Читать книгу Terms Of Attraction - Kylie Brant - Страница 5

Ava Carter lay motionless atop the gravel and tar flat roof squinting through the Nightforce scope of the Remington 700 rifle. She’d been in position for nearly four hours; under a “weapons tight” command for two. If all went according to plan, the subject would be on his way—in one piece—in less than fifteen minutes.

The rheumy late February sun labored to pierce the light cloud cover, and there was small blessing in that. Temperatures still hovered in the high sixties. And even without direct sunlight she could feel a thin trickle of perspiration snaking down her back beneath the LBV vest.

The breeze kissing her cheek seemed to have gotten a little stronger. “Check the wind meter again.”

Her spotter, Steve Banes, held up the pocket calibrator. “Six point two four miles per hour.”

Ava adjusted the dope of her rifle slightly. Steve picked up his high-powered binoculars again and spoke into the Motorola radio. “Side three, opening three. No movement.”

She reached for her own set of binoculars. Through them she could clearly see the black RV that served as the SWAT command center parked a hundred yards from the civic center. She could make out the figure of a man through one of the windows, hunched over a computer.

Her gaze passed over the RV to scan the area. She and Steve were positioned on top of a building across the road about eight hundred yards from the civic center. The building they were observing was circular, with an oddly pitched roof that was supposed to enhance the acoustics inside. Beneath the overhang were narrow windows encircling the building.

The inner perimeter seemed secure. The interested public was still inside listening to Antonio de la Reyes. But it was his detractors that were cause for concern.

From this angle she could only see a corner of the group of protesters and media vans secured behind the outer perimeter in front of the civic center. There were still a few signs waving, but a majority of the picketers had wisely decided to save their strength for when de la Reyes made his exit.

Hopefully once they figured out he wasn’t coming out the front, de la Reyes would be on his way to the airport. Out of Metro City. Out of California and back to his small South American country of San Baltes.

Good riddance.

It wasn’t his politics Ava objected to, though his eloquent arguments for opening the borders of America didn’t resonate for her. It was the target he presented. In the last week alone, as he’d traveled the country, he’d received almost a dozen death threats. Pretty unpopular for a visiting dignitary. She’d heard there was a small rebel contingent in his own country that was just as anxious to see him dead.

She was only anxious to see him gone.

“What’s he even doing here?” grumbled Banes. He was a large man, heavily muscled. His shaved head was the color of her morning double mocha latte and glistened with sweat.

“He has relatives here, I think I heard. His mother lived in Metro City until the seventies.”

Banes’s droopy dark mustache twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Like you’d remember anything about the seventies.”

“Just enough to know seventy-seven was a very good year.” Ava continued to scan the area. They’d had this conversation often enough in the past that she could participate without thinking. Banes had a good fifteen years on her, and he liked to rib her about his experience. He’d been on SWAT ten years longer than she had. He was a damn good marksman, ranking second in the Metro City PD, fourth in the state.

Ava ranked first in both.

“Have you ever been inside?”

She nodded. “Took my son to a concert there once. It’s pretty nice. All the seats have a good view of the stage.” It must have been about three years ago, when Alex was twelve, before he became afflicted with that weird teenage parental anathema. At fifteen he could barely be convinced to be seen with her at the mall.

The radio crackled. “De la Reyes has left the stage. Subject will be exiting from side three, opening one in the next two minutes.”

Ava kept the binoculars raised. De la Reyes’s white limo approached slowly and rolled to a stop by the curb. It would have been checked thoroughly before being allowed through the inner perimeter. Security inside the building would be directing the public out the front. Officers would keep the people from circling around to the back entrance. Everything was working according to plan.

She was about to lower the binoculars when something caught her eye. A glint in one of the civic center’s upper windows. In the next instant it had disappeared. “Do you see anything up there?”

Banes trained his binoculars in the area she was pointing to. “Nope.”

“Must have been the sun,” she muttered. But there was very little sunlight today. Which made it more likely she’d seen a reflection of some sort. But of what?

“Wait.” She and Banes spoke simultaneously. She went on. “You see it, too, right? What is that?”

Both of them stared for long moments through their binoculars. A chill broke out over Ava’s skin as comprehension slammed into her. “It’s a scope.”

Banes grabbed the radio. “We’ve got a reflection in side three, window seven. Looks like it could be from a rifle scope.”

“Cold Shot in position?” came the answer.

“Affirmative.”

“Weapons tight. We’ll send someone inside to check it out.”

