Hard Target

by Barbara Phinney

  Lucy handed her the papers she picked up. "Anything there that can help you?"

  "Nothing I can see." She looked up at Lucy. The woman looked ten years older. "Any word from the hospital, yet?"

  "Not to me." Lucy sat down beside Dawna. "It was awful the way Julie looked at you, like it was all your fault. Or that you'd tried to poison the ambassador on purpose."

  Dawna stood and stretched the kinks out of her back. "Under the circumstances, it's understandable. Didn't you get upset at someone when you first found out your husband had been hurt? Didn't you want to blame someone?"

  Lucy took the papers from Dawna. "I'll file these for you. And yes, I did get mad. But anger's a wasteful emotion. It doesn't do anything." She walked to the door and turned back. "Did you find where Mr. Hastings had gone?"

  Worry mushroomed inside of her and within the deepening concern was something else. Hurt. Again, Tay was hurting her. "No," she answered.

  "How did you know he was missing?"

  "Marconi told me a few minutes ago. Besides he disappeared from the hospital. Are you worried?"

  "A little bit, I suppose."

  Lucy said nothing more, choosing instead to leave her alone.

  Dawna walked over to the coffee machine, trying to remember her conversation with Marconi. Yes, she'd asked something about Tay, but thanks to the fog that was her morning brain, she couldn't remember what it was.

  She needed caffeine. Instead of using the opened can of coffee grounds, she pulled a brand new can from under the cupboard. Absently, she put on a full pot of coffee, inhaling the deep, dark aroma, all the while wondering how Tay could still manage to hurt her. Then, staring at the door, she tried to remember what she'd said to Lucy about Tay, but her words seemed lost. Like Tay. Lost, and hell, it left her feeling as though her back was exposed.

  Tay didn't move. He felt Martin fumbling through his jacket. As the man reached toward his left side, Tay allowed himself to slump against the window. His head cracked against the glass.

  Martin swore softly, and tried to drag Tay back upright, but Tay kept deliberately falling back. With another curse, Martin climbed out of the truck and stalked around to the driver's side.

  He threw open the door.

  Immediately, the ball of Tay's left hand connected with Martin's chin in a sharp uppercut. The man staggered backward as Tay sprang from the truck. They both hit the scrubby grass together, Tay discovering that the stiff blades were far sharper than they looked. He knew he was the stronger of the two, but the young man's wiry frame proved tougher to hold still.

  When Tay rammed his forearm into the man's throat, he leaned down. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners when you were young?"

  The reaction was clear. A blurring wave of anger contorted the man's face and again, he looked familiar. But the sweep of recognition was too quick for Tay.

  "No!" Martin flexed his body away from him. Tay managed to roll back on top, but as he lifted his fist to plow Martin, the man delivered a sharp right hook.

  Tay fell backward and braced himself for the next attack. A hard blow from a foot caught him in the left side, but as he swung out to seize the man's foot, the man jumped back nimbly and bolted for the truck. Tay scrambled upright, but it was too late. The truck roared to life. Grinding gears and spraying gravel cut through the noise of the revving engine. The lights winked on and Tay froze. He was directly in the truck's path.

  Martin gunned the engine and the truck jumped forward like a jack rabbit.

  Tay ducked to one side, then dove to the other. Martin was unable to compensate quickly enough for the fake. Tay rolled away into the dark, stiff grass. Before he was upright again, he had his sidearm out.

  He fired, smashing the rear window. Martin straightened the wheels and gunned the engine. In the next second, he was on the road, racing away.

  Leaving Tay alone in the middle of a plateau high in the Andes, with only his gun and one nasty set of bruises.

  The good news came just after lunch. Julie Legace called the embassy to say the ambassador was fully conscious and his heartbeat had stabilized.

  At her desk, Dawna dropped her head into her hands. Thank God. The embassy staff had been huddled around the coffee room waiting for a report, all them except Dawna and Robert Taylor, the ambassador's assistant. She and Robert had been jogging back and forth between the Department of External Affairs calling every fifteen minutes and a band of reporters who'd appeared out of thin air at the embassy's front gate.

