Hard Target

by Barbara Phinney

  "Tay!"

  His mother winked away, leaving nausea, and Dawna's concerned expression in her wake. Dawna pushed him down onto the couch. "Tay!"

  He blinked. "I'm all right."

  "Hardly. What's going on? I was speaking to you and you cringed and went tense. And you were starting to hurt me."

  "Sorry. You were yelling at me."

  She coughed out a short, derisive laugh. "You're a cop. You've been yelled at before."

  He slumped back, resting his head on the dark upholstery of the couch. With a deep sigh, he realized how relieved he was. He was still quite sane. "I'm...okay."

  The couch sagged beside him. "That's debatable. What's going on? Are you sick?"

  She touched his forehead with the back of her hand, her fingers cool against his fevered skin. "No," he said. "I thought I was, but I just realized what's going on in my head."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm remembering my mother speaking. An argument she had with my father. The last one they had before they split up." He laughed, albeit shakily. "It's just a memory. I thought I was hearing my dead mother talking to me in my head, but I've just remembered I was hiding in her closet at the time." He opened his eyes and met her anxious gaze. "Sometimes after an op, they recommend you see a psychologist. I turned it down this time because the opportunity to come here arose, instead." He wet his lips, briefly. "I wanted to see you again."

  She said nothing. He watched her throat bob. He'd practically admitted he'd been working undercover, but right now, he didn't care. He was remembering, for some reason, the last bitter argument his parents had. While it was serious enough to have this memory surface right now, Tay was just thankful his mother wasn't reaching out from the great beyond to speak to him. He'd begun to wonder if such a thing was possible, and that was pretty damn disturbing.

  "You thought you were hearing your dead mother speak to you?" Dawna looked skeptical as she reached for the smaller of the salteñas.

  He rubbed his forehead. "Crazy, eh? It started after I arrived here. I figured it was stress, but now I remember. It's the last fight my parents ever had. The last fight I witnessed, that is."

  "How old were you?"

  "Almost nine. It was a tough year."

  "Why do you suppose you're remembering this argument, now?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. The memory was pretty strong this time."

  Dawna looked contrite. "Because we were arguing, that's why. What was your parents' argument about?"

  "I don't remember, but probably the usual stuff. Nathan working late, and my mother resenting him putting work ahead of her."

  "You'll have to talk to someone about this, you know. I'm not qualified to help you."

  He knew that. He didn't like that he'd have to seek out help, but what other choice did he have? Ignore it? He wasn't the kind to ignore stuff.

  You aren't? Says who?

  Dawna sat back, her face a mask of suspicion. Then, still looking grim, she stood. "Let's have some more brunch. Then we can get rid of this trolley."

  "All right." He rose, wincing as he stretched, thinking that eating was better than listening to his conscience talk.

  They ate. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but even with the revelation that he'd somehow triggered difficult memories and wasn't insane, the silence was hardly easy.

  Had his argument with Dawna triggered the memory tonight? She'd accused him of stepping over her for the sake of his job.

  His head snapped up from his food, catching Dawna's attention.

  "What's wrong?" She wore a suspicious look.

  Whatever answer he had died in his throat. Was it true? Had he purposely done nothing to save Dawna's reputation, because his own career would have also been jeopardized?

  It was possible. After all, he'd had the first nine years of his life to learn that attitude from his father.

  He swore and then looked away from her. The shrill ring of the phone stopped any words Dawna might have asked. She made no move to answer it and he didn't want to, either. But it could be his contact, finally able to call him.

  As he reached for the phone, another thought struck hard. He was like his father, damn it. He was setting aside his personal matters because work had interrupted them.

  The food and coffee sat heavily in his stomach.

  "Hello?"

  "Tay?" It was his old colleague, Andy Bonner. "I ran the name Manuel Chayo and the address through the computer is."

  "What did you find out?"

  "He's not in the country anymore. He's a Bolivian who was a member of the diplomatic staff here. In fact, the Bolivian embassy moved to a new location a few years ago, hence the odd address you gave me. It was the embassy's address, not his home address."