Ava set down the binoculars and peered through the Night-force scope of her Remington. She made the minute adjustments necessary to focus on the window in question. “I see the barrel,” she reported quietly. A familiar deadly calm settled over her. “Can you get another angle and make it out?”

Steve belly-crawled several yards away and took another look through the binoculars. As an answer, he spoke through the radio. “We’ve got a weapon sighted and verified. Side three, window seven.”

The radio crackled. “Keep target inside. We’ve got a sighting.”

She heard the voice as if from a distance. Ava’s entire system had slowed. Breathing. Nerves. Heart rate. Everything was focused on the individual on the other end of that rifle across the road. The best shot would be to shoot perpendicular from the window. But she didn’t have time to change position. Shooting at an angle meant firing two shots. The first to break the glass and the second to hit the target.

“What the hell?” muttered Banes as the back door entrance opened. Ava recognized de la Reyes surrounded by his private contingent of security and three tactical officers hurrying toward the steps.

“Weapons loose. Engage, engage.”

She was dimly aware of the group surrounding de la Reyes halting. Retreating toward the civic center. Her finger squeezed the trigger and fired twice in quick succession through the target window. Nearly simultaneously an answering shot sounded and one of the bodies on the steps crumpled.

Ava gave her watch a surreptitious look and sighed mentally. If this was going to drag on much longer she’d need to excuse herself and text Alex. He’d be getting out of basketball practice soon and might need to catch a different ride home.

The debriefing was going more slowly than usual. But then nothing about this incident had proven normal yet.

The door to the conference room opened and Chief of Police Carl Sanders entered, flanked by his deputy chief, Robert Grey. They were followed by Antonio de la Reyes and a few men she remembered from his security contingent.

There was a scraping of chairs as a few of the SWAT officers made room at the long table. Ava sat still as the newcomers stared her way, feeling like an insect on a pin.

“There she is, gentlemen. The officer of the hour.”

There was little doubt about whom Sanders was referring to. Ava was the only woman in the room. Without looking away from her, de la Reyes circled the table to come to a halt before her.

“Ms. Carter,” he said in melodic fluent English. “I am in your debt.”

Since he’d taken her hand and looked to be in no hurry to free it, Ava rose, ill at ease. “I’m glad it worked out.”

He looked more like a movie star than a politician. He was no taller than she, about five nine, with glossy dark hair and soulful brown eyes. But she recognized the tailor-fitted suit he wore and the designer shoes. His country’s impoverishment didn’t extend to this man.

“It worked out, as you say, for all but your fellow officer.” Finally de la Reyes released her hand and glanced back at Sanders. “But I am told the man is well.”

Sanders nodded, his craggy face grim. “Sergeant Talbot was saved by his vest. He’ll be sore for a few days, but he’s already been released from the hospital.”

There was a collective murmur of relief from the room’s occupants.

De la Reyes went to sit in a nearby free chair and Ava sank into her own with a sense of reprieve. She’d never learned to enjoy the spotlight.

Sanders pulled out a chair. “The would-be assassin has been identified.”

“His name is Pedro Cabrerra.” Ava recognized the man passing out sheets as head of the American company providing de la Reyes security while in the country. He was the sort of man who left an impression.

A shade under six feet, he had a commanding presence, even in a roomful of cops. His streaked blond hair bordered on shaggy, his pale green gaze hawklike. His face was tanned as a surfer’s and his body looked broad and rock hewn beneath his suit. Unlike de la Reyes, whose expensive clothes gilded his sophisticated appearance, this man’s suit only served to highlight what he was beneath it. A warrior. No amount of gloss or polish could ever mask his rough edges.

“I am sorry.” De la Reyes lifted a hand to indicate the man passing out Cabrerra’s likeness. “Cael McCabe. He owns the security company I hired shortly before I came to the States.”

McCabe was the only one to remain standing. And he didn’t so much pace the room as prowl. “Cabrerra was a trusted member of Senor de la Reyes’s private security detail who traveled with him from San Baltes.”

“He is…was,” de la Reyes corrected himself, “my first cousin. Our fathers are brothers.”

Ava saw the grief in the man’s eyes and felt a moment of sympathy. Bad enough for complete strangers to want you dead. But when your own family went gunning for you…that transcended politics. It didn’t get any more personal.

“Cabrerra was part of the security contingent to go through the civic center prior to Antonio’s appearance there.”

“But how the hell did he smuggle in a weapon?” Chief Sanders demanded. “Rifle, scope, tripod…he didn’t carry all that equipment in when he was helping with the security sweep.”

