Femme Fatale (17 page)

“Have you got time to talk about this?”

Kylee pushed her breath out. “Not really. Nope. Don’t have any
Oprah
moments left.” She rose into a sprinter’s position in the blocks. “I’m moving. Paint me an escape route.”

“When you’re ready.”

“Go!” Kylee slithered through the open driver’s side window. Her palms scraped against the long scratches dug into the street stones, but she kept moving forward.

“Left!” Barbara commanded. “And down! Now!”

Without hesitation, Kylee threw herself left and down, rolling and coming up behind the Aston Martin. Bullets chewed through the car body as if it was plate glass, leaving a firecracker string of tears and dents as the shooter targeted her.

Automatic weapons,
Kylee thought.
You gotta love automatic weapons.

Another burst of autofire raked the side of the Aston Martin. The shooter had switched locations, or perhaps another shooter had taken up the slack. The bullets pushed Kylee to the other side of the sports car. Chunks of bright green metal tore loose from the vehicle. Broken windows rained chunks of safety glass. The left rear tire shredded and deflated in a rush.

Time to go.

Kylee gathered her nerve, leaped and heaved herself aboard the overturned Aston Martin and ran along the undercarriage. Surefooted as a gazelle, she sped toward the front of the car and made the leap toward the second-floor fire escape only six feet away.

She caught the wrought-iron railing with her right hand, managed a grip with the left and hauled herself over just as bullets chopped into the brick wall where she had been hanging. Rolling forward, she dropped into a prone position just as another blast of gunfire tore out the windows of the apartment overhead.

Kylee sincerely hoped no one was home, or that they had taken cover the minute the shooting began. As soon as the gunfire died down, she pushed herself up and ran
forward toward the end of the fire escape. She put her hands on the railing and did a handspring, wrapping her arms around her knees and performing a full somersault and a half with a twist that put her facing the wall when she landed in the alley on the toes of the boots to avoid the treacherous spiked heels.

“Look out!” Barbara called. “To your left.”

Wheeling, spreading her feet to set herself, Kylee saw a man with an Uzi turning toward her from the back of the alley.

So not good,
Kylee told herself. Amped up and jazzed on adrenaline, she moved at once. She picked up the round plastic lid of a five-gallon detergent container and ran at the wall on the other side of the narrow alley.

The guy had the Uzi up and yammering. Bullets tracked the stone floor of the alley as Kylee reached the wall and ran up it three long steps. Feeling gravity starting to take over again, she kicked out and sent herself backward in a tight roll. She came down on the balls of her feet as the sharp cracks of the bullets splitting the stone of the wall filled her ears.

Whipping the heavy plastic lid back, she threw the lid like a Frisbee from ten feet away. The lid sliced through the air and slammed into the bridge of the gunman’s nose.

Blood splattered and the man’s head snapped backward. The Uzi went up into the air.

Having executed similar moves in movies for years, Kylee crossed the distance in three long strides and caught the Uzi as it fell.

“Okay then,” Barbara said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Me either,” Kylee admitted as she started toward the back of the alley. “Don’t you watch my movies?”

“I’ve seen you in real action.”

“Well it doesn’t get any more exciting than this.” Kylee peered around the corner. “Can you steer me clear of this yet?”

“We’re working on it. The hardest problem is getting clear of the crowd so we can identify the shooters and keep you away from them.”

“I like that idea.” Kylee stepped forward, moving into a quick jog through the alley. She had the vague notion that she was headed back toward the hotel, but that was the only thing she knew to go back to. She remembered that Mick Stone had drawn fire from the shooters. Thinking of him lying somewhere, wounded or dead, made her heart pound and filled her with anxiety. “What about Stone?”

“He’s alive.”

Relief loosened some of the knots in Kylee’s stomach.

“Where is he?”

“We lost him in the confusion.”

Kylee turned right at the next alley, breaking free of a crowd that was headed in the other direction. The crowd separated and flowed around her, making an effort to avoid her.

“Going in the opposite direction as a fleeing crowd isn’t exactly a good rule of thumb,” Barbara said.

“I’m going where they aren’t,” Kylee said. “I could use some solitude about now. Especially since I don’t know who I can trust.”

