Second Shot (3 page)

I’d just returned from a month in Prague as part of a four-man detail. The otherwise all-male team had started out trying to treat me as a cross between their own personal maid and private secretary. Three days in, one of them had made what turned out to be, for him, a very unfortunate remark about the sexual proclivities of the Women’s Royal Army Corps, of which I’d once been a member, and my temper had finally got the better of me. Still, they reckoned he should be out of his cast inside six weeks. His colleagues—and his forewarned replacement—had treated me with the utmost respect after that, and the job went off without further unpleasantness.

I’d proved, or so I’d thought, that I was capable of doing the job. It was just the question of where that was still causing me some qualms.

America.

There was no logic to it, but when I glanced at Sean I felt a dull anxiety almost akin to panic. I’
m not ready to go back.

His face carried no expression beyond a cold determination I barely recognized.
If not now, then when?

“Urn, is there some problem?” Harrington finished, as the atmosphere
finally
negotiated its way past the merlot that had formed a constituent part of his lunch. “If it’s a question of timing, this trip probably wouldn’t be for a month or so, if then. The investigation is still in its early stages at the moment, from what one can gather. There would be no point in Simone going out there until they’ve actually found the man, or at least until they have more information for her, would there?”

“It’s not that.” I took a deep breath. “It’s just—”

“I think you should check on Simone and Ella, Charlie—make sure they’re OK,” Sean said. He spoke quietly, calmly, but the demand for utter obedience came across loud and clear in the very softness of his voice, nevertheless. I spiked him with a short vicious glare, tempted to outright mutiny. I told myself the only reason I didn’t was because such behavior would be totally unprofessional in front of a client. Part of me even believed that as a viable excuse.

“Of course,” I murmured demurely, pushing my chair back and dumping my napkin onto the table top.
Later, Sean
… “If you’ll excuse me?”

Harrington didn’t treat me to the full rise, just lifted himself partly out of his seat. I saw his eyes flicker with curbed curiosity between the two of us, but he didn’t ask questions. Or not until I was out of earshot, at least.

I turned my back and stalked through the restaurant away from them, following much the same path between the tables that Simone had taken, trying not to let my anger show as badly on the outside as I felt it raging under the surface.

America.

Sean
knew
how I felt about working there again. We’d practically been living together for six months, so how could he not?

The last time I’d been across the Atlantic was to Florida during the previous March. My first official assignment for Sean, to a holiday destination that had turned out to be anything but.

What should have been a simple babysitting job had escalated into a disaster of major proportions. I’d ended up on the run with my teenage charge and, although I’d got through it, the cost had been a high one on every level. I was still coming to terms with what had happened there. It had taken me several months afterwards to make the decision that close protection was where my future career lay

Since then, I’d never actually asked Sean
not
to send me to the States and he’d never actually asked me to go back—before today I tried not to think of the people who’d died in Florida as a result of the unfolding catastrophe I’d found myself caught up in. I’d been personally responsible for three deaths—“personally” being the operative word.

Small wonder, then, that I was in no hurry to return.

Now, I pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, where a rake of low-voltage spotlights picked out the sparkle and flash in the black marble and granite that had been used to lavishly line the place.

Simone was leaning against the doorjamb of one of the cubicles, holding the door itself closed with one hand on the top of it. She had her back to the exit, but the wall opposite had a row of mirrors above the freestanding washbasins.

Our eyes met in the reflection and she smiled briefly before her eyes slid away, as though I hadn’t made enough of an impression to hold her attention for any longer.

I didn’t want to make it obvious that I’d only come in to keep an eye on her, but I didn’t want to go into a cubicle, either, just in case she left before I came out. Instead, I walked past her to the basins, which were frosted green glass bowls with taps that you had to wave at in order to get any water out of them. I wet my hands, more to give me something to do with them rather than through any dire need. The soap smelt of bergamot, which was nice if you liked to carry out your ablutions in Earl Grey tea.

“Are you OK in there, sweetie?” Simone called.

