An Eye for Danger (42 page)

The barkeep jumped as I nearly mowed him down again.

"That the husband?" asked the guy. "He can't come back here."

"I'm not married for crissake," Sam muttered.

"I'll make it worth your while." My fingers played inside my bra as the bartender waited with dancing eyes. I pulled out a hundred.

He wiped his palms on the sides of his trousers. "We could get fired for this," he said, holding the bill to the light.
Buddy, that's the least of my concerns
.

With a grunt, Sam grabbed the guy by the collar and shoved him out of the storage room, shutting and locking the door behind.

Then he turned and slapped his hand on my lower back. "That's not where you put it. Ever." He pulled the Glock and checked the chamber, presumably to see if I was about to shoot my ass off.

With his hand still on the small of my back, he pushed me down the narrow aisle till we ran out of territory and faced a cement wall painted dingy white

I turned to speak, and he set on me with a long, suffocating kiss. Firm hands clenched my ribs inside the coat. His mouth felt on fire, his lips soft and moist, pressing but not bruising. Still I tried to slow him down. I could taste the salt left over from his marathon run hunting for me, feel the frustration of the wild goose chase I'd sent him on to find Stone, sense the penance he was paying for allowing me to think he was married. A thousand kisses delivered at once.

Easing off, he swept his hands up and down my back. "Just in case you forgot what that feels like," he whispered, nudging his forehead against mine.

My palms spread over his chest, holding him back from another round so my knees didn't collapse underneath me. The man had a way of making me forget myself, not to mention looming danger.

 "Tell me you're okay," he said, scanning my face.

"Alive is good enough. Daniels is—"

"I saw. And Higgins. More in the garage."

"Jesus. That's why the trucks never showed." I'd wanted to believe the team had betrayed us, not been assassinated.

"Security room's locked with two men slumped at the wheel." He kept talking as my eyes sank to the floor. "Hey, focus, I need to know how many you've seen."

"Just the sniper. I nearly got trampled by Troy, so maybe they're one and the same."

"Shit." Sam looked over his shoulder, like the bear was already lunging at him again. Washing a hand over his face, he regained his 'don't worry, I'm in control' composure. "Troy's no marksman. And a sniper can't shoot men inside the halls. So one man outside, one man inside."

"But they're not after me."

Sam's surprise paled my own.

"Stone's right. They took out the detail first."

"Stone's a liar. And he's probably our mole. Trust me, Troy and whoever's helping him definitely want you ghosted."

"Sam. I was standing right there, right in the window. A kindergartner could've shot me cold in a heartbeat. So why take out the team first? Shoot me and the game's over." I stared him down as he chewed the inside of his cheek, doubt creeping up on him. "And Stone could have shot me anytime he wanted. But he pulled me out. He saved my life."

Sam's stiff chin told me he wanted to be the only man who claimed that honor. "Someone leaked the plans, someone who knew the team. And he's the only one left alive, which speaks loud and clear to me. He shouldn't have been there in the first place." Sam removed his overcoat and slung it over my shoulders, adding his hat and scarf to my disguise.

"Then I wouldn't be alive. I'm telling you the mole and the shooter are still out there."

After a pause, Sam's gaze broke and his face bleached white. I knew he wasn't going to confess to me the conclusion he'd just come to.

Instead, his hand shot out for mine. "We don't have time for guessing games. Let's go."

"Wait. You know how to get rid of this, I assume." I set the pink phone into his palm.

A smile softened his face as he rolled the phone between his fingers, like he was reliving the intimacy of our conversation.

"And these," I said. The keycards, Stone's badge, his wallet. "This keycard is for employee doors, in case you need to escape."

He stared like I'd slapped him a second time. "What's your game, Jules?"

"No games, Sam." I unlatched Stone's Glock from my leg. "A lot's changed."

"I can see that." He looked askance at me, taking the weapon, grip first. As expected, he racked the slide, discovered the chambered round, and smelled the gun. "Not fired."

I shook my head. "And Stone had me pitted against you."

"You think I was the shooter?"

"You picked a hell of a time to show up."

"I came to pull you out of there," he said, his brows cinched. "The coat, the recording, months of evidence: they're all gone."

