Hard Target (14 page)

Straightening his cuffs, Downing caught Simon’s lip curl. “At least I didn’t make her perform for you.”

Without invitation, Simon sat at the end of the long table, putting distance between himself and Downing. Downing, in turn, went to a glass sideboard and poured himself a brandy.

“I would’ve bet on bourbon,” Simon said.

Downing’s long fingers, carefully manicured, curled a little tighter around the glass. “I never took you for a betting man.”

“Well, I’m betting right now that one of your boys has a gun pointed at me through that two-way mirror.” Time to unmask the villain. If he were lucky he’d get a Scooby Snack when this was over.

“There’s a difference between betting and common sense.” Downing took a sip of the amber-gold liquid. “And up until today, I credited you with an abundance of the latter.”

Shit.
This was definitely about Alex being a fed. Going for blasé, Simon managed only blank. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“It seems I made a little wager of my own…and almost lost. I don’t like losing.” Downing waved one hand negligently toward him. “Tell me, Dr. Jakes. Which envelope did you bring with you?”

Simon glanced to two white envelopes at the opposite end of the table. “Considering you have the other two, I think you know.”

“So you’re with me?” Dying embers of sunlight winked over Downing’s cufflinks, sending shards of red light skittering across the room.

“I’d be a fool not to be.” Simon hated stating the obvious, but he did so anyway.

Downing settled himself into the leather conference chair nearest Simon’s. “Then why don’t you open the envelope?”

He pulled the folded square of the envelope he’d chosen from his back pocket. The sound of tearing paper accompanied the cut of the fibers through Simon’s index finger. He ignored the pain and slid a card from the envelope. Blood dripped onto the surface.

Provide me intelligence on security surrounding the July 29th presidential awards gala at Carnegie Hall.

Well, that was easy enough. Though it meant he’d have to continue to work for the FBI…with Alex. Shit.

“How will you know I’m not lying?” Simon let his tongue get ahead of him.

“Because then you’d be against me.” One side of Downing’s face managed a smile. “And you didn’t choose that option. Did you?”

Simon kept his poker face, but barely. He’d always been shit at undercover ops. Even the CIA knew it and had chosen to use him instead for hacking most of the time. The few times he’d fired a gun outside of training had been at a particularly stubborn deadbolt or a swarm of rats in a sewer he’d crawled through.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you read this one?” Downing rose from his chair and slid the AGAINST ME envelope across the tabletop. “I’m prepared to be generous and let you change your mind.”

Following Downing’s track across the room to the bank of windows, Simon tore open the second envelope. What fell out made red smear his vision. Somehow, when that red cleared, he found himself on the carpet with the heel of a boot on his windpipe. A gun pointed at his head.

The guard. Where the hell had he come from?

Downing stared down at Simon and tsk-tsked. “Never fight when you’re angry. You know better than that.”

“Leave my sister alone.” Simon ignored the pressure on his throat.

The photo that had fallen from the envelope showed his sister with a male nurse holding a garrote just outside her vision. More little girl than woman, his sister’s mental faculties had regressed to that of a two-year-old after the accident. All innocence and vulnerability, she’d stared up at him from the picture. He hadn’t seen her in years only because whenever he left her she went into a fit so intense, the exertion put her in danger of an aneurism. Seeing her now, like this. So vulnerable. It made his head spin and his guts turn to molten ore.

“There’s no reason to be upset, Dr. Jakes.” Italian leather flashed in Simon’s peripheral vision as Downing paced by him. “But why don’t you take a peek at the third envelope while you’re still down there. Just in case you have another unfortunate lapse in manners?”

The envelope landed on his chest. Rough carpet fibers abraded Simon’s palms as he clenched his hands into fists.

“Just so we understand one another,” Downing prompted. “Go on. Read it.”