“He probably went in the night before,” McCabe responded. There was the slightest hint of Georgia in his voice. He might have lost the drawl, but the rounded vowels gave him away. “The windows aren’t wired to the alarm system. No reason to be. They’re too narrow for a person to enter through. He must have rappelled up the side of the building with the equipment in a bag over his shoulder. We found a window with the lock drilled out. All he had to do then was open the window, drop the bag inside and close it again. He just had to make sure he was first in the building the next morning so he could choose the section he was going to ‘secure.’ Stash the equipment until he needed it.”

“Those windows all open onto hallways that circle the top of the building,” SWAT commander Harv Mendel observed.

McCabe nodded. “He probably locked the doors leading to the seating. Hard to blend in if he’d tried to take out Antonio during his speech. But leaving the building…he could have arrived on-scene moments later and no one would have suspected him. Better yet, everyone would have figured it was one of the nut jobs that have been issuing threats. Not one of his own countrymen.”

The mood in the room went grim. “No offense, Senor de la Reyes…” The chief stumbled a bit over the pronunciation. “But he had five days and as many cities to act before you stopped in Metro City. What was he waiting for?”

“This I do not know.”

“I can guess.” McCabe shoved his hands in the pockets of his dark suit jacket, the motion pulling the fabric tight across his shoulders. “He figured this was his best chance to get away with it. He counted on a smaller police force. Less experienced security.” He sent a slight smile at Ava. “He figured wrong.”

The effect of that smile sent a frisson clear down her spine. Nerve endings quivered in response. Long-dormant hormones stirred. Ava straightened in her chair and stared back at McCabe, fighting for an impassive expression. There wasn’t a man alive who could affect her with just a look. Few who could affect her at all. A man that potent wasn’t just one to be wary of.

He was downright lethal.

“Ms. Carter.”

She half turned, her posture wary. Cael quickened his stride to catch up with her and wondered, not for the first time, what it was about the woman that drew this visceral immediate response. She was attractive, with hair and eyes so dark she could pass for a countrywoman of de la Reyes, if it weren’t for her pale skin. But he didn’t react to every attractive female he saw, especially on a job.

“What is it, McCabe?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up at the impatience in her tone. Her voice was a low alto, slightly raspy. Every time he heard it he thought of sex. Hot and sweaty and exhausting.

“If you’ve got a few minutes, I’d like to buy you a drink.” He was close enough to see the mask slide over her expression, and found himself intrigued yet again. Maybe she was used to men hitting on her and had developed an instant defense. He wasn’t hitting on her, but he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Sorry. I need to get home.” There was no trace of regret in her voice. She pushed open the door of the Metro City Police Headquarters and jogged down the steps.

“I’ll walk you to your car, then.” And it satisfied something inside him to intercept her sidewise glance, half irritated and half questioning. But she made no effort at conversation, clearly leaving that up to him.

He shoved his hands in his suit pockets and fleetingly wondered how long it would be before he could change into something that didn’t feel like a straitjacket. “So. Good shooting today. Were you lucky or are you that good?”

“I’m that good,” she said without a hint of modesty. And because it was no more than he’d heard, he nodded.

“Cold Shot. That’s your call sign, right? From what I hear, it’s well earned.” They stepped into the parking lot. “Who spotted the shooter first?”

“I work with a partner. He was in the conference room. Steve Banes.”

And that, he noted, didn’t answer the question. “Banes told your chief that you noticed it first.” She didn’t respond and he took that as an affirmative. So she wasn’t quick to take credit, a team player. Both facts only cemented his earlier decision. “I’d like to offer you a job.”

The hitch in her gait was the only sign he’d surprised her. “No.” Then after a pause that made it clear it was an afterthought, she added, “Thanks.”

“Haven’t heard my offer yet.” He figured which was her car before she stopped in front of it. A Pontiac, seven or eight years old, and showing its age. “My company, Global Security, specializes in a full array of security solutions. I’m always looking to hire qualified individuals. Your performance today was impressive.” Even more impressive had been what Chief Sanders had to say about Carter’s experience. He was still trying to square her reputation with the tall, lithe woman beside him who’d look more at home on a runway than in SWAT gear.

She clicked the automatic opener on the car, then reached for the handle, offering him a polite smile. “Like I said, I’m not interested. I’ve got a son and I have no intention of uprooting him.”

Disappointment stabbed through him, surprising in its strength. He’d also heard about her son, so her refusal wasn’t totally unexpected. What was unexpected was hearing himself offer, “I’ve got some employees that freelance for me. Work special jobs during their vacations. If you ever want to consider that, give me a call.” He handed her a card, quoting the range of pay.

