Hard Target Read online

  Not like how his life these past three years had been trapped in a neat, convenient lie capable of destroying any chance he had to ease his conscience and to help Dawna stop a terrorist.

  Chapter Three

  "Did any of the witnesses recognize the sniper?" Dawna asked Ramos in the local police station's interrogation room. All of the witnesses' statements had been taken, but she wasn't ready to leave. Not until she'd heard every last statement, seen every last piece of evidence.

  Ramos nodded to both her and Tay. "Si. Several people recognized him. And they all gave the same name."

  "But can we trust the policia to give us all the facts?" Tay asked.

  "I believe so," Dawna answered. "With no jurisdiction here, we can't demand anything, but the locals, including the policia, are quite helpful. We can trust them."

  Tay threw a glance at Ramos, who blinked innocently. Dawna ignored them. Tay was here, playing the suspicious cop only because this situation was more interesting than reading her latest version of fire orders.

  He certainly wasn't here because of some need to protect her, despite the worry which had flashed on his face down in the bunker. No, she wasn't so stupid to expect that again.

  She focused on Ramos. "And the name they gave was what?"

  Still standing, Ramos pursed his lips. It took a moment for him to answer. "Juan Cabanelos."

  He seemed a bit reluctant to tell her. Dawna glanced at Tay. Maybe he was right to play the suspicious-of-everyone cop. She looked back at Ramos when he spoke again.

  "He's an Aymara."

  "What's that?" Tay asked.

  For now, Dawna pushed aside the curious feeling about Ramos. "One of the native peoples here," she answered. "They'd been fighting for rights for years, but when an Aymara became president, they switched their fighting to keeping their lands and culture."

  She bit her lip. If this attack was politically motivated, then drugs wouldn't be the issue. But still, she refused to eliminate anything at this point. The drug cartels often sent bombs and bodies as messages just to make their point.

  Tay caught her serious expression and locked it. She fought the urge to lengthen the moment, to savor the riveting expression of those beautiful eyes, as she had savored it at the party three years ago. Her need for him was still as strong as the memory of slipping into his staff car....

  She threw off such thoughts and flicked her attention back to Ramos. "Do the police have an address for him?"

  Ramos' old face broke into a grim smile as he nodded. His reluctance had suddenly evaporated. "More than an address. They have quite a story, too. Cabanelos was one of the desaparecidos. The disappeared ones."

  Dawna's eyebrows shot up. The name was borrowed from Argentina's own civil violence. Like in that country, here it meant one who opposed the government and who had mysteriously disappeared.

  "I've read the history," Tay said. "The old government claims they don't know what happened to those people."

  Ramos pulled out a creaky wooden chair and sank down. "True." Looking tired and old, he dropped the small stack of papers he'd been holding in front of Dawna. "Our country has not yet been able to find our disappeared ones." His tone sounded both sad and bitter. "We don't have many of them, but one is too many."

  Dawna studied him. Ramos kept his eyes down, his dark, scruffy brows knitting close together. The subject must be a difficult one for people here. They'd won their freedom from tyranny, but freedom had a heavy price when loved ones disappeared. Maybe reluctance was what she'd sensed earlier.

  Still, this idea of political dissention didn't feel right to her. She remembered the ambassador's thoughts on the bomb. It felt personal to him.

  "Excuse me," Tay interrupted, his voice quiet and his tone respectful. "If my history serves me correctly, didn't that happen in the 80's? That was 30 years ago."

  Dawna sat back. Tay was right. It was a long time ago.

  Ramos nodded. "It's, how do you say it? A sore spot?"

  "Obviously, though, Cabanelos returned." Tay answered.

  Ramos flicked a small shard of ugly brown paint off the table in front of him. "Some call them the aparecidos. The appeared ones. No one we spoke to said they knew the story behind Cabanelos' sudden return." He looked up at Tay. "But one witness reported that Cabanelos had asked for refugee status at the embassy."

  Dawna straightened, fully alert. The embassy had quite an active Immigration section for being operational only a few months. "Did the witness know when he applied?"