Simon tore the envelope open, careless of the contents. Pieces of a love letter he’d written to Alex, stolen from her apartment, some bamboo shoots and electrical wire fell out. Simon breathed deep as he vowed, when this was all over, to kill the man standing before him. Drawing a mantle of icy calm around himself, Simon met Downing’s considering stare once more. Three more seconds and he’d upend the bastard standing on his throat and give the game away entirely. “Are we done here?”

“You have until tomorrow evening, nine p.m., to get me the information.” Downing grinned fully now, thinking he’d won. “And you have my permission to play double agent. I know the FBI is like hot wax. Once stuck to your skin they don’t come off without a little pain.”

“Clever.” Simon sat up. He cleared his throat and took in the glittering New York City skyline. “And unfortunately very true.”

“We have a deal?” Downing asked.

“Yes,” Simon answered, no room for humor remaining amidst his hatred. “We have a deal.”

“What have I done?” Alex dropped her head into her hands.

Red LED blinking like an accusatory beacon, Simon’s old laptop rested on her desk, charging. How she’d stolen it from the evidence room didn’t matter as much as the deed itself. She could return it before anyone found out, but she doubted Gary Tilson would thank her for letting him know his car alarm had gone off for a second time that hour. When he’d asked her to man his post she’d said yes, then proceeded to plunder the boxes from Simon’s arrest.

Since the information he’d allegedly stolen happened to be from the FBI databases, the Bureau had claimed ownership of the evidence after Simon’s trial. Though the CIA had argued long and loud, the Justice Department ultimately assigned custody of the evidence to the FBI. Alex peeked between her fingers at the hotly contested piece of equipment. No doubt it’d send a signal to the CIA the second she booted the drive, despite the fact it was Simon’s personal device. She knew only one person who had a prayer at safely accessing its contents.

Fuck it. She should return it. Meaning to do just that, she stood.

“Going home?” Ryan asked from her doorway.

“Um—” To conceal the electronics, Alex slipped the laptop into her bag. “Yeah. I thought maybe I could…you know…catch up on some things.”

Ryan’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t use a laptop.”

“It’s my personal one.” The lie rushed out so quickly Alex didn’t have time to consider its ramifications. It was strictly against regulations to use personal devices for classified work.

Stepping across her threshold, Ryan closed her door behind him and leaned against it. “Where’s Jakes?”

“I— We had an argument. Okay. Two days of arguments.” Alex cleared her throat and shuffled papers on her desk. “He needed some air and I let him go.”

“Are you crazy?” Ryan pushed away from the door. “What if the AD finds out you left him unattended?”

“Does it really matter?” Alex fell into her chair hard enough to make it screech. “If he wants to get something past me he will. He’s twice as smart as you or I. Why do you think it took me this long to nail him in the first place?”

Ryan smirked. “Nail him?”

“You know very well what I meant.” Alex flushed.

Ryan refused to wipe the knowing expression from his face.

She pressed her fists to her temples. “I can’t do it, Ryan. I can’t work with him.”

A long exhale preceded Ryan’s approach. Hands jammed in his pockets, he studied her with concern.

“You’ve worked too hard for this, Allie. You can’t let him win now.”

The use of his nickname for her kicked at her conscience, churning up a different kind of guilt. He counted on her. Trusted her. They’d seen action together and worked hard on this case. If she went down, he’d likely suffer with her. She couldn’t fail. She couldn’t quit. Maybe if she mentioned her cover had been blown they’d have reason to take her off the case? The thought of never seeing Simon again reared, blotting out any hope of finding internal equilibrium. Alex ran both hands over her face, smearing her makeup, she knew. “Goddamn it. I’m still in love with the bastard.”

Slowly, carefully, Ryan approached her side of the desk and perched his hip on the top. “And?”

“It…” Alex waved her hand around. “Complicates things.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

Her attention riveted to Ryan’s face. He appeared…amused?

“It’s not funny.” She sniffed and swiveled her chair away.

“No. You’re right. If you’re stealing evidence for him it’s really not funny at all.”

Denial on her lips, she opened her mouth to protest. Ryan’s right brow popped up.

