Hard Target (7 page)

And of course, an Aston Martin as one does in these situations.

We’ll need new passports, cash, credit cards, and scrubbed phones. Two hours later, I’m tired as hell, but it has to be finished. I roll my head from side to side, attempting to relieve the pressure, as I pack the last few things and carefully place them in the boot of the Aston Martin. Doubling checking everything one last time, I head back upstairs to wake Morgan.

Sunlight is streaming though the window and Morgan is sitting up in bed when I walk in. Her chin length blond hair is mussed and her lips are parted on a yawn before she settles against the headboard.

For a moment, I struck by the picture she makes. It looks so right for her to be in my bed, waiting for my arrival. Although that is not the case, I let my imagination wander. Let myself imagine that I wake up to her every morning.

But not for long.

I clear my throat. “Good morning.”

She takes one look at my face and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve been found and we’ve,” I glance at my watch, “less than forty–six hours to reunite the flash drive with its owner.”

She leaps to her feet, grabbing the robe I’d lent her from the end of the bed and putting it on. It’s ridiculously large for her, the sleeves hanging nearly to her thighs.

“You’ll have to change into your old clothes. I’ll buy you new ones later.” While I can manufacture new identification papers and print 3-D guns, I don’t usually stock women’s clothing.

Nodding, she hurries to the bathroom. The soft click of the latch echoes in the empty room. Her quiet acceptance makes me wonder if this is something she’s done before—leaving in the middle of the night, that is.

When she comes out, I’m fully dressed and have everything I need in a black duffle bag. My Glock is loaded, hidden in its holster behind my black jacket. Knives are hidden in each boot, and I’ve fresh phones for the both of us.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. “I used your toothbrush… and I’m not sure why I told you that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I hand her a phone. “This is untraceable. I’ve already thrown your old one away, cleared it of every bit of data, too.”

Her bottom lip tremble, but rather than fall to pieces, she straightens her spine and nods. My admiration goes up for her another notch. “Okay.”

“Things have worked out in our favor a little.”

“How so?” she asks.

“They’ve promised not to kill us… unless we don’t reach Paris in time, more specifically, the Depository Bank of Zurich.”

She makes a face. “Just my luck that the first time I get to go to Paris is because I’ll die if I don’t.”

“I promise that once this is over, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” To make such a promise is a mistake. There are no guarantees we’ll come out of this alive, but I have to look on the bright side.
For her.
Perhaps what is contained on this flash drive is nothing more than a cure for the common cold.

Keep telling yourself that.

“At least we’re not being kicked out because the rent’s overdue,” she says with a forced brightness.

“Did that happen very often?”

Her shoulders lift in a casual shrug. “My dad wasn’t too keen on paying for a kid that looked nothing like him, so he left us a lot. My mom kept taking him back because…” Another shrug, and I have no trouble seeing the hopeless child she once was. Except that image doesn’t fit her profile at all. Then again, when has a background check told the whole story? “I guess she loved him.”

“I’m not leaving you, not even when things get… bad.” Things will get worse. I know it all the way down to my bones.

Her gaze drops to the floor. “I know you won’t. You’ll see this through to the end.”

“In for a penny…”

She takes a deep breath and looks at me. “Tell me how I can help.”

I take her hand and we begin to walk to the front door. The flash drive is securely fastened to the necklace that I’m wearing. If anyone should notice, it looks more like a bullet shaped pendant than anything else. Perhaps in my next life, I can try jewelry making.

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Yes.”

“A handgun and not a rifle?” I ask, thinking of my sister-in-law. The first time she shot a handgun was heartbreaking. Then again, Everly isn’t like Morgan, and I don’t mean that as a slight to either woman. We are all products of our upbringing.

“Both. Coyotes liked to attack our cows at night.”

“You shot them?”

“Not all the time. Granny liked to get in a turn.”

“As one’s granny does.” I open the front door, motioning for her to stay inside. Sure enough, there is a small package on my stoop. I bend down to retrieve it, scanning the street as I do. While it is devoid of people, there is a black Mercedes idling three houses down.