  Ramos picked up the papers he'd thrown on the table and scanned them. "About three months ago, he thought."

  "At the beginning." Dawna looked at Tay. "There should be a record of his application."

  Tay caught her gaze and held it again. "But the staff didn't arrive until two months ago."

  "Remember, Lucy helped while she was waiting for the Ambassador. We may even have an official answer from the Immigration Department. They tend to work quickly at first as a show of good diplomacy." She paused, tearing her attention from Tay to face Ramos. "Most of the applications were accepted, which begs the question, why attack an embassy that accepted your application for refugee status?"

  "Maybe he was turned down," Tay suggested. "Ramos, stay here and translate the rest of the reports. Sergeant Atkinson and I will return to the embassy to see if we can find that file."

  Dawna bristled. Now Tay was ordering her staff around? Not for long. But what he'd told Ramos was exactly what she would have said. When Ramos glanced at her, she reluctantly nodded.

  After she called for the driver, she stopped Tay on the busy sidewalk outside. "Ramos is my employee. You're only here because this is more interesting than checking if I've written all the correct Standing Orders."

  Tay scanned the crowded street for a sign of the car Dawna had ordered. "Anything that affects the security of the embassy is my business."

  "But Ramos works for me, not you. Remember that." She drew herself to her full height, and although she was no match for Tay's tall stature, she made sure he fully understood her position.

  Tay turned his attention back to her. After a moment of scanning her frame, he asked, quite blandly, "Were you going to assign him a different task?"

  Not quite, Dawna conceded to herself. And only herself. "The reports would have been delivered to the embassy as soon as they'd been completed. Remember, we have a translator on staff. Ramos is a security guard whose shift is due to start in a few hours. He should be sent home to sleep."

  The corner of Tay's mouth lifted as he slipped on his sunglasses. "Then why drag him out here in the first place? You knew interviewing the witnesses would take hours. Ramos didn't need to attend them. You already told me you trust the local police."

  She turned away to scan the never-ending flow of traffic. They both knew she'd dragged Ramos along to act as a buffer, but there was no way on earth she'd admit that.

  Tay felt his smile fall away. He sure knew how Ramos must feel. He was bone-tired, too, and fatigue fractured his tight control. The glare of the sun against the concrete cut through his sunglasses right to the back of his eyeballs, reminding him he'd traveled almost the entire length of the civilized world without sleep. He needed a change of clothes, too. Dust covered him. But no way would he return to his hotel for anything. Dawna would no doubt be pleased he was out of her hair for a while.

  The armored car pulled up and he heaved open the rear door for them. Dawna slipped inside and scooted over when he climbed in after her. Leaning back, he listened as she told the driver to return to the embassy. His only glance through the windshield caught the distant Cristos statue high on the hill east of the city, its arms outstretched, its brilliant white practically glowing in the bright sun.

  "Tired? Or is the altitude bothering you?"

  He opened his eyes with a jolt, only now aware he'd shut them. "Just a little jet lag. I've had worse."

  "When?"

  "Paris. I-" He shut his mouth. Fool. Fatigue was loo
sening his tongue.

  "Paris?" Dawna arched her eyebrow at him. "When were you in Paris?"

  Damn that slip. His records, mostly at the MSGU in Ottawa, listed him as never leaving the country, or even the city of Ottawa for that matter. Dawna's unit still kept his name on the nominal roll; his position still filled on the organizational chart, that awful photograph of him still graced the front entrance at headquarters, beside the other instructors' pictures.

  She leaned toward him, her light brows pressing closer together. He caught her warm scent, now mixed with the smoggy heat of the day. "You've been to Paris?" she asked. "Who with?"

  He let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. He'd been alone in Paris, doing a job for the CIA. Sitting at a café, sipping coffee, watching the suspect. And stuck in a seedy hotel room on Boulevard de Strasbourg, wearing earphones, listening to the moron suspect in the bugged room next door have bumbling sex with a cheap, French hooker twice his age. He'd been alone the whole time.

