Hard Target

by Tibby Armstrong

  “Are you sure?” he asked, though now that he’d set aside reflexive response he knew realistically he couldn’t do anything for her or for himself.

  Bringing up one hand to cup his face she stared into his eyes, her gaze steady and clear. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Pushing himself up and away from her, Simon forced himself to endure the rest of the scene as it played out. Being arrested by the police, it turned out, was a whole lot different than being taken down by the FBI. For one, the car stank of sauerkraut and old shoes. Springs poked into his ass and he shifted against the too-tight cuffs. In comparison, Alex’s recent manhandling of him had been a cakewalk and he realized she’d deliberately gone easy on him, knowing his arrest had been a setup and a farce to get him to go along with the Bureau’s plans.

  Alex sat next to him in the squad car, also cuffed. The radio squawked, traffic on the police band busier than Simon had ever heard on the channels he had used with Gun or in the CIA. Muggings, robberies and suicides painted New York a very bleak place that evening while he and Alex waited.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Simon nodded and looked out the window at Gun and Jenny standing on the sidewalk. Reading Gun’s lips he saw him say something about it being nothing. Just Simon having too much to drink. A rendezvous gone wrong with his girlfriend. It seemed all was going to plan including Günter’s smoothing over of the situation.

  Three hours later in the holding cell, Simon massaged the area where the cuffs had bruised his skin and stared at the scuffs on his once-pristine formal shoes. Though this entire scenario had played out as part of a planned operation sanctioned by a government agency, he still felt the filth and stigma of arrest staining his skin.

  The flash of the too-bright bulb as they’d taken his mug shot, a moment of weary remembrance as they’d rolled the pads of his fingers over the print card, brought flashes of the first time he’d been interrogated. Tonight’s questioning played out rather differently with a bored and jaded NYPD detective at the helm. The man had seen it all and seemed not to doubt two drunken lovebirds might find their way into the upper floors of the MoMA to fuck their brains out, accidentally tripping the fire alarm in the process.

  A drunk in the holding cell next door to Simon’s currently sang a rendition of Lucille worthy of a cat in heat while another hollered about his rights and wanting a lawyer. The unforgiving wire bench under Simon’s ass became more so as the hours progressed. At one point he saw them lead Alex out of the women’s holding area, and he assumed they were releasing her.

  She looked over her shoulder and mouthed, “Soon.”

  Soon it turned out was in a different time zone.

  Taking comfort in the solid weight of the cinderblock wall behind him, he shut his eyes. Much, much later, clanging metal and squeaking hinges awakened him from dreams where he shoved pieces of wedding cake at Alex through tiny holes in a metal partition.

  “Simon Jakes, you’re free to go,” the uniformed police officer said.

  Simon pushed to his feet and swayed as blood rushed to his head. They let him collect his things and a half hour later he stood on the precinct steps in a cool drizzle. The rain hit his face, and all the memories he’d been holding at bay with the barest scrap of pride rushed over him with his next breath.

  Leaving the prison yard, $1.60 in his pocket, dressed in the long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans they’d arrested him in a little over a year previous. Cold rain splattering his face in round, fat drops. Not knowing which way to go or who to call. A number for a halfway house in his pocket and nobody in the world to take him there.

  Kneecapped by the memory, he sank to the steps in the gray dawn light. Taxis passed by in a Doppler smear of yellow, and pigeons flirted with suicide in the gutter as they fought over a discarded hotdog roll. The sound of running footsteps and a voice calling his name made him look up. Alex, hair plastered to her head from the now-pouring rain rushed toward him, holding two insulated takeout cups.

  “I’m sorry. They told me you weren’t due for another twenty minutes.”

  She made him sound like a flight coming into JFK. Staring up at her, listless, he began to shake. Probably he should answer her, say something, but he didn’t know how to make his lips move or his constricted throat work to form the words.

  “Oh Simon,” she said, an echo of his distress in her voice.

  Setting the drinks on the steps, she took off the too-big windbreaker someone had lent her and shielded him with it. Somehow she managed to get some coffee in him. The hot, bitter brew shocked his senses and he swallowed reflexively.