A big sigh emanated from inside the cubicle. “Ye-es, Mummy,” came Ella’s voice, slightly singsong, humoring her.

I grinned into the mirror at the tone. Simone let her breath out fast down her nose and rolled her eyes, but a sneaky little smile made a bid for freedom across the corners of her lips. Just for a moment we shared the connection before the smile ran its course and faded away. I finished washing my hands and shook off the excess water into the bowl.

As I moved across to the stack of individual hand towels, Simone said, almost abruptly, “Look, I’m sorry if I was rude out there. Rupert kind of sprang this whole thing on me and I don’t like surprises.”

I shrugged. “Part of my job,” I said mildly, “would be to make sure you didn’t get any”

She pulled a face, considering, then said, “You don’t look like a bodyguard.”

Not the first time I’d heard comments like that. I glanced into the mirror one last time and saw an ordinary face —to me, nothing special— surrounded by a short bob of red-blond hair. Neat, businesslike. Together with the suit, the surface look said quiet, competent, maybe even a little wary, but the last thing I’d been aiming for was to stand out in a crowd.

I dropped the used towel into the laundry bin provided and returned Simone’s cool appraisal, probably still too unsettled to be as diplomatic as I might otherwise have been. “And you don’t look like a millionairess.”

She froze, her eyes widening. But just when I’d braced myself for an outburst, she smiled, a genuine show of amusement.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Charlie, but everybody’s been acting so timid around me lately,” she said with a bubble of laughter rising through her voice. “They all want to tell me how to live my life, but you’re a breath of fresh air after all these stuffed shirts.”

If that’s how you think of Sean, lady, then you’re not looking nearly deep enough.
…

“I’m sure they only have your best interests at heart,” I said neutrally.

She gave a snort of derision. “Oh, sure,” she said, cynicism making her face suddenly hard. “Either that or
their
best interest
rates—
one or the other. Everybody seems to want a piece of me.”

“Including Matt.”

She shot me a quick warning glance, then shrugged. “Matt’s trouble was that he’s a man,” she said, abrupt. “He didn’t always think with his head—if you know what I mean.” Her eyes slid to the closed cubicle door, but her free hand gestured expressively to the front of her cargo trousers.

“Even after you won the money?”

Simone’s smile twisted. “No, he lucked out there,” she said with a hint of bitter sadness. “I knew he was fooling around with some of the girls at the place he works. Oh, he always denied it, but sometimes you just know, don’t you? Then one night I caught him coming in late with some lame excuse and I-I just totally lost my temper with him. I just went postal,” she admitted, flushing. “He didn’t say anything, which was as bad as an outright admission, right? He just went upstairs, packed a bag of his stuff and walked out. I thought he’d come back the next day, but he didn’t—how’s that for guilty conscience? And then a week later my numbers came up and now everything’s a whole lot more complicated.”

There was something in her face. I paused, tilted my head on one side in a way I knew I’d picked up from Sean. “You still love him,” I said, that part of it a statement. “So why not take him back—forgive and forget?”

She gave a restless twitch. “It’s not that simple anymore, is it? Why did he wait until after he found out about my win before he came back? How can I ever be sure … ?”

“That he came back for you or for the money,” I finished for her.

Simone nodded unhappily. ‘And as for the way he’s behaving over trying to stop me looking for my dad, well, that’s just unbalanced,” she said in a low voice, breaking off and shaking her head. She gave a slow, weary smile. “Sometimes I wish I’d never bought that goddamn ticket.”

“Language, Mummy,” Ella’s voice drifted over the cubicle door, making both of us start. Simone colored again, as though she’d forgotten her daughter’s eavesdropping presence.

“Four going on forty,” Simone muttered, and, louder: “Sorry, sweetie.”

“
That’s
all right, Mummy,” Ella said in a patient tone that suggested she knew adults couldn’t really be held responsible for their actions. “I’m all finished,” she added.