  He forced out a broader smile as he shook his head. "Maybe it is the altitude. I just didn't expect it to bother me." Then he looked away, to pretend the conversation, the slip of his tongue, had no consequence.

  When he dared to look back, Dawna was staring out her window. Before they'd headed to the police station, she'd changed out of the torn pantsuit and into clothes she kept at her office. Though not as beguiling, the lightweight pants and soft, satiny shirt had an effect of its own. It would feel soft to the touch, he wagered.

  Yeah, he had to be tired. Tay focused on the busy city streaming by, all the twists and turns within the narrow city streets. Dawna's fresh perfume had faded, but now in the close confines of the car, it twisted itself around him like a silk cord.

  There was nothing in Dawna's personality that drew silk cords to mind. She refused to allow him even the smallest amount of control over her investigation. Her damn pride would never let her, either.

  He knew what needed to be said, here, now. "Dawna, I've-"

  Abruptly, Dawna twisted and peered out the back windshield. Her smooth, even features wrinkled into a sharp frown.

  "What's wrong?" he snapped, shoving away any immediate plans of forcing her to stand down from her position.

  She faced him, the frown melting into a bland expression, her hair parting naturally around the small bandage. "Nothing."

  Tay glanced over his shoulder. The usual mêlée of traffic surrounded them, their sounds muted by the armored plating. A blue Toyota truck followed the staff car before spinning off to the right. Tay didn't catch the license plate number or get a good look at the driver. Behind them now was a Fiat, its hood a flat mix of primer paints.

  The sun glinted off the Fiat's windshield, forcing Tay to squint. An old man with a wide brimmed hat was driving. A woman, probably his wife, sat beside him. They too, changed lanes and disappeared. And at the end of the long boulevard, stood that hill, and that blinding white Cristos statue. They'd done a 180 degree turn and he hadn't even noticed it.

  Tay faced the front. So what had caught Dawna's interest? What was she holding back from him?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back a fatigue-induced headache as they reached the city square close to the embassy. Just paranoia, he told himself. An occupational hazard from years of undercover work.

  "You were about to say something?" Dawna asked.

  The driver entered the courtyard and pulled around behind the embassy, finally stopping beside the rear entrance.

  Tay hesitated, refusing to demand that he take over the investigation in the close confines of this car, and within earshot of the driver, or others in the embassy. "Nothing."

  Shrugging, Dawna shoved open her door, climbing out before Tay or the driver could assist. Tay followed her more slowly. Oh yeah, he was tired. But he wouldn't allow Dawna to put too much distance between them.

  She stopped him inside. "Lock up your weapon."

  He'd been hoping she'd forgotten, but in retrospect, the hope was foolish. Dawna wouldn't forget.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the heavy car pull away from the door and he wondered again who she'd seen behind them.

  "All right," he said, pulling his weapon out of its snug, comfortable holster. He didn't want to secure it in the weapon's vault, but he didn't want Dawna to distrust him any more than she did already.

  "Good. Let's go."

  He followed her into the security office and waited as she punched her personal code into the keypad beside the vault door. The vault sat between her office and the security office. He knew the state-of-the-art system well. He also knew a small, concealed camera to his right was recording them. A light above the number panel flashed green and Dawna pulled opened the thick steel door.

  Stepping inside, she grabbed a clipboard from the top of an industrial cabinet to her right. "Sign your weapon in. The mag goes in the top drawer."

  Sighing, he unclipped the magazine and placed it in the drawer. Then he cocked the weapon and caught the bullet when it popped out of the chamber.

  "Thank you," Dawna said when he set his pistol on the rack of the tiny vault. "It's for everyone's safety."

  She was right, of course. Just because he'd written the Standard Operating Procedures didn't give him the right to disobey them. He had to be reasonable.

  Besides, she'd seen something on their way here. Something, he wagered, which may be important to the investigation. And refusing to obey SOPs wasn't the way to earn her trust.

  "Dawna?" he asked. "Did you notice something unusual about the trip back here?"

  "No." Her expression appeared so bland, he was half-convinced she couldn't possibly lie.

  Only half-convinced.