  She left Robert to supply the media with the good news. He'd already handled the press earlier this week after the bombing and the sniper attack. He and those reporters must be old friends by now.

  Rotating her neck several times, she tried to ease a kink. It had been a long day. Before DEA started their phone marathon, she'd also had to review procedures for the replacement vigilantes and escoltas.

  Then the medical examiner who had performed the autopsy on Cabanelos called. In broken English, he explained that he'd been asked to check the contents of the tea Camile had brought it. It was the same tea that had killed Cabanelos.

  This time Dawna shut her eyes. The embassy was facing an attempted murder investigation.

  The phone rang again. It was probably HQ, already flying in a replacement for her, and wanting to tell Tay to remain there and train the new arrival.

  Steeling herself, she picked up the phone. "Hello?"

  "Dawna? It's me."

  Relief washed through her. "Tay? Where have you been?"

  He was panting, obviously winded. But when he coughed, she knew where he was. On the plateau above them. Someplace higher than Cochabamba. "It's a long story," he began, "and I promised the storekeeper here I'd keep this brief. How's the ambassador?"

  She sat on her desk to stop her knees from liquefying. "Better. Julie called a few minutes ago to say his heartbeat is regular now and he's been taken out of the ICU. But they tested the tea."

  "And it's the same one that killed Cabanelos."

  "Yes. Where are you?"

  Dawna listened to someone in the background muttering out something in Spanish. A rustle of paper followed and finally Tay said, "I'm in..." A man in the background said the name. "Pueblo Challacolla. It's about 15 kilometers west of Oruro. I can see the city from here. I'm not far from the road we took to go to Cardon Plata."

  Dawna found herself nodding. "I'll find it on the map. What happened? How did you get way out there?"

  "I'll tell you later. I have to cut this short. All I had were a couple of American dollars on me and they could buy me only a few minutes on this guy's phone."

  "Whose phone?"

  "The guy who owns the store here. You won't have any trouble finding it. There's only one store on the main drag. Can you come get me?"

  "Yes." She crushed the resentment she felt as soon as she blurted out her answer. Resentment for the worry, or for sounding so needy with her answer? "I'll be there by this afternoon." She hung up before she said something that would express more of the relief that he was safe. That would be stupid. While Tay trusted her enough to ask her to pick him up, he refused to confide in her important details like his involvement with the CIA. Not even a confirmation. If it wasn't for the altitude and distance, she'd make him find his own way home.

  No, she wouldn't. She was too much of a professional. Years of striving to be the best had ingrained in her the need to do the 'right' thing.

  She set down the receiver and rose.

  "Isn't this cozy?"

  Tay looked up from the checker board to find Dawna climbing out of one of the embassy's armored cars. He'd recognized the big suburban a mile down the flat plateau road, spewing out swirls of dust like a sports car commercial, but he didn't get up. He'd promised the old-timer who owned this store one last game of checkers. Why, he didn't have a clue. The old man had won every game so far.

  It was probably because the old guy took his time choosing each perfect move, with the precision of a champion ch
ess player while Tay was just plain struggling to breathe.

  He moved his piece to so obviously a bad square that the old man pounced on him and said something that Tay suspected must be, "I won!"

  He sat back in the old chair, glad the game was over. "I had to do something to pass the time," he called out to Dawna. "Waiting for my friend to move gave me a chance to think."

  Dawna slammed the Suburban's heavy door and walked over to the dusty store front. The thin, dry air had completely eradicated evidence of the unseasonal rainstorm a few days ago. Tay could see her drawn, tired features crease into a frown.

  She crossed her arms. "Figured it all out yet? That is why you came up here, isn't it? I mean, if you simply wanted a good game of checkers, I would have put you in front of the ambassador's youngest daughter. She's pretty good."

  Tay shook the old man's hand before turning to face her fully. He heard Dawna gasp. "What happened to your face?"

