Hard Target (26 page)

The shower stopped and Dawna found herself staring at the closed bedroom door. Three weeks ago, she would never have envisioned herself anywhere near Tay, let alone in his hotel suite. But three weeks ago, she was still changing combinations, checking routine orders, arranging for Dennis Legace to visit some dignitary all in the name of good international relations.

Three weeks ago, she still felt bitterness toward Tay.

The bitterness felt less acrid today. After seeing him cringing in the car, leaping out of his skin when she touched him, she'd found herself wanting to reach out and hold him. He seemed...vulnerable.

Tay returned to the sitting room. She turned away from him, focusing hard on the screen in front of her. Tay's long, muscular length was attractive enough without just having stepped out of the shower. He hadn't bothered with the weak dryer in the bathroom, and towel-dried tendrils of hair curled and licked at his forehead. Even his bruised cheek looked less harsh.

Shoving away her half-finished plate of eggs, Dawna cleared her throat and handed Tay the paper she'd just written on. "Here's the guy's name. Manuel Chayo. I googled the address Ramos wrote down. It's an office building in Ottawa." She paused. "Before I came, Mr. Taylor did much of this work, and I know he would have checked Chayo's address. I wonder what's going on."

He walked up close to her and took the paper. "We should call him. Food any good?"

"Yes. You should eat something before it gets cold." She began to write again. She couldn't look at him. Something vulnerable, human, touching lingered within him. She didn't want to be swayed again by anything of his, and that sudden vulnerability plucked at her heartstrings.

She scrawled out some more information on Ramos, his hometown, his schooling. Perhaps that could help them locate Chayo.

"I'll eat in a bit." Tay walked away, toward the phone by the couch and hastily dialed a number. "As soon as I call a friend of mine. I'd like him to run Chayo's name through the system."

She returned to the website's home page and typed 'Chayo' in the search engine. The search would take a few minutes, and she idly listened to Tay speaking behind her. Sitting on the couch, he asked for a guy named Andy Bonner. The cushions had protested his weight.

In her mind, she could picture what he looked like, leaning back, throwing one leg over the other knee.

She knew because three years ago, with a drink in one hand and the other resting casually over the back of the couch at the Mess, he'd done the same thing. He'd laughed at someone's joke and then turned to her as she stood at the bar accepting a drink of her own.

Their gazes and locked, and the communication of attraction was instant and unstoppable. Inevitable.

The screen in front of her changed, snapping her out of the insane reverie.
No matches found
. She sagged.

Behind her, Tay hung up and stood. "He'll call me back."

She turned around. "While you eat, I'll call the
policia
to see if they have located Cabanelos' wife."

She walked briskly past him, not wanting any part of her body to betray the memory still fresh in her mind.

With her broken Spanish, she asked for the constable who had attended the autopsy. Instead, she got the same translator as before. Listening and nodding, she took down the occasional notes. Finally, disheartened and frustrated, she hung up.

"I got the translator again," she said when Tay faced her. "Cabanelos wasn't married. There was no record at the courthouse, nor at any church in the city. The translator explained that it's the law here to be married by a civil official before the church wedding and Cabanelos hadn't even requested an appointment to meet with them. He's never been married."

Tay put down the coffee cup he was holding. "Feels like we're back to square one. So what was he muttering as he was dying?"

"It was something about his wife. I recognized the word
espouse
. I don't think the priest would lie, do you?"

"I wouldn't think he'd lie. Maybe Cabanelos was engaged?"

Dawna stared down at her hasty notes. "Cabanelos was at least forty. It would seem to me that a man his age wouldn't wait out a long engagement. Plus, the constable interviewed several of his neighbors. One thought there might have been a woman in Cabanelos' life. He'd even heard her speaking in Spanish one night. But none of the neighbors know of any relative who could claim his body, either."

They both sat facing each other, deep in thought. When she couldn't think straight any more, Dawna stood. She grabbed a pastry from the trolley and began to pace.

"Sit down. You're tiring to watch."

Biting into the pastry, she stalked past Tay. "I'm thinking."

"No, you're not. You're agitated and restless. I know. I am, too, but let's focus." He paused. "Cabanelos fires on us, and then is murdered."

"We don't have proof he was murdered. He drank a tea that is popular among the Aymara. He could have been committing suicide for all we know." She continued to pace.

"True, and calling to offer us information does go along with that, but, he seemed worried after he collapsed. Then on his deathbed, he called for a wife who doesn't exist?" His voice rose. "Around the same time, one of the security staff, who would have had access to your desk where the same tea was found, disappears. He's also a local who would have knowledge of this tea."