Retreating, I shut the door and lock it, then head for the rear of the house, intent upon opening this once we’re in the car.

“Where are we going now?” she asks.

“Downstairs. I have a back entryway. Completely hidden.”

She follows me to my safe room, stopping by the car. “This won’t attract attention at all. Good plan.”

“It’s a great car. More importantly it’s safe. I spent an hour going over it.”

She opens the driver’s side door and gets in, pulling her seatbelt across her chest.

I stand there, clicking the key fob to open the boot and titling my head to one side as I wait.

“Wrong side,” she says, unbuckling and sliding back out. “I don’t drive a lot in London.”

I don’t bother to hide my grin as I throw my bag into the boot and shut it. “If we weren’t in danger, I would take you out to the countryside and let you drive to your heart’s content.”

Her brow lifts. “Fast cars and guns, huh? You sure know the way to this country girl’s heart.”

I don’t think she’s joking, and my heart trips at the thought of winning her. Foolish dreams for both of us.

As we get in my car, I hit a button and the wall in front of us moves disappears like a pocket door sliding into its frame.

“Comfortable?” I ask, snagging a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.

“Better than a bed,” she sighs, wriggling into the leather seat. “Is it bad that my body keeps going from best feeling ever to
oh my God, I’m about to die
?”

“Whatever it takes to keep you from freaking out.”

“I won’t freak out.”

Turning a little, I brush a lock of hair away from her face. “I know you won’t. You’re a strong woman, Morgan. Most men would have broken down by now.”

She smiles sadly. “Guess I ought to thank my family for being so crappy, huh?”

“Our past can strengthen us and in your case, that is imminently true.”

I’m stalling for more time with her. While I’m nearly one hundred percent sure that the key won’t blow up and that there won’t be armed guards waiting for us as soon as we exit the private tunnel, I’m hesitant to drive away. Once we leave this place, Morgan is all in, even more so than before. Now she is a willing partner.

She covers my hand with her, squeezing it. “Stop putting off the inevitable.”

With a grimace, I hit the start button and put the car in drive.

Morgan

A
s soon as
sunlight hits my face, I brace for impact. Or an explosion.

Surely the airbags will go off at any minute and Ben will be forced to pull over, then bad guys disguised as cops will stop to help us and –

BANG!

We’re dead.

But none of that happens.

Ben mutters what sounds like a prayer before picking up speed. “There is a black Mercedes following us.”

I whip my head around, twisting in my seat so quickly that I almost give myself whiplash. Sure enough, a black luxury car is keep up with us. I groan and settle back into the seat.

My pulse starts to kick up a notch. At the rate my blood pressure’s going, I’m liable to die of a stroke before bullets or an explosion can do the job.

“What the bloody hell?” He suddenly veers off the road, pulling into a deserted car park or parking lot as I still call them.

“Why are you stopping?” I yell at him. Panic revs my heart rate into overdrive.

“I know who’s in the car.” Ben gets out and slams the door, leaning against it all casual like and as if we weren’t being chased by killers!

Men.

The Mercedes parks beside us. A man wearing a grim expression and a tailored suit gets out, and panic clogs my throat. I inch the window down so that I can hear what’s going on.

“Dmitry,” Ben says, then switches languages. Russian, I think. Ben’s last name is Romanov and Dmitry sounds exactly like a bad guy’s name from an action-adventure movie from 1990s. Except this Dmitry is almost as hot as Ben. I’m not into blonds, but if I were, totally my type and OH MY GOD…

What am I doing?

Doing what always get you in trouble.

Not focusing on the issue at hand? Rushing into things without thinking it through?

Answer C- all the above

“Your friend is listening to us,” Dmitry says. Like Ben his accent is mostly British sounding with a hint of something else underneath it. It’s probably
badguyese
.

“His
friend
doesn’t speak anything but English,” I point out.

Ben turns around and opens the door, peering inside. “This is my cousin, Dmitry. He’s going to follow us to Paris.”