  He gingerly tested the shiner with his fingertips. "I didn't come up here for checkers. Martin thought I needed to do some evening sightseeing. I'll tell you on the way home."

  They waved goodbye to the old man, who lifted his straw hat and dipped his head. Once in the car, Tay recounted all that had happened.

  "Did your old friend see Martin? He would have had to pass this way."

  "I asked him, even drew a few pictures, but the old man kept shaking his head. I doubt he saw anything. Martin left me sometime around ten last night, and I had to wake this guy up when I reached here early this morning."

  "How far did you walk?"

  "A couple of miles, but it's all flat."

  "And nearly as high as we were the other day in Cardon Plata. You must have been exhausted." Dawna let a frustrated sigh slip from her lips. "This doesn't make any sense. If Martin really wanted to get rid of you, he should have driven further into the mountains. You'd die of exposure overnight, especially being injured."

  "Thanks." He gave her a brief smile. "My guess is he was running low on fuel. He had to turn around or risk not making it back."

  "He sounds stupid."

  "He is. And barely twenty, I'd say. But he has a mean right hook." Tay settled back in the seat. Relief had already begun to seep into him. Relief and plain thankfulness that things hadn't ended worse. He crushed down the urge to reach for Dawna. She didn't appear too happy to come and get him. She accelerated toward the city of Oruro ahead. They wouldn't enter the city, but rather meet the highway before it.

  Dark circles arced under her eyes, and she stifled a yawn. Had she been up all night?

  "Do you need to see a doctor?" she asked flatly.

  He shook his head. Being back beside Dawna made him feel much better. And seeing her again, feeling the comfort that she had come for him right away, acted like a hot, soothing balm on his frayed nerves.

  She still had on the same basic outfit she'd worn yesterday, making him wonder if she'd spent the night at the embassy. The shirt was no longer neatly pressed. Now, its warm creases accentuated her curves. She'd opened the two top buttons, as and unknowingly offering him a glimpse of the lace contour of her bra.

  He leaned forward to crank the heat dial over to the far left. Cool air blasted out of the vents.

  She shot him a suspicious look, but said nothing about his choice of temperature. "Did you get the plate number of Martin's SUV?"

  "Yes, but I doubt it'll be useful. Expensive SUVs are a hot commodity in South America and plates get switched all the time. He'd have no trouble getting rid of vehicle regardless of the damage I caused when I fired at him."

  She gripped the steering wheel. "You mentioned he looked familiar. Any idea why?"

  "No. I'd remember if I'd worked with a guy like that. I'd have had him thrown off the case in a heartbeat."

  "Case? You're an instructor at a Military Police School." Her eyes narrowed. "You can't be talking about when you were a Mountie. That kid wouldn't have been out of diapers, yet."

  He shut his eyes, cursing himself. "I was talking hypothetically."

  The big car screeched to a stop. Dust flew up around them, engulfing, blocking any vision of the city.

  Dawna eased the vehicle to the side of the road. "Enough of the lies, Tay. We aren't moving again until you come clean with me. What case are you talking about? Were you working for the CIA?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tay dipped his head and ran his hands down his face. He must be tired to let something like that slip. The case he'd mentioned was too sensitive to discuss, even with Dawna. Sure, there was a small army of operatives working on it, and he didn't know them all, but no one of Martin's obvious inexperience would be involved. No way.

  Besides, the case had a South American drug connection and for that very fact, he couldn't discuss it on this continent. Too many high politicians of various nationalities were being watched.

  But a part of him wished he could mention it. He ached from all the kicks and punches Martin had inflicted on him, and could use a shower like nobody's business. Then after, holding Dawna in a tight embrace in his bed, he would tell her everything she'd demanded to know.

  Yeah, that was a pipe dream.

  "Where the hell have you been, Nathan? And don't tell me another case you can't discuss. It's always another case you can't discuss."

  He rubbed his temples, clenching his teeth to try to stop the grating sound of his mother's voice.

  "Tay?"