Her eyes widened, her first real reaction since they’d started the conversation. “A month?”

“A week. Of course, it depends on the job.”

Looking bemused, she accepted the card and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. “The bodyguard business must be lucrative.”

“I prefer personal protection specialists, and yeah.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a dangerous world.”

“Tell me about it.” She opened the car door, got in. “Goodbye, McCabe.”

He stepped away, watching her back out of the space. Leave the lot. And wondered why he was feeling so disappointed that a woman he barely knew was driving out of his life.

She might have made it in time to pick up Alex, Ava thought darkly, as she reparked her car in the half-empty police headquarters lot thirty minutes later. Probably would have, given that he always seemed to be the last one out of the locker room. But the terse phone call she’d received when she’d been halfway to the East High School gym had ended hopes of getting home any time soon.

Her mood grim, she jogged up the steps to the building and flashed her ID at the officer manning the front desk. She strode by with barely a pause in her step, heading toward the stairs leading to the administrative offices. Chief Sanders hadn’t been particularly forthcoming on the phone. But it wasn’t like she could turn down his “request” that she head back in for yet another meeting.

Questions tumbled through her mind like circus acrobats. Had a question arisen regarding Cabrerra’s death? It had been a clean shoot, but she’d seen more than one SWAT sniper get caught up in bureaucratic bullshit after a public outcry.

She took the steps to the second floor two at a time. It was much too early for Sanders to be taking flak for the incident response. The nightly news had just aired. And the mayor, never her favorite person, wouldn’t have a reaction until the results of his daily polls were weighed.

Since it was impossible to guess the agenda for the meeting, Ava tried to shove her questions aside. But that didn’t dissipate the knot of nerves tightening in her stomach.

Knocking on the closed door of Sanders’s office, she awaited the chief’s growled invitation before entering. Immediately her gaze went to the strangers seated across the desk from the chief. She made them out as feds immediately. Their dark suits and arrogant expressions were more telling than badges.

“Detective Carter.” Chief Sanders waved her toward a chair. Ava sat in one a couple feet from the strangers. She felt the two men’s gazes on her, bold and appraising, so she returned their stares unflinchingly. With a few notable exceptions, she held feds in as low esteem as she did politicians, for much the same reasons.

“DHS Agents Samuelson and Paulus,” Sanders continued, with what passed for an introduction. The men gave her slight nods, and Ava struggled to hide her jolt of shock. What would Homeland Security want with her? Because it was at their request that Sanders had ordered her back. That much was clear.

“I’m sure you’re anxious to get home, Detective Carter,” started Samuelson. He was a tall, spare man, with slicked-back thinning dark hair and a tan that didn’t quite hide the old acne scars on his face. “I’ll get right to the point. I understand from Chief Sanders that you’ve met Cael McCabe, the owner of Global Securities.”

“Yes.”

The agent seemed to be waiting for her to go on, but when she didn’t, he pressed, “The two of you were seen together in the parking lot afterward.”

“Yes.” Seen by whom? Who had been the person of interest? McCabe or her?

A note of impatience crept into Samuelson’s tone. “Did the two of you have a conversation?”

“Yes.” She saw Sanders hide a smile at her less than enlightening responses. But she was damned if she was going to feed the feds any information before they extended her the same courtesy.

“We’d like to know what you discussed.” It was the first time Agent Paulus had spoken, and Ava shifted her attention to him. He was a good foot shorter than Samuelson, stocky, with coarse gingery hair and nearly invisible eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Because we asked, Ms. Carter.” Samuelson’s omission of her title didn’t escape her. Neither did his biting tone. She was familiar with the intimidation tactics feds could use to leverage information. She glanced again at Sanders and he gave her a small nod.

She leaned back in her chair, feigning nonchalance. “He offered me a job.” The two agents exchanged a look. Clearly she’d startled them. But even more surprising was the suppressed excitement she sensed her words elicited from them.

“With Global Securities?” Samuelson barely waited for her nod before pressing, “And what was your answer?”

“I told him I wasn’t interested.” Her interest was piqued now, however.

“We’d like you to reconsider your answer to McCabe’s job offer,” Samuelson said. Though couched as a suggestion, it sounded more like a command. “There’s a matter of national security you could assist with by doing so.”

“Why would I do that?” She didn’t understand Chief Sanders’s silence, but she was tiring of the subterfuge. And her diplomacy skills tended to thin when she was tired.