Simone let go of the top of the door and pushed it open for Ella to come out. She’d tucked most of the back of her skirt into her tights, but apart from that she seemed to have managed to re-dress herself just fine. I waited until Simone had helped her daughter to wash and dry her hands, then held the door for them.

It was for that reason I was behind the pair as they made their way back to our table. Harrington and Sean were still deep in conversation, but I saw Sean’s head lift as soon as we appeared in his line of sight. Sean’s eyes met mine for a moment, then slid across my left shoulder and narrowed.

I saw him tense instantly, start to come out of his seat. Then I was twisting to the side, keeping my knees soft as I started to turn. I had no idea at that point what I was going to see.

A young, bearded man with a gaunt, intense face, wearing jeans and a baggy military-style jacket, had entered the restaurant and stepped into view only a couple of meters behind us. With surprising agility he’d shrugged away the hand of the maître d’ who had tried to detain him, and his whole being was now focused on Simone and the child. His jacket was
open
and he had his right hand inside it, holding something concealed tight against his body.

Behind me, I sensed Sean was already going for the principals. There was no further need for communication between us. I knew instinctively that he’d selected his role based purely on cold logistics, leaving the threat for me because I was nearer, because it made more sense.

I saw the man’s arm flex as he began to withdraw his hand and I took a fast stride sideways, moving to intercept. I grabbed his right forearm just below his elbow and dug my left thumb hard into one of the main pressure points located there.

With my right hand I reached for his throat, using my own forward momentum to force him over backwards with that hold, hooking my leg around his calf to unbalance him and take him down. At the last moment I jerked my hand up slightly, enough to protect his head but not enough to stop him winding himself.

He landed with a sharp explosive
whump
of sound, the air gushing out of his lungs. His breath in my face smelt of peppermint. His right hand had drooped where I’d dead-armed him, letting whatever it was he’d been hiding slip to the floor.

I took a fraction of a second to scan it, just in case. It was a pink soft toy, a rabbit with long silky ears. I found myself kneeling partly on the toy animal’s body as the man who’d been carrying it struggled against my restraint.

A pink rabbit?

Suddenly, Ella’s voice was a piercing wail in my ear, accompanied by the stab of two tiny fists beating at my upper arm. Damn, she had a healthy punch for a four-year-old.

“Don’t you hurt my daddy!”

Daddy?

My grip on the man’s throat slackened just a fraction and he didn’t need a second invitation. In a flash he had levered his body half off the floor, shoving me backwards. I fought for balance and lunged for him again, seizing his jacket at the shoulder. He gave a kind of jerking twitch, as though to jettison the coat. I yanked the back of his collar down and twisted a great handful to form makeshift handcuffs around his lower arms. Then I piled onto his back, forcing him face-first into the carpet.

When I looked up I found the entire restaurant had frozen and were staring down at us. Harrington was on his feet, gaping at the tableau we presented in openmouthed horror.

Sean had his body between where I had the man pinned and Simone, his eyes scouring the rest of the crowd in case this was a diversion rather than the main event.

Simone had swept a loudly weeping Ella up into her arms. She was cradling the little girl on her hip and glaring ferociously at the man on the floor. His head was turned towards her, his nose mashed into the carpet by the pressure of my knee on the back of his neck. That might have been what had brought the tears to his eyes, or it might not.

“Simone, baby, please listen to me,” he managed in a muffled voice, scratchy with stress. “Don’t go to America. Don’t take Ella away from me. Please-”

“For God’s sake, Matt!” Simone snapped, and any trace of affection she’d shown for her ex when she’d spoken of him in the ladies’ room only a few minutes before had vanished, flattened out by anger and embarrassment. She leaned down towards him. “Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“Baby, please, don’t go. You don’t need him. I love you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please.” He was almost gabbling, his voice wavering between a whine and a plea. “I’m begging here.”

“Well save your goddamn breath,” Simone told him in a savage whisper, and this time Ella didn’t bother to admonish her mother for swearing. “It’s nothing to do with you what I choose to do, or where I choose to go, or who I choose to see anymore. Get used to it!”