  Tay nodded. That was expected. Police, prison guards and such often recorded their places of work as their domiciles for security reasons. He didn't realize diplomatic staff did so, too. "How long ago did he leave?"

  "Well, get this. It was twelve years ago. I really don't have much on him, except that he has no outstanding warrants, which he wouldn't have anyway, if he had diplomatic immunity. He stayed at the embassy for less than a year. The file doesn't even say where he went. There just doesn't seem to be much on him, and that's odd, even for a member of a foreign embassy."

  "A photograph?"

  "We have an old file, for security reasons, but there's something odd about it. We have no photo, either. The file is only one page. There should be at least three, so it looks like someone has removed pages from it."

  Tay listened. "The name sounds familiar. It didn't before, but it's ringing a bell now."

  "Not to me. But then it's not unusual for a member of a diplomatic staff to only stay for a short time and do very little here. Sorry I couldn't be of more help. But I can call Interpol, if you like."

  "Please do. Thanks for calling." He was ready to hang up, when he added, "Wait! Can you check out the name Joseph Martin? See what comes up? He's only twenty-one, so there might not be much. But he was raised in San Diego, though maybe from the Ottawa area before that."

  "I'll see what I can find."

  "Thanks." After he hung up, Tay turned to Dawna. "Manuel Chayo was a member of the Bolivian embassy about twelve years ago. It was at a different location back then, hence the wrong address. The Mounties don't even have a full file on him and don't know where he went when he left, which, interestingly, was only a few months after he arrived."

  Dawna frowned. "Why is that fact so interesting? They move around a lot."

  "I don't know." Tay walked over to the trolley and poured the last of the coffee into his cup. "Just something that rings a bell with me, but I can't remember why."

  "It doesn't with me, but then twelve years ago, I was on my first posting to the Northwest Territories, right out of training, to the same base I was sent to after leaving the MSGU. We didn't have access to news in Ottawa. I was too busy, anyway. The base was small, so we didn't get a lot of time off."

  He knew about her postings. Changing bases every four years wasn't unheard of for soldiers, even now. But her second northern posting had come the day after she'd been disciplined, with a 'take it or get out' attitude attached. He'd cringed when he'd heard about the punishment, back to her old stomping grounds with disgrace on her record.

  Trying to put aside the memory, he peered at the trolley. They were done with it. He grabbed the last slice of meat and popped it in his mouth before wheeling the whole cart into the hallway.

  When he returned, he went straight to his laptop. "Let's do a search for Manuel Chayo on the whole net. Maybe something will come up that will help me remember."

  "Can't do it," Dawna said with a flick of her hand. "We've lost the internet connection." She looked up at him. "But I'd like to have another look at some of our files at the embassy. I want to see Ramos' and Cabanelos' again. Let's go."

  Tay watched her stand and straighten her pant suit. With the trolley gone, and st
uck at a dead end, she was anxious to leave.

  Too bad.

  As Tay retrieved his sidearm, Dawna quickly called the embassy to order a driver and car. But one was at the hospital picking up the ambassador and the other was refueling.

  She told Tay, adding, "Let's walk there. It's not far and walking helps me think." Yes, she needed the fresh air. Tay's suite, with its opulent decadence and closed drapes offered a little too much coziness, something she didn't need.

  She was crazy to hang on to her residual feelings for Tay. They were nothing but a physical attraction. And yet, he'd almost coaxed out a protective instinct she didn't know she had when he'd cringed and collapsed onto the couch.

  Forget it. He didn't trust her. He'd practically admitted he was working undercover, but not completely. She was a cop herself. She had the same security clearance and yet, he didn't trust her with even a simple admittance that he was working undercover. There was a chance whatever was happening to him was related to the attacks on the embassy, but he refused to tell her a thing.

  Her pace quickened as they left the hotel. All Tay's talk about his painful past was probably just a smoke screen to get her mind off the fact he'd promised he'd tell her the truth.