  “Disgusting,” he managed on the third sip.

  She laughed, clearly relieved.

  “Come on. Let’s get you home. I’ll make tea.”

  The taxi ride passed in a blur. Vaguely aware of the rhythm of the wipers and the spraying wet sound of the tires against the pavement, Simon closed his eyes and let Alex pull his head into her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Her fingers trailed around the top of his ear, lightly ruffling through his hair and down the slope of his jaw. Though he couldn’t answer, he recognized the apology, and welcomed it in. She hadn’t known, couldn’t have known, how this would affect him. Hell, he hadn’t even known. After all, she’d arrested him less than a week ago and he hadn’t reacted so badly then.

  It was as if everything he’d lost—his parents, his sister, his job, his freedom—in those short, few years formed a gaping abyss in his psyche that threatened to consume him and every ray of hope he’d forced himself to harbor during the darkest hours. All he’d had left at one point was optimism and humor. He had to believe if he hung on to those two things he’d be able to slay every ugly demon—inner and outer—that threatened to push him into the unmitigated darkness.

  Somehow he found himself on his bed, in his apartment, staring up at the morning light. Alex fussed at his feet, untying his shoes and removing them with painstaking care. Next, his sopping-wet socks. Cool air hit his feet and he wiggled his toes, relishing their freedom. Sitting up on his elbows, he looked to the top of Alex’s head as she bent to place his shoes and socks on the floor. When he saw his own bare torso, he realized she must’ve removed his shirt and tuxedo jacket before he’d lain on the bed.

  Straightening, she met his gaze. Tangles framed her face. Mascara rings and streaks showed where tears had trailed down the slopes of her cheeks. She still wore the ripped gown. When she leaned over him the torn threads sent a harvest of little beads raining down on his naked chest.

  “You’re shedding,” he said.

  A grin spread like the morning sunshine, highlighting her face. “You’re going to be all right.”

  In answer, he tugged her upper arm, unbalancing her so she stumbled to land on top of him.

  “Make love to me, Alexandra.”

  Lips hovering above his, she murmured, “Gladly.”

  Leaning into the kiss, neither one of them closed their eyes. Bringing his hand to her nape, Simon threaded his fingers through the unkempt mass of Alex’s hair and massaged her scalp. Tilting her head, angling her just so, he delved deep to taste the sweet honey of her mouth. She caressed his tongue, twisting it with her own, drawing on the flame of their mutual passion to return heat to his lips, fingertips and soul. She was a living fire in his arms, designed to thaw him and keep him warm during his darkest hours and bleakest dawns.

  Sighing into her mouth, he didn’t resist when she pushed him backward with her fingertips to his chest. Letting her take control turned out to be one of the best decisions he ever made. Alex divested him of his pants, slid down his briefs, and freed him to her explorations and caresses with tender care. Each motion morphed from a simple touch to a banquet of sensation, sound, taste and temptation as she moved over him, exploring the landscape of his body. Light, skimming touches brushed the pebbled peaks of his nipples in twin circles. Time reduced to the here and now, to moments and breaths, sighs and pearls of s
ensation strung together in glossy, gleaming strands.

  Simon rested against down pillows and cool sheets, drifting on a decadent sea. Warm breath skimming his abs—the trace of a soft nose against the trail of hair from his navel to points lower—tightened his focus. He sighed with bliss as Alex wrapped her fingers around his shaft and gave the first, tentative tug.

  “Yes,” he said, groaning. “Please.”

  Moist heat flitted along the tip of his cock, forcing sharp flashes of lust like lightning on a humid summer night. Simon fisted the sheet in both hands and forced himself to remain still as Alex tongued the already weeping slit, and spread the sticky moisture around his glans.

  “Please,” he begged again, wanting the pressure of her mouth and the release it would bring.

  Grip tightening, Alex granted his wish and drew him in millimeter by millimeter until he gritted his teeth against the urge to thrust upward, sharp and fast, to take her mouth by force. Without conscious thought, he used his hand to apply gentle persuasion to the back of her head. At his insistence, she took him deep, bobbing low and swallowing him down with convulsive motions of her throat. He bucked. She retreated with a widening of her mouth and swirl of her tongue around his shaft. Up the vein to the pleasure button below the head. Rapid, pressing flicks to the little mass of nerves were his undoing. His hips danced for her now, telling her what he needed. What his body demanded.