  Dawna squeezed past him to exit the vault. Quickly, he stepped out before she shut the door. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked.

  Tay's mouth curled into a dry smile. Easier than it was for her to trust him, apparently. He turned and walked past the vigilante monitoring the security cameras.

  "I'm looking for the earliest refugee applications," Dawna said, reaching Lucy's desk a few minutes after they'd stored Tay's gun. She put Tay behind her as if she wasn't bothered by him at all.

  Not bothered by him? What a total lie. Being in the vault with Tay sent all her senses scrambling into action at the same time.

  Lucy blinked at them. "The earliest refugee applications?" she echoed. "They're down in the bunker. When the Immigration Section arrived, I stored them with the provisional docs in the room beside the kitchenette." She smiled broadly. "But I also put them on a flash drive..." She turned toward her computer, but Dawna stopped her.

  "Don't worry. I would rather read the original applications, anyway." She returned Lucy's polite smile. "It's past six. The rest of the staff have already gone home. You should, too."

  Lucy glanced up at the clock. "Why, I had no idea it was so late. The ambassador left an hour ago." She tidied some papers on her desk. "I'd better call it a day."

  "You should." Dawna gave the older woman an indulgent smile. "The driver's still here. Would you like him to take you home?"

  Glancing around, Lucy grabbed her purse and her attaché case. She shot Tay a furtive look before switching off the computer and locking her filing cabinet. "No, thank you. I don't mind walking. It's faster, anyway."

  Dawna's smile widened. "Go home to your kitties."

  Lucy softened. "I wonder what part of the couch they've torn apart today. Now I know why the Sisters at the convent made all those cats stay outside."

  Watching the woman leave, Dawna wondered if she'd be like her in about twenty years. Alone, with only fussy, spoiled cats she'd adopted from a small convent in the mountains to keep her company. Lucy had been widowed for years, with no children, nor any family to tie her down. No wonder she'd taken a secretarial post in this distant country.

  Pangs of empathy hit Dawna. She only had Mom and Tanya, a dependent younger sister determined to bleed their mother dry, while Mom tried every meth
od possible to force Tanya to do something with her life. Everything except tough love.

  Straightening, she tightened her jaw. A dysfunctional family hadn't pushed Dawna here. She was here to keep the embassy safe. And she would.

  She barely glanced at Tay as she walked out of the office. "Come on. I know where the files are. If we both look, we should find the application in no time."

  She had no idea what a lie 'no time' was until she heaved the first box off the shelf and handed it to Tay. She'd never seen a box so full of files. And there were still two more beside it.

  "We'll read them in the kitchenette, starting with this box." She followed Tay out and into the next room. He dropped the box on the table and glanced around.

  She threw open the refrigerator and peered inside. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved." Deep in the back of the freezer compartment, behind some ice packs and a tin of ground coffee, she found a loaf of light rye bread. "I know just the thing to go with this, too."

  Tay gaped at the jar she pulled out of the refrigerator. "Cheez Whiz? I didn't know you could get that stuff here."

  "My mom sends it to me. I eat here more often than I eat at my apartment, so I brought it in." She scrunched up her nose. "The locals hate it. The only ones who are a threat to it are the ambassador's kids when they come here. That's why it's down here." With a butter knife, she pried two frozen slices of the bread apart and began to smear on the cheese spread. "Want one?"

  "Sure." Tay had already pulled out a thick section of files and split the pile in two. She handed him his snack.

  After setting down his still frozen slice of bread, he hooked his finger into his tie and yanked it loose. When he undid the top button of his shirt, a wayward curl of dark chest hair spring free.

  Those hairs had felt like spun silk between her fingers three years ago.

  Dawna snatched her share of the applications and dropped them as far as she could from Tay, which wasn't far enough in the tight confines of the kitchenette. Grabbing her bread, she flipped open the top file.

  Most of the bread was gone before Dawna let out a short cry. "I've found it!" She spread the application out between them. "Juan Reynaldo Cabanelos," she read. "Born June eighth, nineteen sixty-seven."