Hard Target (22 page)

"And that is because..?"

Martin poked him with the gun. "Just drive."

Tay obeyed, only because his full attention was needed on the busy street. Dawna had spelled him off when they drove home yesterday, but she drove when they entered the city because she knew where to go. Now it was evening, a dangerous time for a driver here. Since traffic lights were often ignored after sunset, Tay's attention belonged on the road. Though he wondered briefly if getting into an accident would be any worse than the situation he was in now.

A pickup roared around a parked car, darting in front of them. Tay laid on the horn and swerved to the left.

Martin rolled down the window and blasted the driver with a barrage of Spanish. Tay didn't understand the words, but wagered that they were obscene.

Lifting his eyebrows, he dared a glance at his captor. What a loose cannon.

He could feel the guy settle back beside him, shaking as he clutched the gun. His wrist rested on the console between them all the while pointing the weapon at Tay. Tay recognized the weapon as a nine mil Sig Sauer. Though not the type he preferred to carry, Tay knew the weapon had no safety, and a touch as light as a feather could fire a bullet right into his chest. And the guy was shaking. Great.

Abruptly, the kid beside him fumbled to do up his seatbelt and Tay held his breath, waiting for the end. "Seatbelts weren't mandatory in this country. Half the cars on the road didn't even have them."

"Shut up. And do yours up, too."

Tay pulled his on his seat belt. Oh yeah, great. He'd been captured by a rookie. Wonderful.

Pressing his elbow into his side, Tay felt for his sidearm. It was still there, hard against him. This rookie hadn't even patted Tay down to locate a weapon. What kind of fools was the CIA hiring these days? They were really scraping the
bottom-of-the-barrel
with this one.

Nevertheless, this bottom of the barrel had control of the situation for the time being. Right when Tay should have been at the hospital, waiting on the ambassador's test results. Making valuable, albeit unwanted security suggestions to Dawna.

He'd abandoned her again, just when she needed him the most. He swore again, this time the word slipping softly out of his mouth, unheard over the din of evening traffic and the blasting interior fan. He'd run away, again. Because of the close confines of the hospital, and because he couldn't stand to watch Dawna struggle with the realization she was losing the one man who had faith in her.

Hell, why was he rehashing this issue now? He should focus on the situation at hand, not trying to understand why he needed fresh air in the first place.

Martin instructed Tay to make several more turns. They were out of the downtown core now, and heading out of the city altogether. The well-lit Cristos statue was now behind them, and soon would be hidden as he climbed away from it.

Tay kept driving, determined to focus on one thing. He had to get back to Dawna. To do that, he must sit tight and wait for the right moment to show this rookie how a real agent worked.

Dawna peered up and down the street, blinking at the harsh city lights. Where was Tay? Gone for a cup of coffee? A cigarette?

Maybe he'd spotted Joseph Martin and went after him. She gritted her teeth. He had a cell phone. He could call. He
should
call.

No. He couldn't. He'd pulled the cell phone out of his jacket. It still sat on her kitchen counter, totally forgotten. Because they'd been too busy in each other's arms.

Besides, he didn't trust her enough to tell her the truth about why the CIA would be following him. So what could she expect now?

Heaving out a disgusted sigh, she returned to the waiting area inside. Tay didn't trust her. She had the highest level of security the military could offer her, and like HQ, Tay didn't trust her with one small secret. He didn't need to go into details, but telling her a basic truth would have gone far to help their working relationship.

She spotted Julie and John Legace and the
escolta
, Camile, returning from the ICU. She quickened her steps, hoping that the news was good. She could really use some good news right now.

"How is he?"

Julie turned to face her. Her expression was haunted. John spoke up. "Dad regained consciousness for a few minutes. He told us all he had was a cup of herbal tea. From your desk drawer."

She gaped at Julie. The poor woman's expression filled with fear, distrust and horror.

"My tea?" she echoed.

Pointing toward the door, Camile said something in rapid Spanish. The other
escolta
was returning, carrying a small, clear plastic bag. Inside the bag were a cup and a teabag, both swimming in a sickly, brown liquid.

She turned to Camile. "Take the bag to the doctor. It may be a good idea if he checked with the pathologist in the morgue to see if the substance was the same as what was found in Cabanelos' stomach."

Camile nodded and took the bag. The other
escolta
remained with Julie and her son. Dawna asked, "What did the doctor say about the ambassador's chances?"

Julie took in a long breath and clutched her son's arm. She smiled weakly. "He said that because Dennis managed to come around quickly, it improves his chances. His kidneys are working and his heartbeat has slowed down quite a bit now. We'll know more by tomorrow."