  The rasp of beaded material accompanied silky thighs and the heat of Alex’s sweet pussy brushing against his shaft. He groaned and grasped her hips, perfectly content to let her ride them both to release. Alex directed the tip of his cock to her lips and teased the moisture back and forth, coating them both in her musk and the stickier slide of his steadily leaking pre-cum. Ever so tenderly, with painstaking slowness, she took him in the safe harbor of her body and began a gentle rocking.

  Gazes locked, they joined together. His hands guided her hips in a languid rise and fall that drew each pinprick of lust into a silver thread of sensation. His breaths grew deeper. Longer. Her fingertips curled gently into his chest, balancing them together in the timeless push-pull of love and lust. Rolling Alex in one fluid motion, Simon poised above her. Eyes wide open, forehead to forehead, she became his breath, his lifeline, the cure for every ache in his heart and the missing piece to his lost soul. He loved her. Needed her. Never wanted to be without her again.

  Clasping her close, he gave her every shred of himself—all he had left to give. They lay entwined, two halves, one whole, their bodies and breath finding the same rhythm as they fell asleep. He awoke hours and hours later, still inside her. More content than he’d been in years, maybe ever, he allowed himself to simply be with her. No questions about the future. No worries about the past. For now, in this moment, he’d let it be and just accept that what they had was worth working on together.

  Alex twined her fingers in his and shifted her hips. Simon began to harden inside her. Dark eyes opened and her lips curved upward.

  “Good evening to you too.” Her husky greeting hardened his shaft further.

  A gentle push of his hips brought them together more fully. He found her other hand and clasped it in his. Drawing both to the sides of her head, he leveraged himself upward and sank deeper inside her awakening heat. She drew back her thighs and the wet sounds of her pussy kissing his cock made him groan.

  “So sexy,” he said.

  Murmuring sweet nothings, she clasped him to her, pressing her heels to the base of his spine.

  “Harder,” she insisted.

  He complied with a deep press that bumped their pelvic bones together. Her thighs tightened and he leaned down to capture her mouth. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping, they brought their mouths together in a flurry of demanding, loud, messy kisses.

  Sliding free of her pussy, he relished the slippery caress of her labia along the sensitive head of his cock. Pressing into her, he took note of every silken ridge as she gripped him in the fist of her feminine walls and wrung deeper thrills of sensation from him. Seed filled his shaft, tightened his balls, forcing him to a frenzied pace. Then the universe rushed forward in one toe-curling, breath-stealing moment and broke his vision into fractals of light that chased all the remaining darkness away.

  * * * * *

  A buzzing noise brought Simon swimming to the surface of consciousness. He’d lost all sense of time and couldn’t tell if the faint light creeping across the sky signaled sundown or sunup, or was a result of the city lights against a foggy night. In semi-darkness, he struggled to find his phone on the nightstand. Slapping his palm along the wood surface he finally located the device and sent it clattering to the floor.

  “Crap.” He leaned off the bed, ass exposed, and managed to grab the cell.

  By the time he brought it to his ear, the call had gone to voicemail with a cheerful burble marking its passage.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Alex murmured into her pillow.

  Simon lifted his head to take in her sprawl. “Phone. It was on vibrate. I didn’t hear it right away.”

  She rolled over and grabbed the device from his hand and tossed it to the floor before drawing him down next to her. “Sleep.”

  He couldn’t agree more. Except the memory of the number on the display gnawed at him. “I just want to check it. Be right back.”

  “’Kay.”

  Untangling the sheets from his feet and legs, he left the bed with a tottering stumble. Muscles he hadn’t known he possessed ached, telling him he needed to either fuck Alex more or do additional upper-quad workouts. He grinned at the idea of incorporating her into his exercise routine.

  “You have one—” the voicemail lady singsonged at him before he hit the correct key, cutting off her over-caffeinated warble.

