s been shot.”

“What?” Lacey was aghast.

“Hardy,” Harris clarified, looking at her in surprise. “Let’s hope they’ve shot him.”

“Of course,” she muttered. She felt the detective’s eyes on her.

“You’re worried about that policeman?” His tone was incredulous. “Lacey, Lloyd Hardy is out to kill you. That’s what you should be focusing on.”

She slumped back in her seat. She was in no mood for a lecture on what should and shouldn’t be occupying her thoughts just now.

“I have to say, I was appalled at how…
forward
he was with you earlier.” Harris shook his head disdainfully. “That wasn’t appropriate law-enforcement conduct at all. In fact, I’d encourage you to make a complaint.”

Lacey bit back a furious response. Bronnik was putting himself in harm’s way on her behalf at that very moment, a sitting duck waiting for a madman, and Harris wanted her to fill out a form.

“It was my idea,” she lied. “I got a little carried away with the cover story. It was no big deal.”

“Lacey,” Harris chided. “That’s not like you.”

“What’s not like me?” she tossed back. “Kissing a man I barely know? What’s so wild about that? Or is the only well-behaved Cross sibling expected to live a life of purity and obedience to make up for her waste-of-space brothers?”

Detective Harris crossed his arms stubbornly. “Now there’s no need to lose your temper. I suppose I just expected something different from you, that’s all.”

With an exasperated sigh, she twisted to stare out the window. People were coming in and out of the fast-food restaurant more frequently now that it was lunchtime, but she barely saw them. Her thoughts were full to bursting with Bronnik, the weight of him on top of her on the gym floor, the towel white and stark against his tanned skin, the brush of his thumb on her face and the sweet pressure of his mouth.

He could already be dead
, she thought with a fresh flood of tears. He could be lying on the cold pavement in the snow with a bullet through his head. And she was sitting here with a cardboard cup of weak coffee.

The degree of her worry for him was as surprising as it was overwhelming. She’d never been much of a romantic, had never been the head-over-heels type, and she’d been right before when she said she barely knew him. She didn’t know where he was from or where he lived—she didn’t know if he’d been to college or how long he’d been in the police force. Yet he’d already crept into her heart, and the prospect of never seeing him again filled her with a deep ache.

Which she’d have to get over. Because if everything worked out and this ended with Hardy dead and her life intact, he’d be on a plane to South Africa and she’d be back behind the desk at the dental practice, answering phones.

Harris’s radio crackled and he picked it up. There was a static-laden, coded exchange, and then he turned the key in the ignition.

“What’s happening?”

Harris shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just know I’m supposed to drop you at the rendezvous point.”