"Then you should go home and try to rest. There isn't anything more you can do." Dawna rubbed Julie's arm, hating that she couldn't do more, either. "The rest of your family needs you, okay?"

Julie pulled her arm free. "You're right. I just bolted out and left Tanya and Denise with the housekeeper."

John took his mother's arm. "Come on, Mom, we'll go home and bake some cookies, okay? You need to do something. The staff knows where they can reach you, if they need to."

John Legace had many of his father's good qualities. That realization stuck in Dawna's throat.

So did the fact that Julie had looked at her with distrust.

Dawna flicked her head to the family's
escolta
, who had returned from the ICU. He steered Julie Legace out. Dawna turned to Camile. "I want you to stay with the ambassador. I'll go back to the embassy and do up another shift schedule." She needed to call the security company, something best done back at the embassy.

And hopefully, Tay would be there.

The lights of the city blurred in Tay's rear view mirror. All he could say was that they were now heading west, climbing higher into the Andes, past the steep cliffs that led to the plateau.

"Got a destination in mind?" he asked Martin.

"Yup."

"Want to tell me what it is? It would be nice for the driver to know."

"The only thing that's important is that you'll be out of our hair."

"Why? I'm leaving next week, anyway."

"A week too late for our plans."

"Which are?"

"Never you mind. Let's just say it's been a long time in the works."

"What has?"

"Shut up and keep driving."

As the road turned, the headlights of the SUV cut through a small forest of blue-green eucalyptus trees, an incongruous sight in the mountains. Deep gullies from the recent rains cut swaths between the trees, washing some out, even.

They were heading toward the same area that he and Donna had visited yesterday. Interesting. Just like the fact that Martin mentioned 'our plans'. He and what person? Ramos? Someone else entirely?

As soon as Dawna arrived at her office, she yanked open the top left drawer of her desk. Individual packets of tea lay scattered about. She pulled out the latex gloves from the crime scene kit she'd taken to the morgue earlier today and with tweezers, placed all the teabags in several evidence bags. Once the analysis of the tea the ambassador had consumed came back, she would decide what to do with these ones. In the meantime, she put them in the safe.

Once she'd rescheduled the
escoltas
, she found her mind wandering back to Tay. He hadn't returned, or even called. Even as much as he didn't trust her, Tay would call, or at least pass some message on to her. Such was protocol.

She leaned back in her chair, worry eating at her stomach. Something was wrong.

"Any news, yet, Sergeant?"

Dawna looked up. Marconi stood in the doorway. Since Ramos wasn't answering his phone, the shift schedule for
vigilantes
had been modified, too. The company which provided the
escoltas
said they would send two more
vigilantes
, but not until tomorrow. Marconi was stuck with a double shift.

"Nothing yet." She peered at Marconi. "Did Mr. Hastings call?"

He shook his head. "No, Sergeant."

"And Ramos?"

This time, he shrugged. "I work with this man for two years," he said with his heavy accent. "Miguel never takes a day off.
As
."

"Well, if he calls, I want to talk to him. In the meantime, I need to make my own call."

Dawna shut the door to the security office when Marconi left. She reached for the address files and found Jeff's number again. It was late, and she asked the
vigilante
in charge to page him immediately.

After she hung up, she stood and stretched. She was thirsty, but she was damned if she'd drink anything but a Coke from the machine in the coffee room. First, though, she should find Ramos' file and read it while she was waiting for Jeff to return her call.

The first of all the files of all the staff members here
. She'd read them all again.

A few minutes later, Coke in one hand, the first page from Ramos' file in the other hand, Dawna settled back in her seat.

Ramos' file pretty much reflected the sketchy details from the website. He'd passed the security checks, but it was his command of English that had garnered the job for him.

She dropped the file and took a long swallow of Coke. There wasn't anything here to suggest why he would disappear. Nor did anything hint that he'd even feel any animosity toward anyone here at the embassy.

What was she missing? She could use Tay's insight right now.

The phone rang and Dawna snatched up the receiver. "Sergeant Atkinson."

"Dawna?"

She sagged. It wasn't Tay. "Hi, Jeff. Thanks for getting back to me so fast."

"No problem. I was going to call you tomorrow, anyway. I took the liberty of checking Martin out. You know, he's CIA, all right, but just a clerk with them. Actually, he's a Co-Op student trainee."

"The CIA gives their clerks-in-training foreign office appointments? I live in the wrong country."

"That was a surprise to me, too. I know this kid is smart, academically speaking, because he's got to maintain a GPA of 3.0 to stay in the program. But smart enough to get a job down here? I don't know. The guy always struck me as having the common sense of a rock."