Shot in Darkness

by Heather Sunseri

  My smile faltered a bit at his serious tone. I lifted my head slightly to kiss him rather than let him analyze my discomfort at the compliment.

  So much had happened between us in such a short time. I’d been attracted to him soon after meeting him, but he’d been a person of interest in the assassination of Kentucky’s lieutenant governor and in a potential plot to kill hundreds, if not thousands, of people at Kentucky’s premier sporting event, the Bluegrass Derby. Then I’d gotten sucked into the investigation of an outlaw motorcycle gang and had nearly gotten myself killed in the process.

  Declan had handled both cases surprisingly well, and had even helped a little, thanks to his own past dealings with the intelligence community and his background as a chemist—but something was preventing me from letting him completely into my heart. And that just wasn’t fair to him.

  I had thought my life would settle down a bit—for both of us—when I took the job with the Kentucky’s Office of Homeland Security, but after that crazed group of Russian terrorists threatened to take down the entire grid of the eastern half of the United States—and just about took Declan and me down in the process—I had reluctantly come to the realization that “settling down” just wasn’t going to happen for me.

  Yet here I was. Back in Declan’s arms.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving Kentucky,” I said. “You deserve better.” But did he deserve to know the real reason I was in Georgetown? That I might finally discover Romeo’s identity?

  The hand that had been tracing the line from my temple to my jawline paused. He kept his word, however, and didn’t ask me why I had left. He instead stared down at me with those stormy blue eyes.

  “I was protecting you, though,” I said. I could feel my forehead tighten as I stared at his lips—anything to avoid looking directly into those piercing eyes that somehow managed to extract the truth from me without having to ask.

  He leaned down and kissed each brow.

  When he drew back, I said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He rolled to the side, propping his body up on his elbow. “I’m a big boy, Brooke. If I didn’t want to risk being hurt by you, I wouldn’t have gotten close. I certainly wouldn’t have risked pursuing you after you ran away.”

  “I wasn’t running away.”

  “Oh yeah? What would you call it?”

  “I was taking a breather—for both of our sakes. Ty and James had planned a vacation before they moved permanently from this house to Kentucky, and their dog-sitter fell through at the last minute. Since I needed to… take care of some things in the area… I thought it was the perfect time for me to help them out and give us some space.”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Declan’s jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed with anger. “You can justify inside that head of yours that you needed a ‘breather,’ but don’t put that need on me. I don’t need, nor do I want, space between us. If you need space, you tell me.” He leaned down and kissed me, then added, “With your words, not a disappearing act.”

  I knew he was right. Anyone with a heart or a brain would.

  I closed my eyes and fought against the irritation of knowing how right he was.

  When I opened my eyes, his face had softened.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “That’s up to you. Do you want space?”

  I smiled, then glanced down at the length of our bodies covered by a sheet. “If I do, I have a funny way of showing it.”

  His lips curved as well. “That’s not an answer.”

  “I told you I would try. After that asshole Gray Blackstone tried to burn me alive, I promised I would try. I failed. I’m a terrible girlfriend. I might be terrible at whatever label we put on this relationship.”

  “Yes, well, I’ll admit that I may have been hasty during our last conversation. Especially since you can’t even say the words. Maybe asking you that important of a question could have waited a bit longer.”

  “Are you taking it back?” I couldn’t stop the panicked sound that entered my voice. What would that mean? Did I want him to take it back?

  He drew back slightly, studied me. “Of course I’m not taking it back. But I’m accepting that you need more time.” His phone buzzed against the nightstand, and he sighed. “That would be my appointment, wondering where I am.”

  “Take the call. I have work of my own I should probably think about.”

  He smiled, then leaned across me and grabbed his phone before climbing out of bed.

  I, too, slipped out of bed and into a robe.

  When he’d finished the call, he walked over to me. “I propose we table this discussion until you’re back in Kentucky and ready to analyze everything.”

  “That’s in two weeks.”

  “Yes. I’m not happy about it either.”

  “Also, it seems like I shouldn’t have to analyze ‘this.’ Shouldn’t I just know?” I probably didn’t need to voice that concern.

  Declan ran a finger down the stress lines that I knew had formed between my eyes. “You’re an analyst. You scrutinize everything. I never expected this to be any different.”

  “Good point.”

  “However, just because we aren’t going to talk about it, doesn’t mean I can’t take you to dinner. So, you take care of your work, I’ll go to my meeting, and we’ll enjoy a lovely night out this evening. You pick the place.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Let’s eat here in Georgetown. But I’ll need to stop off at Full Court Press for a drink at nine p.m. I’m meeting someone there.”

  “The sports bar?”

  “You know it?”

  “Yes. I think I can entertain myself with some of your American football while you take your meeting.”

  “Perfect.”

  He lifted me so that my face was even with his, and kissed me. “I’ll be back here by six. But now, I need a quick shower so that I can make my rescheduled appointment.”