"But there's no motive. Ramos passed all the security checks. He's been a model employee. Though, I'm sure I didn't buy that tea. I drink coca tea, occasionally, but mostly the stuff the embassy has is sent down here from home."

Tay rolled his eyes and grabbed his own pastry. "You're very good at throwing a wrench into the works, aren't you?"

She smiled. "I'm good at my job, you said."

"I meant it." Tay returned the smile.

They fell silent and Dawna turned her head. She couldn't look at him anymore. His limpid, hazel eyes captivated her and she didn't want the distraction. It would lead her to wonder how soft the tiny hairs were that peeked out of the open neck of his crisp shirt. Or to recall how throaty his laugh was when he became aroused.

She pushed away such wasteful thoughts. "We also have Martin." She dared a look at him, trying to keep it sharp. "And don't tell me he has nothing to do with this investigation. We have no evidence, yet, either way. The guy can't possibly be working as a field operative. He's too young. Listen, Ramos was Bolivian. Martin is interested in South American history. You can't tell me his arrival here is a coincidence. Or that he's researching some dissertation. He wouldn't be following us around. He'd be in museums and public buildings."

Tay watched her, saying nothing. Finally, he stood to refill his coffee cup. "I do have a few doubts about Martin's appearance, but he's just a kid, really."

"He nearly killed you." She paused, trying to sort out ideas as they danced together in her mind. "And you say he looked familiar. Are you sure you've never seen him before? The son of an operative you've worked with? Someone who didn't like the way you worked, maybe?"

"Someone I may have stepped on to get ahead?" His gaze darkened.

A chill rippled through her, followed immediately by a rush of blood to her face. She glared back at him. His words hit so close to home, they stung hard and fast and her reaction was too immediate to stop. "Yeah, Tay, someone you stepped on."

Standing, he slowly set the cup down on the trolley. His mouth a thin line, he walked over to her. He grabbed her wrist, took the half-eaten pastry from her, and firmly led her to the couch, pushing her to sit down while he towered over her.

"There's a lot of bad blood between us, Dawna, and nothing I say will change that. And you want to know something else? I had and still have no control over it. But I never stepped on anyone to get ahead in my career. I've worked long, hard hours to be the best I can be. And do the best I can with the responsibilities I've been given."

Flying to her feet, she glared up at him. "Don't talk about responsibilities. You had a responsibility to me the day after the course party. But you stayed quiet to preserve your job."

Her jaw tightened, her stomach clenched. Why couldn't she get past this? What would it take for her to just forgive and forget?  She didn't know, and hated how it made her feel. "I don't care that you only wanted a one night stand. That's all I wanted with you. But to not be man enough to admit it and allowing me take all the blame, just to preserve your precious career-"

Tay grabbed her. At the same moment, he cringed, his eyes shut tight as his fingers dug deep into her upper arms. Panic flared inside Dawna as he shook his head violently.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. Was he having a seizure?  What the hell was wrong?

His eyes flared open, but they didn't connect with hers. Just as she began to speak, he gritted out, "No! Stop talking to me!"

Chapter Sixteen

"
Well, you've managed to preserve your precious job, haven't you, Nathan? It didn't cost you too much, either. Just your wife and son
."

Tay went rigid. This time his mother's voice was loud, harsh, and suddenly, in his mind's eye, he could see her through the crack of the open closet door in his parents' bedroom. She was much younger. Her hair, though messy, was still swept up in that overblown hairdo she'd favored. Her clothes were reminiscent of the early seventies. She stood on a green carpet in her bedroom.

"Tay!"

His mother winked away, leaving nausea, and Dawna's concerned expression in her wake. Dawna pushed him down onto the couch. "Tay!"

He blinked. "I'm all right."

"Hardly. What's going on? I was speaking to you and you cringed and went tense. And you were starting to hurt me."

"Sorry. You were yelling at me."

She coughed out a short, derisive laugh. "You're a cop. You've been yelled at before."

He slumped back, resting his head on the dark upholstery of the couch. With a deep sigh, he realized how relieved he was. He was still quite sane. "I'm...okay."

The couch sagged beside him. "That's debatable. What's going on? Are you sick?"

She touched his forehead with the back of her hand, her fingers cool against his fevered skin. "No," he said. "I thought I was, but I just realized what's going on in my head."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm remembering my mother speaking. An argument she had with my father. The last one they had before they split up." He laughed, albeit shakily. "It's just a memory. I thought I was hearing my dead mother talking to me in my head, but I've just remembered I was hiding in her closet at the time." He opened his eyes and met her anxious gaze. "Sometimes after an op, they recommend you see a psychologist. I turned it down this time because the opportunity to come here arose, instead." He wet his lips, briefly. "I wanted to see you again."