  She stopped at an intersection, her head flicking back and forth as she waited for the best chance to dart across the busy Avenida Aroma. Several short Bolivian women beside her also tried to cross, their long black braids dancing down the backs of their traditional outfits as they changed their minds and stepped back onto the curb.

  Tay stopped beside her and she looked the other way.

  Her gaze scanned the traffic, falling onto the crowd moving along the opposite sidewalk.

  Then she saw him. She gasped, reaching for Tay. "It's Ramos!"

  Chapter Seventeen

  She pointed to a stocky man as he attempted to overtake two women carrying babies in the traditional blanket backpacks.

  Dawna latched onto Tay's wrist. "Come on." She threaded quickly through the many brave pedestrians who begun to cross. At the other side, she headed east along the avenue at the end of which the stark, white Cristos de la Concordia stood high on the hill, his outstretched arms welcoming all. The foot traffic on the street lightened abruptly, thanks to a bank opening its doors after a mid-afternoon break. The bottleneck of people flooded into the building, leaving a gap of some fifty feet between them and Ramos.

  Dawna called out, "Ramos!"

  He stopped and turned. Dawna kept her pace quick, not really expecting him to wait for them. True to her suspicions, he pivoted sharply and bolted away. The crowd of locals swallowed him up immediately.

  She released her grip on Tay's wrist. "Let's catch him!"

  They crashed into the crowd ahead. Dawna hit someone who yelled out at her in Spanish, but she ignored him. She caught a glimpse of Ramos as he turned down a side street and she pointed for Tay's benefit. "He's headed that way. Let's cut him off."

  She threw open the door to a small department store, when Tay stopped her. "What are you doing? That sign up there says the street is a dead end. I can go up it and corner him-"

  She threw off his arm. "Ignore it. He's gone into the market back there, which has more alleys than you can count. Trust me, you won't corner him."

  Tay glanced over his shoulder in doubt. Anger flared up in Dawna. "Trust me for once!" They maneuvered through the racks of clothing as she whispered back at him. "You said I was a good cop, now put your money where your mouth is. This store opens onto the market, and if we hurry, we'll be able to meet Ramos as he comes out of the bakery."

  "What bakery?"

  "Ramos brings in pastries whenever he can," she called over her shoulder. "He told me he gets them from this market from a bakery beside the store. He'll head for the store he's most familiar with. That bakery has two entrances like this place has."

  She galloped ahead and slammed into the revolving door at the far side. She was already on the street when Tay finally caught up.

  "Let's go," she said. Her heart pounded in her throat, as they walked as quickly as possible toward the bakery. Ahead and to their right was thick with market vendors and their patrons.

  She could feel Tay beside her, his shoulder bumping hers as they avoided the people around them.

  Suddenly, Ramos stepped out from the bakery. Quickly, Dawna drew Tay into the alcove of an empty stall. "Wait. He'll go back in if he sees us."

  Tay nodded. Then, before she could move, he peered out briefly. "He's started to walk away from us. Let's go."

  "No, Tay. Give him a moment. He'll be on his guard."

  "He'll be looking for you, not me." He strode out and away from the alcove.

  "Tay! Wait!" She kept her voice as soft as she could, not wanting to yell, but Tay ignored her.

  She had no choice but to follow.

  She couldn't see Ramos. Nor could Tay, she bet, seeing how he peered around the narrow alleys, head and shoulders above the short population.

  He stopped, briefly, still scanning the crowd. Immediately, Dawna did the same. Most Bolivian women here wore straw hats, and in the sea of pale straw, it shouldn't have been hard to spot an unadorned head, but it was.

  Dawna hurried toward Tay. He turned to wait for her, and suddenly, a door to their left flew open, smashing into Tay. He stumbled. Dawna lunged forward to catch him. Ramos roared away around the next corner.

  "Let's go," Tay gritted out, catching his balance. They raced after Ramos.

