Hard Target (2 page)

"Small...hidden...little damage...." She already knew the basics of what she could translate mentally. The explosive had been small, hidden in the cracked corner of the outside step.

She faced Ramos. "Ask him for a full report ASAP. We'll translate it as soon as we get it."

Ramos nodded. "Sergeant?" His bushy eyebrows pressed together. "The
policia
have found fragments of what they think belonged to the outer packaging. We may be able to obtain them to test?" he suggested.

Of course. No way would this country have the resources to do a decent forensic investigation. Not while struggling to deal with the sudden increase of terrorist activity. Damn those terrorists. Bolivians, a kind, temperate people, didn't deserve all this trouble. "Good," Dawna finally answered, keeping her tone commanding. "Get the samples."

Ramos nodded again and moved away. Dawna shifted her attention to the embassy's front facade. The explosive device had been small, all right. The exterior around the pedestrian door looked like it had suffered nothing more than minor cosmetic damage. Not much different than its neglected surroundings.

She skirted a firefighter as he did one final check of the burn site. A nearby police officer tested the main vehicular door for any damage. It opened smoothly. Inside the compound, Marconi, Ramos' morning replacement, assisted.

"Safe, safe," Marconi called out to her through the open door.

Dawna inspected the compound, then the narrow building that fronted on the street. General offices filled the commercial space there, a common practice here in South America. All seemed fine. The barred, outer windows on either side of her had cracked, but surprisingly, the original vehicular door was still intact. Whoever built the original inner city school knew how rough kids could be. She stalked across the small compound toward the embassy's main building.

Inside its front foyer was the newer, specialized entrance, a bullet-proof glass mantrap that acted as an airlock.

Still gripping his rifle, Ramos caught up with her as she trotted up the well-worn stone steps.

As she entered the mantrap, some sixth sense made her pivot and stare across the compound, right through the vehicular door to the square beyond. Past Marconi and the
policia
outside.

Ignoring her request to stay put, the Ambassador was now striding into the compound, his
escolta
trotting beside him.

Dawna sagged. The start to a really bad Monday.

The Ambassador had the phone to his left ear when Dawna knocked on his open office door. He held the preliminary report she'd typed after yesterday's bomb blast in the other hand. After hanging up, he scanned the paper. "A warning, you think?"

"Yes, sir." Dawna nodded to Lucy, the Ambassador's tiny secretary, as she slipped in to drop some papers on his desk. Lucy returned her nod and left.

"But you're not sure, Sergeant?"

Dawna turned back to the Ambassador. "Of course not, sir. Not even the local
policia
would venture a guess. The security tapes revealed nothing unusual and nor did the security guards on their patrols." She'd spent the whole day yesterday with the police and a high-ranking officer from the local army battalion.

"Without more evidence, I'd have to say the device was probably a test of our systems," she elaborated, resisting a shrug that might make her appear uncertain. "Something to check our defenses and reaction times. The explosive device was so small, a person would have had to be practically on top of it in order to get hurt. Ramos was only a few feet away and he's fine."

Ambassador Legace nodded. "I viewed the tapes, too. A bomb that small could have gone unnoticed for hours."

"If it was meant for someone in the embassy, a letter bomb would have been more effective."

He looked grim when he leaned back in his tall, leather chair. "Has anyone claimed responsibility for this?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

"No." Frowning, the Ambassador leaned further back. Dawna recognized the look with growing the dread. He knew something. Immediately, she schooled her features, refusing to allow any trepidation within her to show.

"Dawna, in my career I've negotiated with the toughest, the best and worst-equipped guerrilla groups and frankly, the stupidest of them, as well. This incident doesn't feel like the work of any terrorist cell testing our defenses. It feels personal." He looked up from his long, solid desk, away from the endless paperwork and the scattered notes and the few framed photographs of his family. He looked right into Dawna's eyes.

She knew something was coming. And it wasn't going to be good. She steeled her spine.

His voice dropped. "I just got off the phone with Ottawa. The Military Security Guard Unit."

Her unit
. Communication with them usually meant trouble for her. "Are you sending me home, sir?"

He shook his head, sharply. "No, I want you here. I picked you for this job and no firecracker is going to scare my staff away. Besides, you monitored the installation of this embassy's security system. You know the staff. They trust you.
I
trust you."

"But my unit doesn't." Her jaw tightened. Typical. She should have expected as much from them after what had happened three years ago.

The Ambassador's mouth thinned. "I read your service record even before I interviewed you. I know all about your reprimand and I don't give a tinker's damn. But your unit thinks differently."

She rubbed her aching forehead. "What are they suggesting?"