“Shit.” She shook her head. “I didn’t take it for him. Not really.”

He stared pointedly at the bag containing the laptop. “Then why’d you take it?”

“For me.” She leaned over and lifted the laptop from the bag. “I just need to know.”

Ryan held out his hand and she gave him the device. He hefted its bulk. At least seven years old, it weighed a metric ton.

“God. These things used to be heavy.”

“Yeah.”

“Want to get dinner?” He flicked his cell on to get the time. “I think Matali might have seats.”

“It’s late. I have to find Simon.” She shoved the laptop into her bag and stood.

“Alex,” he said when she reached the door.

She turned around.

“Be careful, ’kay?”

She nodded. “I’m always careful.”

He smiled at her, a quick lift of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ryan…” she began, but he shook his head.

“Go tell Jakes how you feel.”

Nodding, she opened the door and began her journey uptown. What she’d say when she got there, she had no idea. She stopped by her place to retrieve clothes and toiletries. Trying not to look around, she got in and out as quickly as possible. One cab ride later, she still didn’t know how to approach the situation with Simon, but at least she’d fixed her makeup and managed to find her game face. For forty-eight hours plus more years than she cared to remember, Simon had been the enemy. The man who’d smashed her heart into tiny pieces. Faced with the task of reassembling those pieces, she wondered at her sanity for even making the attempt.

First things first, she had to find the man. She tried his cell. No answer. A knock on his apartment door brought her no closer to Simon or a dinner she desperately needed to eat. Deciding to try downstairs at the security flat before she picked his lock and ordered some takeout, she took the stairwell several levels to the floor she knew housed the security company’s offices. A long, wood-paneled hallway decorated with a side table and some expensive lighting led to four doors. The high-end access panel next to one captured her attention. No name plate or other identifying number graced the entrance.

Alex smiled. Yes. This would be the place. Putting her ear against the wood, she listened for several minutes but heard nothing but the hum of the electronics imbedded in the wall nearby.

“I doubt you’ll hear anything through a steel core door.”

A buttery-smooth tenor trailed over Alex’s spine. She straightened. David Tallis, dark hair in a perfect wave over his forehead, eyes sparkling with sardonic humor, faced her from a deceptively lazy slouch against a wall. All self-assured charm and carefully leashed sensuality, the man exuded a charisma few could equal. Behind the carefully crafted façade, however, Alex caught the ghost of something more wounded animal than international superstar. His vulnerability tugged at something within her, but the darker currents of his personality kept her interest at bay.

Alex rubbed her palms over goose flesh on her arms. “Where’s Simon?”

“In the gymnasium with Günter.”

“Gymnasium?”

His indigo gaze shifted briefly toward the ceiling. “One floor above. The security code is 3556727.”

“Thanks.” Alex moved toward the stairwell, and added as an afterthought, “Love your music.”

David quirked one dark brow. “No you don’t, but I appreciate the thought.”

Alex blinked fast, shocked at his insight, and faced him fully. “Not much gets past you, does it?”

He gave a faint smile. “Not anymore.”

“Good night, Mr. Tallis.” She smiled in acknowledgement of an unspoken connection between them.

Nodding once, he pivoted. “Good night, Ms. Valentine.”

“How…?”

“I make it my business to know my employees.” He stepped onto the elevator. “Even the future ones.”

She frowned as the door closed on David’s secret smile. As an FBI agent she had no intention of working for the musician. A vision of becoming a fourth in the Jenny, Günter, Simon partnership beckoned and she allowed herself to contemplate it for a moment. The idea of being a part of something—to have a family of sorts—welcomed her within its embrace, transporting her to a place of longing and secret desire she’d never before acknowledged. Still half in a dream haze she keyed in the entry code to the private gymnasium and stepped inside. Mirrors, mats, weights and exercise machines strewn about the mammoth space spoke of serious sweat and the satisfaction of well-earned muscle burns.