  As I watched his luscious naked body walk toward the bathroom, I wondered how Declan would react when I told him I was meeting with an NSA intelligence analyst who claimed to have information on the identity of someone she suspected was stalking me: Romeo, if my suspicions were correct.

  Chapter 6

  Brooke

  Declan’s back was to me when I entered the kitchen at six thirty that evening. He was on the phone, and by the sound of it, he was speaking to Aidan about some thoroughbred races at the October race meet at Kensington Racetrack. He had a record number of horses running this fall.

  When my heels clicked on the kitchen tile, he turned. His serious expression softened, and his eyes brightened. “Aidan, I must go. A beautiful lady just entered the room, and she most assuredly needs my full attention.” His smile faltered. “Yes, I’m talking about Brooke, you sod.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Declan ended the conversation and slipped his phone in his pocket. He’d lost the suit jacket, leaving him in a pair of dark tan suit pants and a blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked… relaxed.

  He took a step toward me, pausing to check out my fitted gray dress and silver, open-toed shoes. “It’s a warm evening. I was thinking we’d walk to the restaurant, but with those shoes…” He slid a hand to my back and brought me close.

  I wrapped an arm around his back. “Don’t underestimate my ability to move in a pair of Walter de Silvas.”

  He leaned in and smiled against my lips. “Point taken. We’ll walk.” He kissed me, then slid his hand into mine. “I made a reservation at San Lorenzo Osteria.”

  “Italian?”

  “To go with your shoes.”

  It was my turn to smile. Nothing cuter than a straight man who knew his haute couture designers.

  We strolled slowly away from Ty and James’s townhouse. As we did, we passed the townhouse owned by Bradley, the strange man with the ammunition I’d met that morning. With Declan’s surprise visit and a day full of phone calls, I had completel
y forgotten about that unusual encounter with the neighbor. His townhouse was dark now.

  “You’re thinking awfully hard about something,” Declan said as he squeezed my hand.

  I gave my head a little shake, smiled up at him. “No, just admiring the architecture.” No use bringing Declan into my paranoia.

  “Georgetown is a lovely area.”

  That it was. Declan and I talked about the architecture and admired the trees that lined the quaint cobblestone streets. The lantern-style streetlights accentuated the reds, oranges, and yellows of the changing autumn leaves. When my heels got caught on the uneven stones, Declan steadied me.

  And, like he promised, he managed not to bring up the fact that I had left Kentucky without a word to him. I knew I would eventually give him an explanation, but not tonight. Tonight, we would dine and enjoy each other’s company. Enjoying each other in the here and now had never been a problem for us. It was my inability to commit, to let go of my past… no… to let my past simply be a part of me and not affect the here and now. That was my trouble.

  As we approached San Lorenzo Osteria, I realized Full Court Press, where I was meeting Anya, was right next door. Convenient. Though I still wasn’t sure how Declan would react when he learned that I’d kept my meeting with Anya a secret from him.

  The pleasant October weather must have brought everyone out of their houses, because San Lorenzo Osteria was packed, and any time I looked up, swarms of people were passing by the window.

  “So,” Declan said. “Are you going to tell me about this mysterious meeting you’ve scheduled so late?”

  I lifted a bite of linguine coated with basil pesto to my mouth, paused, then proceeded to take the bite while I thought how I should answer Declan.

  He swirled the Nero d’Avola in a sleek, stemmed wineglass as he eyed me. “You’re stalling, Miss Fairfax. Should I be concerned?”

  I set my fork down, touched the cloth napkin to my lips, and took a drink from my own glass of wine. “Is that a note of raspberry I taste?”

  “You know it is. And black cherry. You heard the waiter describe the wine as well as I did.” He leaned forward, reached across the table, and scooped up my fingers.

  I set my wine glass back down as a server passed by carrying a tray of at least six plates of food. I started to remark on the talent of the staff, but realized Declan was right. I was stalling.

  “I’m meeting a senior intelligence analyst with the NSA—a friend of mine from UVA. She claims she has information about someone stalking me.”

  If I hadn’t been watching closely, I would have missed the anger that flared in his eyes before he blinked it away. He dropped my fingers and sat back in his chair. “You have any idea what she might have found?”

  I shrugged, trying to look casual.

  “You say she’s a friend of yours?”

  I tilted my head side-to-side. “We roomed together our sophomore year. We were close.”

  “What happened? Why aren’t you close now?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. I went through some stuff that had nothing to do with her. We grew apart.”

  “And now?”

  “When I was working at FBI headquarters, we met for drinks a time or two. We grew closer again, but then I met…” For some reason, I still struggled to finish sentences like that. Would I ever just be able to talk about that time in my life?

  “But you met Teddy, fell in love, and—”

  “We lost touch again.” I pretty much lost touch with everyone the year after Teddy died. Everyone except Ty and James.

  “So, you think she has information on Romeo?”

  “She’s a cyber analyst. I asked her to check into something for me several weeks ago. I hadn’t heard back from her, so I assumed she’d found nothing. But then I received a message from her. She said she’d found something, but didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.”

  “Do you still think that Romeo knows what happened the night Teddy was killed?”