Around the next corner, Kylee spotted the gunman the group had been running from at the same time he spotted her. He started to turn, a machine pistol in his fist. She lifted the Uzi and froze him into place for just a moment because she had the drop on him. Intending to put her point across more succinctly, Kylee aimed above his head and squeezed the Uzi’s trigger.

The machine pistol clicked. There was no explosion of gunfire, no brass spilling from the ejection port, no jarring recoil.

The man grinned.

Uh-oh,
Kylee thought.

Confident now, the man lifted his weapon and took aim in one reflexive movement.

Kylee turned to run, knowing the alley corner couldn’t be more than a couple of steps away. Instead, she ran into a broad chest and saw the pistol in Mick Stone’s fist as he thrust the weapon straight out.

S
taring at the big Australian, Kylee felt her pulse speed up even more. Standing there like that, he was indomitable, an irrevocable force of nature that would not be denied. In a flash of frozen time, she remembered how his body had felt under hers, how grim and certain he had been gazing across those pistol sights in Creepstof’s private berth aboard the catamaran. He wasn’t a man to turn from a harsh situation. No, she knew as she faced him that he would take any difficulty life gave him head-on.

Too bad you’re working for Creepstof,
she thought, then her conscious thoughts fled as the sharp sound of the pistol temporarily deafened her.

Mick Stone’s .45 barked three times in quick succession, a cadence that included a double-tap rhythm and a single shot on the heels of those.

She took a half step back from Mick. Dropping the useless Uzi, she swung her left elbow into his forearm.

Numbed by the blow to the nerve cluster at the base of
his elbow, Mick dropped the .45. His face darkened. “You’re crazy, sheila! What the hell did you do that for? I just saved your life!”

Kylee stepped back, holding both closed fists in front of her face, ready to ward off any blows the big Australian might want to send her way.

Mick reached for the pistol.

Sliding a foot out, Kylee kicked the pistol away, sending the weapon skidding. A small bubble of delight formed in her stomach when she saw the frustration and anger in his handsome face.

“Now that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve seen done yet,” Mick growled. He stepped toward the pistol.

Mirroring the Australian’s movement, Kylee remained in step with him, keeping herself between Mick and the pistol. Her peripheral vision revealed that the Australian’s bullets had slammed into the other gunman, dropping the man to a crumpled heap in the alley.

“What are you doing?” Mick demanded.

“Walk away,” Kylee said. She felt drawn to the confrontation with the big man. He seemed like an elemental force, a natural law of physics that she had to change or alter or cheat her way around like she did with any stunt that demanded her best. She wanted the chance to prove that she could be his equal, or more.

His face became stern, as if it was shaped of iron. “Like hell I will. That’s my weapon. Damn me, but I should have let him shoot you.”

“He wouldn’t have shot me,” Kylee said. “I could have gotten away if you hadn’t been standing there. I probably still could have gotten away.”

“‘Gotten away’?” The big Australian sounded as though he couldn’t believe it. “That’s not how it looked from where I was standing.”

“Then you weren’t standing where you needed to be.”

Mick’s jaw tightened and his dark rage showed in every line of his face. He started to move around her.

With no warning whatsoever, Kylee punched him in the face, snapping his head back and splitting his lip. With the way she had been mooning over his pictures in the hotel room last night, she felt a little vindicated.

Surprised, Mick stepped back. He knuckled bright red blood from his mouth. “I can’t believe I risked my arse for some thieving sheila.” He shook his head. “I really can’t.”

“I’m no thief,” Kylee said.

“Oh yeah?” Mick looked doubtful. “Well, you got a funny way of showing that. I mean, what with breaking into people’s places and such.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about breaking into
Guilty Pleasures
last night,” Mick said.

“That wasn’t me.”

A confident smile twisted Mick’s lips. “That was you, sheila. The moves you’ve got, they’re memorable ones. I saw you in action last night. I wouldn’t forget that. We were up close and personal.”

Get away! Get away!
The voice sang frantically inside Kylee’s head.

She turned to break away, intending to be gone before he even had a clue. Instead, a big hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her back around. She went with the pull, sweeping her left arm in, then back and out to knock his hand from her shoulder. He’d been overconfident, thinking that his greater size and strength would allow him to dominate her. She balled her right fist and powered it into his jaw.