“Patriotism?” offered Paulus. “Duty to your country? Commitment to national freedom?”

Anger coursed through her, a hot rush of feeling. Although she knew she was being manipulated, she was helpless to stem her response. “I’m recently recovered from taking a bullet because of my line of work. Just got back on the job two weeks ago. Tread carefully, gentlemen. You might not want to question my sense of duty.”

“She’s right.” As if Sanders could remain quiet no longer, he came forward in his chair, aimed a steely look at the agents. “Detective Carter is a valued member of our force, and of our incident response unit. Time to fish or cut bait, gentlemen. If you want interagency cooperation, you have to be open about the mission you’re asking Detective Carter’s help on.”

“Of course.” Samuelson smoothed his muted striped tie, his manner stiff. “We were getting to that. Our agency has an interest in Antonio de la Reyes’s new government and of the political climate in San Baltes. McCabe is providing security for de la Reyes, and anyone on his team would have access to certain…intelligence…that would help us with our threat assessment of the newly formed government there. With your heroics today, we thought you’d be in the perfect position to impress McCabe. Petition him for a position on his team.” He gave her a small smile devoid of sincerity. “Obviously you already accomplished that feat. He was impressed enough to offer you a job, which would make your task even more plausible.”

It was amazing, Ava thought cynically, what passed for open communication with these guys. Or maybe they really underestimated her intelligence enough that they thought she’d buy their story unquestioningly. “Why do you need me? Why not approach McCabe directly for the information?” She read her answer from the pained expressions on the agents’ faces.

“Mr. McCabe was disinterested in cooperating.”

Ava’s lips quirked. She could imagine McCabe’s response had been somewhat less polite than Samuelson indicated. Her estimation of the security consultant kicked up a notch.

“Well, I’m confused.” She gave the agents an easy shrug. “The situation you’re outlining sounds like a matter for the CIA, not DHS. Your involvement means there’s a terrorism component to your concern. I must have missed it when you mentioned that part.”

“This is extremely sensitive.” Agent Paulus cast a look at the other agent as he spoke. “Whatever your response, I hope we can count on your discretion.” He waited expectantly, but when Ava said nothing, he went on. “Alberto Martinez, the former leader of San Baltes, was a corrupt dictator. We have reason to believe money from his government was supporting terrorist attacks throughout South America. Naturally we’re eager for the opportunity to explore the degree to which that network still exists. Your placement on McCabe’s team gives us such an opportunity.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was insincere. “As I told Mr. McCabe, I have a job here. A teenage son to care for. I’m not free to take the job even if I wanted to.”

“Captain Sanders assures us that your job would be waiting for you during your absence, as would your spot on SWAT. And your ex-husband could care for your son while you’re gone, couldn’t he?”

Everything in Ava stilled. Her glance flicked to the chief and back to Samuelson. It was impossible to be sure whether they’d gotten the personal details of her life from Sanders or from their own digging, but she’d bet on the latter. DHS wasn’t known for their regard for individuals’ privacy.

The only question remaining was how deep they’d dug.

“The answer’s still no.” Inwardly seething, Ava made sure her emotions didn’t show in her expression. A sense of duty had formed her desire to enter the police force, but this…they were asking her to deceive McCabe, if in fact she could convince him to put her on de la Reyes’s detail. To act as a spy while she was in San Baltes.

She’d worked plenty of undercover cases, but there was nothing compelling about the agents’ request. They could cite national security all they wanted, but they’d failed to convince her of the urgency of this particular task. And even she was surprised at the level of distaste she felt for it.

“So that’s it, gentlemen.” Sanders rose, indicating the meeting was at an end. Ava couldn’t tell if he approved of her response or not. “I said I’d release Detective Carter if she agreed, but you have her answer. I’m afraid I have another meeting in a few minutes.”

They all rose, and the tall agent reached into his pocket to withdraw a card. He handed it to her. “In case you reconsider.”

When Ava went to take it, the man didn’t release the card immediately. Her gaze met his.

“Think it over, Ms. Carter.” His voice was pitched low enough to reach only her ears. “I happen to believe a single act of patriotism can erase years of disloyalty. Years that might prove embarrassing should they be made public.”

The freshly healed scar on her shoulder throbbed at his thinly veiled warning. He finally released the card and she slipped it into her suit pocket. Turning without a word, she headed for the door, wondering frantically just how thorough their investigation of her had been.

Because she didn’t think she was imagining the threat in Samuelson’s parting words.