"But your case is lost without—"

"I don't care about the fucking case." He searched my eyes. "First get rid of the evidence, then get rid of the witness. Understand?"

"Don't worry. I'm getting out of here, so they're not going to find me." I held up my hand when he started to interrupt. "And you're not coming with me."

"Like hell. I can keep you safe."

"Obviously, you can't." I hadn't meant to shout. Or to strike below the belt

As Sam looked away, I shrank a little. But I was not going to be a needy female, and I was not going to get Sam killed. Those men who died for me had families, lives, happiness they'd never go home to.

"We're not separating again. So don't ask." He buried Stone's weapon in a holster under his arm and then tucked his own Glock in its usual spot.

"I'm not asking, Sam. For once, I deserve to choose what happens to me."

He planted his hands on the wall over my shoulders, caging me. "We stick together. You, me, Max. That's the plan."

"There is no plan. Everything's gone to hell, and you're a target now as much as I am."

"I can handle that."

"But I can't. This is your world, not mine. My luck will run out eventually, and you'll get caught in the crossfire, just like Daniels and Higgins and Raul. Just like..." Another exhale. "Knowing you're alive keeps me going, Sam. So I need you to stay alive. And that means getting clear of me."

"Damn it." He smacked the wall to my left, startling me. "You're not thinking straight."

Beats passed, his green eyes pinning me. Then he pressed into me, his whole body flattening me against the wall as his erratic kisses bruised my mouth.

After a moment, I stopped responding.

He slid his hand to the back of my neck. "Kiss me back."

"I'm going alone. You're not coming with me."

"Kiss me." Again his demanding mouth, but I turned to face the corner.

"I don't want you with me, Sam. I don't want you."

Speaking those words hurt only half as much as seeing their effect in his eyes. Getting Sam to let me go was tantamount to getting a cougar to release raw meat. Impossible. So brutal measures proved necessary. Still, I questioned my resolve.

Slowly, he set me down and pressed his forehead into the wall over my shoulder as I slipped past him.

"Max will do best with you," I said, straightening my shirt and the overcoat. "He's more like you anyway: stubborn."

"You won't make it," he whispered, his back hunched, his fists attached to the wall.

"I have money stashed, connections who'll help me. I won't be alone."

His body straightened and turned, his face creased with tension. "Kiss me, Jules."

My heart ached at the sound of his voice. I could barely think straight, and if I touched him again, I feared I'd never break this tie. The hatchet needed to come down. Maybe Stone had done me a favor feeding me lies to weaken Sam's spell over me. The resulting distance helped me step away from him now.

"I need to stand on my own two feet again, Sam. Alone. No more casualties because of me. The game ends here."

"Kiss me goodbye." His eyes glistened. "Like we should have at the hospital."

I swallowed, dropping my head and remembering the pain of being left behind, of leaving him behind. God, I hated that I was about to inflict that loneliness on Sam a second time. In one week.

"Kiss me, Jules." He pushed off the wall and stepped in front of me, and I lifted my face to him, tasted his warm lips. No pressure, no jagged edges, just a tender kiss. A final kiss.

Taking a breath, I rested my hand over his heart, his forgotten humanity that from day one shone bright as the North Star to me. "Remember this."

He nodded, gripping my fingers at his chest, squeezing his eyes like I'd just cracked open his ribs again. I never thought Sam would accept goodbye, not with Troy hunting me, but he let me turn and walk away.

"Wait." He pulled a wad of bills from his own wallet and an envelope with my old driver's license, debit and credit cards. "Let's just say that someone lost the paperwork to shut down your accounts. Pull the maximum from the ATM in the lobby store. They already know you're here, so you don't risk giving away your location. But use your ID only if you have to. These guys are plugged in everywhere. Cameras, computers, ATMs. Understand? Stay low, off their radar. No calls, no email. No family or friends. Nowhere you've been before."

I nodded.

"I'll hang behind to cover you. Get over the state line. No rental cars, no buses, just taxis. Pay off-meter and switch cabs often. State-to-state travel only. Nothing international. Whatever you do, don't go to the airport. They'll be everywhere now, waiting for you to make a mistake."

 I aimed for the door.