Unfortunately, Mick Stone’s jaw appeared to have been
made of the same material as his surname. His head snapped around, probably partly because he gave ground before the blow to lessen the impact, but he moved automatically into a martial arts stance. He shook his head.

“You throw a pretty good punch, sheila,” he growled. His hands came up in front of him. “I got to give you that. But I’m not going to stand here and be your punching bag like some damned newborn joey.”

Kylee feinted another punch. Mick raised his right hand to block the blow. The move left him open for the front snap-kick that she slammed into his stomach. It was like kicking a stone wall. The Kevlar vest provided an extra layer of protection.

“You kick pretty well, too, sheila,” Mick said with a faint grin. He punched at her head with his left hand.

Kylee swept her right hand across, catching his wrist and deflecting his punch. She wheeled on her right foot, coming around in a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn, then bringing her left foot around in a heel stamp to the back of his knee.

Mick’s leg buckled and he almost fell. But he came back swinging faster than Kylee expected. She also noted the slight hesitation as he came around, recognizing the fact that he was unwilling to engage.

He’s holding back,
she thought as she let the blow skate less than an inch from her face. Her respect for his prowess went up. Normally the move would have stretched an opponent flat on his or her back and allowed Kylee plenty of time to get away.

The big Australian grabbed at Kylee and managed to get a fistful of the jean jacket. He reeled her in like a fisherman taking in a fish. She let him have her, knowing she couldn’t break away from the denim. Drawn into his arms, Kylee found herself face-to-face with Mick Stone.
She smelled his cologne, the musk of him, and felt the strength of his arms as he held her. Being held with her body pressed close against his wasn’t a totally unpleasant experience. In fact, if anything, the experience was entirely a little too pleasant.

He stood braced for an attack that she didn’t deliver, evidently prepared to handle any assault and maintain his hold.

“Damn, sheila,” Mick swore. “You’re a true piece of work, ain’t you?” He smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kylee insisted.

A roguish smile twisted Mick’s mouth. “And stubborn. I like that in a woman.”

Kylee wrapped her arms around Mick’s neck and let her body rest more heavily against him. “What else do you like in a woman?” She stroked his neck and pressed a miniature audio bug into place under his shirt collar as she leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth. She decided it was a good thing she had planted the bug first because the touch of his lips froze her mind.

He relaxed and gave himself over to her kiss, the soft, sensuous feel of her lush mouth.

Almost as tall as he was while wearing the stiletto boots, Kylee easily peered over Mick’s shoulder. Movement drew her struggling mind back to the situation instead of the physical pleasure of the moment.

A gunman peered around the corner of the alley. His pistol came up.

Mick evidently read her change in body language. He knotted his right hand in her jean jacket as he wheeled around, placing himself in front of her.

The gunman’s pistol sounded once. Mick took a stag
gered step backward as the bullet slammed into his chest. He growled like a bear, obviously in pain.

Kylee knew the pain was from the blunt trauma of the round striking home against the Kevlar vest she’d felt earlier when she’d kicked him. The bullet hadn’t penetrated flesh. But it could have. If the gunman had shot higher, he could have shot Mick in the face.

Mick Stone would have taken the bullet for her.

The thought was sobering. As was the realization that Mick obviously wasn’t working with the men hunting her. He had killed one of them, and the second had shown no compunction in the slightest of firing at him.

Kylee whirled and ducked out of her jean jacket. The maneuver was one of the simplest escapes to effect, and she was the get-away girl. She had a reputation to uphold.

And she had a mission to finish.

Thinking quickly, she drew the pop blaster from the drop-rig holster on her thigh. The weapon looked like it could have launched disruptor bolts that would have brought down star-cruisers.

The gunman scrambled behind the alley corner.

Mick turned around, the abandoned jean jacket in one fist. He looked at her, then at the .45 lying a few feet away.

“No choice,” Kylee said.

Growling inarticulately, Mick launched himself at the pistol as the gunman spun back around the corner and started firing again. Mick brought his own pistol up and fired twice, driving both rounds through the center of the man.

Before Mick could get to his feet, Kylee turned and fled down the alley, using her long legs to eat up the distance, tossing the prop pistol aside to get her arms into the rhythm.

“Talk to me, Oz,” she said as she rounded the next alley corner. “Where am I going, and how am I going to get there really fast?”