  It was I who leaned forward then. I grabbed Declan’s hand. “I’m sure of it. And I think Romeo wants to tell me what happened. I think he wants some kind of relationship with me. But he doesn’t want to be locked away for the crimes he’s committed. Since I’m not FBI anymore, I don’t really even have the means to arrest him. I just—”

  I stopped myself when I realized my voice had risen a bit too much. A couple at a neighboring table looked my way. I released Declan’s hand and sat back. “I just want the truth. And I think Romeo has that truth. If Anya has found Romeo…”

  Declan took another drink. When he set his glass down, he lifted his hard gaze to meet mine. “I gave you my word that I would be patient when it came to our future. And you know that I’m understanding of the risks and dangers of your career choice.” He stared at me, unblinking. When he spoke again, he did so through gritted teeth. “But dammit, Brooke, you promised you wouldn’t go after Romeo without telling me.”

  “I—” I barely got that single word in before he started again.

  “How many times must this lunatic hurt you before you realize that he’s dangerous? He feeds you information about your cases that puts you in grave danger. Every. Single. Time.”

  Declan looked around to see if anyone was watching us. It was unlike him to lose control of his emotions. When he looked back at me, his face had paled slightly. “If you don’t want to spend your life with me, that’s fine. But I will not stand by and let you recklessly put your life in danger. I nearly lost you in the fire that Romeo could have stopped.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know enough to know that Romeo’s main objective is not to keep you safe.”

  I swallowed back emotion. “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I said, louder than I meant to. “He murdered my unborn child, Declan. Purposefully.” I fisted a hand at my stomach. “I know what he’s capable of.” Tears surfaced and burned, forcing me to look away. “Excuse me a minute,” I said, setting my napkin on the table. Grabbing my clutch, I stood.

  Declan shot to his feet and wrapped a gentle hand around my forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I lifted my gaze. “It’s okay.” I smiled. “I’m not that fragile. Surely you know that by now.”

  “I do, but it was not my intention—it’s never my intention—to hurt you. I would never—”

  “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

  I scurried off to the ladies’ room to freshen my makeup and wipe away any sign of what had just happened.

  When I returned to the table, Declan stood and stepped close to me so that his mouth was next to my ear. “Please forgive me.”

  “Not your fault. I shouldn’t have kept the meeting from you.” But in my defense, I wasn’t exactly speaking to Declan at the time I decided I would meet Anya.

  We slid back into our seats. Declan held my hand.

  I smiled at him. “Would you like to meet Anya?”

  “I thought you would never ask.”

  I shook my head. “I should warn you. She’s very good at what she does.”

  “I wouldn’t think she’d worked her way into senior counterterrorism analyst with the NSA if she wasn’t.”

  “How did you—” I started. “You had her checked out that fast?”

  His lips slid into an easy grin. He waved his cell phone in front of me. “I used to be good at what I did, too.”

  Our server returned with a black portfolio. Declan, apparently, had already paid for dinner. When he had signed the slip of paper, he stood and reached out a hand to me. “Let’s walk before our meeting with your friend.”

  Chapter 7

  Bradley Archer

  It was a perfect night to show my beloved just what she’d meant to me. Georgetown’s restaurants and shops were crowded, and the temperature was warm, very much like it had been the night of our first date this past June.

  I stood against a lamppost and watched the entrance of
Full Court Press at a distance. She liked Full Court Press because it was not the seen-and-be-seen spot for the intelligence community. No, that was a bar down the street and around the corner, where I was sure many of our mutual friends were currently tying one on.

  My beloved liked to stay out of the spotlight and away from others in the intelligence community. She said people who worked in intelligence or in federal law enforcement had a habit of getting a little too close to the people around them. “Sometimes it’s good to keep a little mystery in the relationships you’re building,” she was fond of saying. “Keeps life interesting.”

  Little had I known that at the same time she was feeding me her bullshit, she was making enemies with my boss.

  Imagine my surprise when I received my next assignment: Silence Anya Bhatia before nine p.m. Friday night. Make it look random.

  I didn’t know what my boss had discovered about Anya, but he was never wrong.

  It was 8:48 p.m. when I spotted Anya walking toward Full Court Press. She was early.

  I straightened, keeping my hands tucked in the pockets of my long coat. My sniper rifle, its profile diminished by a folding stock, was secured to a holster just inside the coat. The forefinger of my right hand rested near the trigger of a handgun inside my right pocket.

  If all went well, I would only need the long-range rifle.

  Everything was in place for me to escape the scene without being identified. This was not to be a suicide mission.

  Anya entered the bar. Through the window, I watched her speak to the host standing behind a podium just inside the door.

  I lifted a monocular to my right eye. The host led her to a high table, and in typical Anya fashion, she sat so that she could see the entrance. “Always keep an eye on the entry and exit points,” she had said to me once upon a time.

  “You paranoid bitch,” I said softly.

  I lowered the monocular as a family of four passed by. The woman looked at me with furrowed brows as she held her hands over her younger child’s ears.