“You couldn’t have told me that
before
you jumped out?”

His gaze roams my face. “I’m a little preoccupied with keeping you safe at the moment.”

“You don’t know how thankful and grateful I am for that, but I don’t want to be in the dark. I want to help,” I remind him.

His eyes lose a bit of that cold, glacial sheens that has been slowly creeping in since last night. “I know you do. In the future, I will endeavor to keep you appraised of all things concerning your safety and well-being.”

“Did you just customer service rep me?”

“What?” He pronounces the word like one of the Royals would, sounding so stupidly posh that I want to kick him and kiss him, which seems about right for us.

“Spout off highfalutin words to placate a needy customer.” I raise my brows at him. “I do it at least once a week at PharmGen.”

“I have absolutely no idea what highfalutin means.”

“Consider the context clues, sugar,” I say, giving him by best Georgia drawl and a smirk.

He licks his lips, his gaze drifting down to my mouth. “I won’t leave you in the dark again.”

“Thank you,” I say primly and cross my legs. His eyes follow the movement. I’m both annoyed and pleased that he’s attracted to me… and that I’m attracted to him while we’re fleeing the country.

There should be a compartmentalization section of my brain that I can turn on and off at will.
No sexy Ben right now. Only trying to save us Ben
.

He nods, then straightens to finish his conversation with his cousin. As soon as they’re done, he gets in the car again and we’re off, heading to Paris.

“It’s only a six hour drive, but we can stop if you need me to.”

“The faster we get this over with the better,” I say.

He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “That’s my brave girl.” Letting go, he punches some buttons on a display in the dash. In most cars, there would be a radio function along with navigation, but like its driver, this is no ordinary car.

“I’m hopping on one of PharmGen’s satellites to monitor the Depository,” he says. “Dmitry will monitor the route and will text us if things look suspicious.”

Everything looks suspicious to me, but I’m no expert. “Should we open the package to see what the key looks like?”

“I already opened it. Dmitry and I surmised that it’s not explosive.”

“That’s… good?”

“Very.” His jaw works. “I don’t have a good feeling about easy, Morgan.”

“You’d rather have hard?”

Tilting his head to one side, he gives me a brief but telling look before focusing on the road. “I’d rather know what’s on the drive so I can make a better decision than this. I hate when someone else calls the shots.”

“What do you think is on the drive?”

“Not sure exactly. Honestly, I’m hoping it’s a cure for the common cold.”

“That would be worth a lot of money.”

He nods. “Enough to kill for.”

We both fall silent, watching cars and trucks weave in and out of lanes. Everyone seems to be in as much of a hurry as we are, but they’re headed to work, not to potentially die.

“Do you feel like talking?” I ask.

“Only if it will make you feel better.”

If only this was a date and he were a potential boyfriend. “I’m not sure if it will. I have so many questions for you.”

“Go on.”

I nibble at my lip, debating if I really want the answers. “Your former life, with bad guys and jumping off roofs… and killing people. Did… you… why?”

“I grew up in that life. My grandfather and brother taught me everything they knew. I was groomed to be a killer for the Bratva.”

My tongue gets stuck to the roof on my mouth for a second. “Are you still close to them?”

“Only my brother, but over the years I’ve drifted away from him as well. It’s not easy to leave everything behind, the man I used to be, but for nearly a decade I did just that. Worked my arse off to get a proper job.” He runs a hand through his black hair. “But now I know it was a setup. For what purpose, I’m not sure, and that scares the fuck out of me.”

“How do you know it was a setup?”

“I spied on Pinter and learned that someone was spying on me at the same time. It was rather disconcerting, especially since I considered myself untraceable. Pride and all that.”

“Maybe they know you.”

“I thought the same thing. But whom? Certainly not Grandfather and my brother has no idea how to arrange for such a thing—at least not without my help. I have two half-brothers, but they are firmly in the sunshine. Their careers so bright that even the Bratva leaves them alone. They’d make shite assassins anyway,” he says and my mind whirls at the possibility of who his half-brothers are. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know.”