Deadly Dance (2 page)

“The one where I’m supposed to be meeting DuBois,” Hannah responded, stepping deeper into the shadows.

“Yes,” Harrison acknowledged, his voice crackling with static. “Annie’s in place, but the blinds are drawn, so we haven’t been able to establish visual contact other than infrared.”

“How about audio?” she asked. “Have you got confirmation that it’s DuBois, Simon?”

“I do. There was a phone call about three minutes ago. Confirming an appointment tomorrow. It was definitely him.” Simon had taken over as the team’s communications officer. He was young, gung-ho, and disarmingly charming. But in truth, Hannah preferred her men a bit more cerebral and definitely more seasoned. Still, Simon’s enthusiasm could be contagious.

“Look, if this is going to work,” Harrison said, pulling her thoughts back to the task at hand, “you’re going to have to get DuBois in front of the window.”

“And we’re certain Annie can make the shot, even with the blinds down and the window closed?” Hannah asked, even though they’d already discussed the logistics ad nauseam.

“It won’t be a problem,” Annie’s voice assured her. “All I need is for you to get him in place. There’ll be a shadow. And you’ll give me voice confirmation that it’s DuBois.” The plan was to tranquilize him. Then Avery and company would move him to a secure location for interrogation. The key was not to tip their hand.

“Okay, people.” Avery’s voice rang out, his baritone as usual brooking no argument. “Enough talking. If Hannah is late DuBois is going to get suspicious. Or worse, he’ll fly the coop.”

Hannah nodded, straightened the skirt again, and walked over to the front entrance of the building. After studying a lighted keypad, she typed in the code DuBois had given her. There was a whirring sound followed by a click as the door in front of her unlocked. Feeling a bit like David heading into the lion’s den, she pushed open the door and walked into the small lobby of the building.

“There’s no one here,” she whispered into her comlink. “I’m headed for the elevator.”

“Copy that,” Harrison said as she pressed the button and the doors slid open. “The guard’s over in the next hallway.”

“All right then.” Avery’s voice boomed over the comlink. “It’s showtime.”

The doors slid shut, and the little elevator lurched as it began the ascent to the fourth floor. A minute or so later and she was walking down the hallway toward the office
at the end. Heart pounding, she knocked on the door, surprised when DuBois himself pulled it open.

He was a small man with graying hair, dressed in a tailored suit with a handkerchief tucked in the pocket. His gaze was wary, but there was also a spark of appreciation. Despite herself, Hannah smiled. Maybe the new look had been worth the effort after all.

“You must be Rebecca Andrews,” DuBois said, extending his hand, exposing cuff links that were probably worth a year’s salary.

“I am,” she said, allowing her smile to broaden as she shook his hand. “I appreciate your meeting with me.”

“You have the painting?” he asked, his eyes dropping to the portfolio.

“I do.” She searched his face for some sign that he recognized her as A-Tac, but his gaze remained politely impersonal as he motioned her inside the office and then closed the door, gesturing to a table near the window.

“You can put it over there.”

She placed the portfolio on the table, and after opening it, carefully removed the forged Monet, then stepped back to give him access. There wasn’t any way to force him to align with the window, so instead she held her breath as he examined the little painting, praying he’d buy into it long enough to give her time to figure out how to manipulate him into place.

“You’ve had it authenticated?” he asked, pulling out a jeweler’s loupe.

“Yes,” she said, reaching back into the portfolio to produce the paperwork. “Charles Avignon. My attorney recommended him.” She handed him the file.

“He’s one of the best,” DuBois agreed, placing the
papers on the table as he continued to examine the painting. “What about provenance?”

“Considering the painting’s history, I’m afraid it isn’t what it should be. I can prove that my grandfather bought the painting from a dealer in Lucerne in 1956. But there’s nothing to attest to the fact that the dealer’s acquisition was legitimate.”

“That won’t present a problem,” DuBois said. “There are people who will pay most any price for the painting, with or without provenance. That is, of course, if it is in fact the missing Monet.”

“If?” Hannah asked, holding her breath as he frowned down at the canvas.

“Yes,” he said, “there are certain anomalies I wouldn’t have expected.”

“Now you’re frightening me, Mr. DuBois.” Hannah moved closer, patting the gun tucked into the holster on her thigh.

“I’m sorry.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his tone seemed sincere and Hannah relaxed. “I’m probably just seeing things. The light here is not the best. I’ll have to have it tested to be certain.”

“I have no problem with that,” Hannah said. “As long as you’re discreet. I’m sure you can understand why I want to keep the painting off the radar. If it were to go public, then there would most definitely be questions. Questions my family would prefer to avoid.”

“I assure you, Ms. Andrews,” DuBois said, lowering the loupe, his gaze probing, “my reputation is built on discretion.”

“Absolutely,” she soothed, trying to figure out a way to get him in front of the window. Time was running out.
“That’s why I chose you. Maybe you could show me these so-called anomalies?”

“Of course.” His smile this time seemed genuine.

“Could we move into the light?” she asked, answering his smile and nodding at the fluorescent fixture on the ceiling in front of the window. “I’m afraid my untrained eyes need all the help they can get.”

“That’s totally understandable. It takes years to be able to identify a master.” He picked up the painting and carried it over to where she was standing beneath the light. She made a play of looking at the painting as he explained the things that didn’t conform with Monet’s style.

Heart pounding, she shifted slightly, forcing him to turn his back to the window. “It’s really amazing,” she said, the words her cue to Annie. “It almost doesn’t matter who painted it.”

“Yes, well, I suppose in a perfect world that would be true. But in actuality—” DuBois’s words were cut short as the window exploded, glass flying through the air like shrapnel. The man’s eyes widened for a moment and then he fell to the floor as another volley of bullets strafed the walls.