"Jules," he snapped. My instinct to heed when he called my name was a leash I needed to break. "You can't go to the police. Everyone's suspect now, even my own. That's why I couldn't break cover in front of Stone. That's why I couldn't confirm or deny Stone's charges. I never left the case. Understand? I never left you."

My hand took the door handle, my mind pleading for him to cease and desist tugging at my heart. The man was nothing if not ruthless.

"You know I'll find you," he said.

I opened the door. "Then don't look."

CHAPTER 30

I swiped Sam's sunglasses off the bar and took a shot of Vodka for myself.

"Hey, that wasn't part of the deal," said the bartender.

Wiping my mouth, I said, "Work the same shift tomorrow, and you'll get what he just got."

Grinning, the bartender looked Sam up and down. Sam growled back.

"Wait, I left the money on the storage shelf," I said to Sam.

Sam's lips pressed together in a flat line and he gave me a scolding look before running back to get the dough.

I locked the storage room deadbolt with the key left in the lock. "Let him out before that clock strikes the hour, and I'll report our little transaction," I said to the barkeep, pulling the sunglasses over my eyes and the hat down.

I slipped down ample hallways, the glam of their gold and black Art Deco furnishings casting the bloodshed upstairs in a surreal light. From the store ATM I withdrew the maximum from my accounts, enough to get me on a plane to anywhere else. My bra was growing uncomfortably full, my confidence burgeoning.

Cutting through the building meant passing through the main lobby, one without a street exit and added exposure. Before entering the banquet-size room, I hid behind an ebony column, one of four holding up the thirty-foot ceiling, and scanned for familiar or dangerous faces. Troy was nowhere in sight, but I'd be looking over my shoulder for him, and Sam, for years to come.

A man and a woman wearing blue uniforms paused at a reception desk that ran the length of the room. My alarms hushed when I saw their captain hats, their identical airline luggage, the miniature plan-shaped nametags. Airline pilots.

 I startled when a bellhop jumped from the hall and snapped for his cohort to bring up a cart to assist a trio of women huddled near their designer suitcases. His fingers could have been gunshots popping for all my brain knew. If my nerves wrenched any tighter I'd snap and run back to Sam, cowering. Not today, I told myself.

Rising ten feet in the center of the room was a century-old gold clock with a miniature Statue of Liberty raising her beacon of hope. I aimed for the clock as protection and continued scanning for obstacles, like the kind with guns.

Upholstered lounge chairs and giant palms littered the room, inviting drinks and casual conversation. Or hiding places. My eye caught the figure of a man sitting in one of the chairs. His height, wavy hair and square shoulders could have been Daniels. I willed him to turn, to see if Daniels' half-exploded face would stare back at me.

Gunfire blew overhead.

"Down!" Sam shouted, but I was already in freefall.

The floor came up fast on my chin, bouncing the cap and sunglasses off my head. The fist-thick carpeting was soft enough to keep my jaw from breaking, hard enough to knock the wind from my body. I rolled onto my side, giving my lungs a second chance at oxygen.

Women screamed, toppling their luggage as they scrambled to the hall. My eyes adjusted, turning the women's sideways run right side up.

"Go, go, go." Sam was rustling staff and guests down the hall to safety as he searched frantically for me.

The pilots dove over the reception desk, yelling for someone to call Security. Obviously, they didn't know the guards in the video room were dead. Or noticed the phones sitting above their heads.

 "I'm here," I called to Sam.

Successive gunfire chewed up carpet behind me, so I scrambled closer to the clock. The round marble and mahogany base seemed thick enough to withstand bullets but wasn't wider than two of me, leaving little room to maneuver if the gunman was in motion. Another shot, and a lamp exploded on a nearby coffee table. I slithered sideways to avoid an eyeful of glass.

"Jules, stop." Sam tucked on one knee behind a marble column. "Just stay put."

By then, I regretted giving him both guns. At the time, I believed them instruments of his domain—someone else's violence, not mine. More a threat to my mental welfare than a help to my physical one. After all, when I disappeared I could avoid face-to-face combat. And I was the master of avoidance; avoiding risk, avoiding life, avoiding attachments. Avoiding telling Sam I'd finally found my perfect shot.