  Dawna's touch was feather light, but he jumped away from it. A second later, he sighed loudly, blinking.

  "What's wrong, Tay?"

  He swallowed. It was Dawna talking to him. Only Dawna.

  But, hell, his mother's voice was clear, her words profound. Just as he reached out mentally to the words' deeper meaning, Dawna tightened her grip on his arm. "Are you feeling all right?"

  The meaning popped like a soap bubble. Crap, he was so frigging tired right now. He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm tired, that's all."

  Her hard stare burned into him. He turned away, unable to look at her, and swiped his unshaven jaw with one of his dusty hands. A long, lingering minute later, Dawna turned to face the road, shoved the gear shift into drive and pulled back onto the highway. "This conversation isn't over," she muttered. "But it can wait until we've eaten and slept. And you've had a shower."

  Dawna drove in gritty silence back into the city, occasionally passing local women in traditional dress and tiny bowlers, each holding high a ball of homemade llama cheese for sale. Her mind churned with everything that had happened, but she had to focus on the drive. Hairpin turns where high-sided trucks with fearless passengers clinging to the cabs' roofs often overtook others, and where people darted out with their wares held high, all this called for her full, undivided attention.

  But her thoughts lingered on Tay. Without a decent night's sleep and good meal, nothing made any sense to her.

  She did manage to steal the odd glance at him. He'd looked positively ill a few miles back, going pale and rubbing his head. Was it the altitude or had he also been poisoned?

  A chill rippled through her. Not Tay. Not Tay, she begged God silently.

  "I've had hours to think about what is going on here," Tay broke through her prayer. "Ramos is the one we should focus on. He's had access to the embassy, he's missing, and the bomb could have exploded prematurely while he was setting it."

  She shook her head. "But remember, we can't find him. I've sent several escoltas to his apartment. On the way up here, I called one of them, and he told me he was able to get the apartment superintendent to let him into Ramos' place. He's not there, and it's hard to say if he packed up hastily or not."

  She shook her head. "And we can't even speculate where he might be. Just before I left, I called his cell phone. No answer."

  "Have you called the policia?"

  "I asked the escolta to do it. No unidentified bodies have shown up, either." Dawna looked grim. "Do you think his past is related to this? Where would he go? Accordin
g to his file, he has no one except a cousin."

  "Then we should start there." Tay straightened, as if renewed by the prospect that they may be making progress. "Grab a change of clothes from your apartment, Dawna. We'll go back to my hotel room."

  "Why? I should think the embassy would be better."

  "Someone who has access to your desk has tried to poison the ambassador. Whoever it is must surely know where you live. Neither your apartment nor the embassy are as safe for us to work as my hotel room."

  "Your hotel, which has half a dozen keys to each room, is safer?"

  His smile was brief. "It's not bugged, if that's what you're suggesting. I have a few contacts that may be able to help us locate this cousin, and we need to talk to them."

  There was that word again. Contacts. Dawna blinked. The pieces of the puzzle were dropping into place, one piece at a time, but she still couldn't get a clear picture.

  Tay taught security to those Military Police who would be posted to embassies. He would have contacts with major security agencies. And of course with the CIA. But that answer didn't feel right.

  Her head pounded and she rubbed her temples. The city was below, in a smoggy bowl, and already it shimmered in the morning heat. Tay was right. They needed to make a few calls about Ramos' cousin. He was listed as next of kin and the most likely place to start. But, she wagered, Tay also needed to call someone to find out if Martin wasn't somehow involved in bombing her embassy. And if he could tell her, too, she added to herself.

  "All right," she finally said, driving into the city, along an avenue in the wealthier side of town. Palms and glass skyscrapers lined up for inspection. Within a minute, they passed the city's soccer stadium. "Okay, I won't be long. Why don't you stay in the car while I grab a shower?"

  "Just grab your stuff. You can shower there while I make the calls."

  She stiffened. While he made the calls? If he didn't want her to overhear the conversation, he shouldn't ask her to come to his hotel room.