“What the hell?” Hannah barked into the comlink, hitting the ground, glass cutting into her knees and palms as the gunfire continued.

“It’s not us,” Avery said, her earpiece crackling to life. “And those sure as hell aren’t tranquilizers. The operation’s been compromised. What about DuBois?”

“He’s down.” She twisted to reach over and check his pulse. “Damn it. He’s dead.” More shots rang out, and she ducked lower as a second wave of glass rained down on her.

“Hannah, get the hell out of there,” Harrison’s worried voice broke in. “Now.”

“I’m working on it,” she said, already crawling toward the door. “Have you still got visual on the building?”

“Hang on,” he said, his worry carrying over the airwaves. “We’re taking fire—” One minute Harrison was there and the next he was gone, her ear filled with the sound of static.

“Harrison?” she called, still inching forward, the glass cutting with every move. “Avery?” She was almost at the door. “Can anyone hear me?”

For a moment, silence stretched almost palpably, and then all hell broke loose again as the gunmen resumed their barrage. Hannah reached for the doorknob, ducking back down as the shooters ricocheted a bullet off it. After a silent count of three, she tried again, this time managing to get the damn thing open.

The hallway outside was quiet, and, fortunately, devoid of windows, but she still had to make her way out of the building. And if A-Tac was taking fire in both positions that meant there had to be more than one group of shooters and that she was well and truly pinned.

Wincing as she straightened, she started for the elevator and then stopped, switching directions as she heard the telltale ding at the end of the hall. Heading for the stairway now, she sprinted forward, her heels and tight skirt impeding her progress. Angrily, she grabbed the hem of the skirt, tearing straight upward until she’d created a slit that allowed her to move more easily.

Then she removed the heels. Christian somebody or other. Madeline and Alexis would have a fit if they knew that Hannah was ditching them. But they were miles
away, and, at the moment, the shoes were anything but practical. So with a quick toss, she sent them flying back into the office as she passed, the leather exploding as the motion caused a renewed hail of bullets, red soles spinning as the pumps careened onto the floor.

At least they’d think she was still stuck in the office.

Behind her, she heard the doors to the elevator sliding open and just managed to duck into the stairwell before anyone could see. Painted submarine gray, the stairs were dimly lit, slowing her progress as she made her way down toward the third floor. But before she’d made it halfway, she heard a door below her open and the thud of feet on the stairs.

Damn it all to hell.

She’d have to go up. Risking precious seconds, she stopped to unholster her gun. Better to be ready in case there was a waiting party on the roof. “Anyone out there?” she whispered into the comlink as she took the stairs two at a time.

The silence was damning. Communications must be down. She gritted her teeth as she skidded to a stop, reaching out to grab the doorknob. No way was she going to consider the alternative.

At first, she thought the door was locked, but then it groaned and finally yielded, swinging open to reveal the inky night sky. The sound of footsteps behind her had grown louder. They were close, which meant her window of opportunity was closing. Even if she didn’t accept the idea that something had happened to the rest of the team, she was astute enough to know that they weren’t going to be able to help her.

She was on her own.

The night was chilly, a hint of winter in the air. She shivered, then moved cautiously across the shadowy rooftop, hoping to gain access to one of the adjacent buildings. But on the left there was a barbed-wire-topped wall, too high for her to scale, and to the right, a gap too wide to jump.

A quick tour of the perimeter proved equally fruitless. There wasn’t a fire escape, and the drop down to the ground from both the front and the back would be suicidal. Across the street, she could see the flash of gunfire, which meant that at least for the moment, someone was still alive and kicking.

Clutching her gun, she moved back to the west side of the roof, scouring the windows of the building across the way to try to find some sign that Annie and Harrison were okay. There was no light at all, and as she strained into the silence, no sound of gunfire. Again she assessed her options, hoping that maybe she’d find something she’d missed.

“Hello?” she called into the transmitter. “Anyone there?”

She hadn’t expected a response, so was surprised at the rush of disappointment that followed the silence. Behind her, the door to the stairway slammed open. She had company. Spinning around, she got off a couple of shots before diving to the floor of the rooftop, gravel adding new scrapes to her already shredded knees.

If she made it out of this alive, she was never wearing a skirt again. Ever.

She rolled over behind a ventilation cover, and after bracing herself on her elbows, lifted her gun to fire again. It was hard to see in the dark, but there were at least three
men. All of them armed. And if there were more, it was possible they were circling around from the back.

If a solution didn’t offer itself soon, she was screwed. After firing again in the direction of the advancing men, she popped up, risking exposure for another quick look around the rooftop. But nothing presented itself, and when a bullet whizzed past her ear, she hit the ground again, the masonry in front of her exploding as another round came too close for comfort.

She was trapped with no way out, but she’d damn sure take as many of them with her as possible. Resigned to her fate, she started to push to her feet, but just as she tensed her muscles, the comlink sprang to life.

“Hannah, you there?” It was Harrison, and nothing had ever sounded as good in all her life.

“I’m here,” she whispered, “but I’m in a world of trouble. I’ve got approaching hostiles, limited ammo, and no obvious way out.”

“We’re on the roof of the building to the west.”

“There’s no way I can jump the gap,” she said, popping up to fire, hoping to at least slow the advance.

“I’ve got a plan.” He sounded so sure of himself, she actually felt a swell of hope. “Just get over here as fast as you can. Annie and I will give you cover.”

“Copy that,” she said, glancing behind her, trying to make him out in the gloom.

“On my count.” Harrison replied, his confidence reassuring. “One… two… three.”

A barrage of bullets rang out, but this time coming from behind her. The men in front slowed, one of them falling, and Hannah didn’t wait to see more. Running full out, keeping as low as possible, she maneuvered herself
across the roof, sliding to a stop when she reached the two-foot ledge that rimmed the building.