  Dawna stalled at the corner. The intersection ahead was a six-way labyrinth, filled with afternoon shoppers and downtown workers. Each of the narrow alleys was packed with vendors, their stands thick with wares and food and shaded with every color of canvas. The din that filled the pungent air was incredible, Latino music, people talking, each hawking everything from orange juice to money exchange. Beyond, the vehicular traffic filled in with unmuffled engines and honking horns.

  They'd lost Ramos. Dawna blew out a frustrated breath with Tay letting out a well-seasoned curse. Tightening her jaw, she turned away from him. "We may as well go back to the embassy."

  Robert Taylor cornered Dawna as soon as she entered the back mantrap of the embassy. He'd been jockeying between reporters and other callers requesting the status of the ambassador. Fortunately, the ambassador's schedule was light this week, and with a few quick words to Robert, Dawna had the security issues he'd raised now settled. Tay left her to do her work and headed for her office. After securing his weapon, he waited by the window for her return.

  "I'm sorry," he stated bluntly when finally entered. "It was my fault Ramos got away."

  "You should be sorry." She slammed her door and trapped them in her office. "I told you to wait. I told you to trust me. I know Ramos. You don't."

  "Not as much as you believed, apparently."

  She shot him a frigid glare, and he knew his words were uncalled for. "Maybe so, but enough to guess his movements, and the way he thinks," she snapped back. "He wasn't going to automatically assume he'd lost me. He knows I'm tenacious. And he saw you, too. We should have waited longer, allowed him to feel more secure."

  She was right. He knew better, himself. Clandestine activities had been his life for the last three years. Tay knew how to tail someone, and yet, feeling a bit too secure, a bit too cocky with Dawna at his side, he'd refused her advice and stepped out of the alcove too soon.

  He hadn't trusted her instincts, when he should have. She knew the city better and she knew what Ramos would expect her to do.

  Storming past him to stand beside her desk, Dawna ran her hands through her blond hair. Now dry, it flipped defiantly back into her face. She spun around, still stewing on his mistake. "All right. I can accept that you won't tell me about your activities with the CIA and why you think Martin is only following you and why you think it's not related to this case, but I can't accept why you didn't trust me back there! What have I done to you, that you can't let me do my job?"

  Tay pressed his forefinger and
thumb into the soft flesh above the bridge of his nose. "You've done nothing to me. I...." His words went soft. "You're the one who shouldn't trust me."

  "Damn right." She gripped the back of her chair. "And furthermore, you're impeding an investigation. You're only here because Ambassador Legace is extending a courtesy to my HQ, and I know for a fact that he will pull rank on them and send you back home in a heartbeat if I could prove that you were getting in my way! And after today, I can prove that!" Her words ended more like a bark than the warning he was sure she'd hoped they'd been.

  He watched her for a long moment, wondering if she was testing him. Not about the part where the ambassador was able to pull rank. He knew she was correct in that. If push came to shove, HQ would lose. Ambassador Legace had that much influence. But would Dawna press to get rid of him?

  Probably. The safety of the embassy was too important to her. And it was to him, too.

  "You're right," he conceded. "This is your investigation. At least we know that Ramos is still in the city."

  A pause lingered for a moment, then, as if satisfied with his apology and admittance, she nodded. "He's lived here all his life. Which reminds me, I want to look at his employment file again."

  She left him alone for a few minutes. When she returned, she spread the entire file out on her desk. To her credit, she was willing to forgive and forget his screw-up, and he was grateful for that.

  "Let's see what we have. I started to read this last night, but I fell asleep halfway through it."

  He glanced down. "Mr. Taylor scanned all this for me."

  Dawna shook her head. "He didn't scan the papers we have downstairs. It's not much more, just a few notes from the initial interview, but it may be important."

  Tay leaned over her. There was no scent of delicate perfume today. A touch of soap and some of the brunch they'd shared mixed with the heat of her body. Enough to make him swallow down the need rising in him.

  "Dawna?"

  She didn't look up. "Yes?"