"They're flying someone in to assist you. To monitor your investigation and ensure all the correct security protocols are followed." Already his gaze had dropped to his desk.

She bit back a curse. "I'm hardly a rookie! I was an MP for more than twelve years before I got posted to the MSGU."

"I know." He sounded reluctant. "The civilian instructor they're sending will recheck the security measures you've set in place." He lifted his hand to check her protest. "It's just your unit covering their asses, Dawna."

She wanted to find the best expletive before the blood drained from her face, but there wasn't one strong enough. "They don't trust my work," she managed to mutter. There was no point talking around the issue, even with Ambassador Legace. Her unit didn't trust her and had spent the last three years making her suffer. Looked like they were still at it.

"Dawna, we have fifteen ex-pats working here, not counting their families. And locals, too. We have a responsibility to protect all of them. I know you're not trained for close protection and they don't all need bodyguards, but we’re still responsible for their safety.

"I told your unit I didn't want anyone coming down here because of one small setback." The Ambassador lifted his gaze once more and discomfort lingered in his gray-green eyes. "But they're sending their best, they claim."

Their best
.
A civilian instructor
, he'd also said.

The air around her turned icy, despite the sun glaring through the window behind the desk, despite the heat that singed her cheeks, and certainly despite her fighting to keep any emotion from showing.

"It's your old instructor, Dawna. Tay Hastings."

Tay. At the sound of his name she almost reached for the solid oak desk in front of her.

Oh God, why him
?

Tay caused the black mark on her record. Caused it, created it, kept it on her file for all the respectable people like Ambassador Legace to read.

The man who had betrayed her life, her career.

And her heart.

The tiny military air transport terminal had seen better days. Her lips pursed, Dawna squinted at the ugly building.

Hardly as big as a municipal airport back home, the place had been made even smaller by a bulldozer after a promise of renovations. The new international airport sat across the runway, its arcing roof and shiny glass taunting from afar the air force's dismal building.

Piles of sand-colored rubble sat stark and dry at one end of the military terminal. Yellow bunchgrass defied the odds of survival, thrusting up through the cracks in the concrete between her car and the building. Dawna had no trouble finding a close place to park.

She climbed out of the small armored car and peeled off her sunglasses. The stench of aviation fuel slammed into her, carried south by a hot Andean wind. Blinking away the dust, she scanned the red-daubed hillsides on either side of the narrow valley. Even this early in the morning, a haze of pollution hung over the city.

With a quick swipe, she dusted off her pants. She'd chosen her best outfit, a pale blue linen suit, and suddenly found herself annoyed by the extra pains she'd taken. She didn't wear her uniform to the embassy because she'd stick out like a sore thumb. But today, she wished for the security it offered.

On normal workdays that consisted mostly of changing safe combinations or helping with bank runs, she wore a more durable outfit. Sturdy pants, a starched shirt, something to show the world there was more to her than honey blond hair and a slim body.

But today wasn't a normal day. She strode across the broken pavement and into the hot terminal, knowing full well the jet fuel smell clinging to her came from the small plane that had just delivered the one and only Taylor Hastings.

Soldiers milled in front of the observation window, curious at the sight of the small military aircraft. A garbled message blasted over the public address, something she doubted she would understand even if she were fluent in Spanish.

She stopped herself from checking her appearance in the darkened, taped window of the terminal's lone office. She looked fine. Everything was fine, even the makeup she'd applied, convincing herself she needed the foundation because of the dry, dusty heat the locals tried to call winter.
Of course
.
Yeah, right
.

And she refused to be intimidated by the man who had slipped away with her at that fateful end-of-course party three years ago. She refused to think about how he'd grabbed her and begun a very expert lovemaking in his staff car while it idled in the parking lot, and how he'd grinned wickedly when she'd tunneled her fingers through his dark brown wavy hair.

She refused to think of the way he'd betrayed her. The next day, she'd been disciplined for fraternization, while he remained an instructor, with not even a slap on the wrist for his part in their breech of protocol.

A hot breeze filtered through the crowd ahead, and she straightened her shoulders. The terminal doors opened and a half dozen or so servicemen poured inside.

Dawna spotted Tay. He stood head and shoulders above the shorter Bolivians. Quickly, she steeled herself against an onslaught of emotions and heady attraction.

Those feelings still existed, after all these years.

To say Tay Hastings was handsome would be a lie. Dawna didn't know what exactly she found so appealing, so...so tempting. He made her feel as if she was driving in this country's craziest city during rush hour when drivers rarely stopped at red lights. A kind of anxious state when she couldn't blink, let alone breathe. Yes, that's how Tay Hastings made her feel.