Kylee stood inside a gift store across the street from an open-air café in Prague’s Stare Mesto district. Long-bladed ceiling fans swept through the sluggish air of the noonday heat.

The sniping incident was almost four hours old. The Czech police were still investigating the scene, and Kylee Swain, Hollywood stuntwoman, was being sought after for questioning. Mostly the police seemed concerned for her safety, and the studio PR people were stating they feared that a terrorist cell had kidnapped Kylee. Barbara Price briefly considered closing down the mission, but no one else was in place to pull off the operation.

Creepstof Scherba remained a necessary link to finding out what Kapoch Egorov was up to. So far, Creepstof had remained aboard the catamaran.

Across the street, Mick Stone lounged at a table under the shade of a brightly colored umbrella. He’d been there for over three hours, for no apparent reason.
Like a lazy hound dog,
Kylee couldn’t help thinking with a mixture of disgust and frustration and anger.

Still she didn’t mind looking at him. Just lounging at the table, Mick was a sight to behold, and one that accelerated her pulse in a way she had never known before. Her lack of control infuriated her. No sane woman could possibly look at a man so potentially harmful to her with that kind of desire.

So okay—lust,
Kylee thought angrily.
If you’re going to think it, call it what it really is. He’s just a momentary bit of weakness in an otherwise orderly and sane life.
Well, somewhat orderly. And definitely sane. This, this is just an aberration.

All she needed was a day or two of separation from his immediate proximity and she’d be fine. Maybe a week. Surely no more than a month.

But she still felt her emotions warring within her.

A server in a tight blouse and an exposed midriff approached Mick’s table. She was obviously into heavy metal music, judging from the piercing and the tattoos on her ankles and the small of her back. Her dark hair, streaked with crimson and blue, stuck out around her head.

Mick talked and joked with the young woman. She stood in front of him, partially obscuring Kylee’s view, one hand on a deliberately outthrust rounded hip. They seemed content to talk forever.

Are you that shallow, Mick Stone?
Kylee asked. She crossed her arms over her breasts.
She is
so
not your type.

And Kylee had to ask herself when she’d gotten so sure of what type of woman the Australian bodyguard would want. Then she had to admit that was just wishful thinking because she didn’t really know him at all.

Except that he had stepped in front of her when the man had fired at her. Kylee didn’t know many men who would have done something like that, and even fewer who could have reacted fast enough to handle the threat.

Bottom line: he’d protected her.

Kylee sighed in disgust. She didn’t know what she was going to do with Mick Stone, but obviously the one thing she couldn’t do was ignore him.

“Is something wrong, miss?” the elderly shopkeeper asked at her side.

“No,” Kylee said.

“You see something you like?”

Kylee stared at Mick Stone. “Yes.”

Across the street, Mick threw his head back and laughed. Kylee was incensed. He was working for the bad guy. How dare he sit out there so carefree…and so, so, so
available.

“Do you want me to wrap it up for you?” the shopkeeper asked.

“I’d rather you bash his brains out for me,” Kylee replied.

“Miss?” Confusion registered in the old man’s voice.

“I’ll take this.” Kylee pointed at a delicate arrangement of glass flowers. The piece was actually striking. She’d noticed it when she’d first entered the shop.

“Wrapped?”

“Please.” The package would complete the touristy disguise she’d put together at the safe house Barbara Price had guided her to after the shooting incident. Returning to her hotel hadn’t been possible. She wore a dark wig, jeans and a printed blouse.

When the piece was paid for and packaged, Kylee tucked it under her arm and walked out of the shop into the heat of the day. She cussed under her breath, glad the earpiece was safely tucked into her handbag for the moment because she didn’t want Barbara to hear what she had to say. Mostly she cussed Mick Stone because he just didn’t seem to fade into the woodwork as he should have, but partly she cussed herself for being so interested in him.

I mean, so what if he has those moody cerulean-blue eyes and buns of steel and a smile that’s so close to a smirk I just want to pinch it off of his face while he’s looking at that waitress?

As directly as she was heading for him, Kylee fully well expected Mick to become aware of her at any second.
Instead, he seemed captivated by the young server who had launched into a salvo of body language hints that she was not only single but she was also definitely interested.