  “Good evening, Dr. Jakes.” Apprehension slithered down Simon’s spine at the smug tone in Downing’s voice. “I visited the gallery this morning. Nice work. Though I’m a little concerned…” A pause, then the sound of someone whimpering in the background made the hairs on Simon’s arms stand on end. “There was a mark on the frame. One you wouldn’t notice unless you had put it there. Which, of course, you didn’t.”

  Simon swallowed a surge of bile as another whimper met his ear. Oh no, please no. He tightened his fist on the cell.

  “So, it might have been a mishap, or perhaps it rubbed off during transport. I’ll allow any number of things could have happened. I’m sure you’ll agree. But just in case…” Muffled screaming and rending material seemed to elicit a chuckle from Downing. “I decided to bring in some collateral. You remember, don’t you? We talked about collateral?”

  Sinking to his knees, Simon let the ground hold up what his muscles no longer supported.

  “Say hello to your brother, Liliana…”

  “Simon!” Lily screamed, his name broken by pain and her garbled speech patterns. One of two words she knew, she said it over and over again. “Simon…Simon…Simon…” Until Downing terminated the call.

  Pants, gun, shoes, socks, knife. Simon procured each article in a fury-born trance. Panic nipped at his heels, clouding logic and jacking his heart rate to nausea-inducing levels. Foreign hands jerked at his holster, cinching it tight. His first attempt to deposit his weapon in the leather pouch ended with it clattering to the floor. Retrieving it, he tried again.

  “Simon?” Alex’s still-sleepy question briefly infiltrated his panic.

  “Downing has Lily,” he said.

  Sheet falling away, Alex sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “What?”

  “I have to get her.” He tucked the knife in his boot and palmed his car keys from the tray on his bedside table.

  A blur of naked flesh pressed past him and Alex blocked his progress toward the door. He tried to move around her but she remained in his way. “Simon, we have to think this through or you’ll get Lily killed.”

  He tried to step around her again. She used his arm as a fulcrum and yanked him around to face her.

  “D
o you want to get her killed?” She took him by both arms and shook him. “Do you?”

  The violence of her snarl penetrated the anger and fear smothering the flames of his logic. He shook his head. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

  “I’ll call Gun. Let’s meet downstairs. We’ll get her. I promise.”

  While he’d been making love and celebrating a victory, his sister had been paying for his mistakes. How afraid she must be. How alone and scared. As he followed Alex downstairs to the security flat, the only thought sustaining him remained the knowledge he could and would barter his life for his sister’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The close confines of the limousine trunk meant Alex had to press right up against Simon’s tool belt or shove her nose into the inner workings of the taillights. Simon tried to adjust, but every time he moved his belt caught on hers or her ass pressed into his flashlight. Alex tried to move the hard metal away from her lower back. In the process, she brushed against his groin.

  Simon hissed.

  “Oops. Sorry,” Alex said, then tried to interject some humor. “Thought that was your flashlight.”

  “Very funny.” Simon kept his voice low, the tension in his words apparent though he tried to play along. “Careful or I’ll illuminate where the sun don’t shine.”

  She tried to laugh, but the sound came out forced and brittle. They both fell silent once more and lay almost inert.

  “Time check?” she asked some time later.

  Simon shifted to light his watch. His movement created space between their bodies, and a bead of sweat trickled down Alex’s hip to pool with the rest at the base of her spine.

  “Ten more minutes,” Simon said, his voice tight.

  If all had gone according to plan, fifteen minutes ago Jenny had sent a drugged drink down to the security personnel on the dock who’d been so kind to her when she’d arrived in her brother’s limousine to visit a friend who lived in Downing’s high-rise. When Simon and Alex emerged, the man should be asleep at his post. Next, Jenny and Gun would have an argument, starting about now. They’d end up in the hallway for privacy. From there, they’d send the elevator down to the sub-basement below Simon and Alex. Shunning the elevator proper, Simon and Alex planned to pry the doors open and climb onto the top of the lift. Jenny would press the call button and they would both ride the thing to the floor she currently visited. Once there, Alex and Simon would scale the metal framing of the shaft to Downing’s offices.