A Breath Away

by Wendy Etherington

  Remy could sense her annoyance, even if the detective couldn’t. She wanted those case files. He could get them for her, but he sensed Jade’s opinion of him would lower even further if he did. And while part of him wanted to mock her deep-rooted values and belief in truth and justice, the other part of him was humbled by her conviction and dedication.

  “I’m getting nothing,” she said, rolling her shoulders back. “No sense of why him, why now, why such a sloppy attempt. You, David?”

  “Drive-by woulda been smarter,” he said.

  “Definitely. There’s no good escape route.” She pointed to the iron railing. “Too many people blocking the way to the target. Too easy for things to go wrong. Which they did.”

  The fact that their thoughts ran along the same lines bolstered Remy’s opinion of her and her team. He knew they’d be thorough; he was glad they were smart, as well.

  “You guys got any suspects?” Jade asked Parker.

  “We’re pursuing leads.”

  Translation: they had nothing.

  “Maybe it was a random thing,” Parker added.

  “No way,” Jade said. “The waiter’s uniform, remember? And if some guy wanted to just shoot into a crowd, he could have stood on the sidewalk and done it. He wouldn’t have trapped himself inside the patio.” She turned in a quick circle, then faced Remy. “Does being back help with any details for you? You remember any unusual sound or smell—something like that?”

  Remy shook his head, equally frustrated by the unhelpful trip. “Nothing.”

  “Thank you for your time, Detective.” She shook Parker’s hand. “You’ll let us know if you get any leads?”

  “Sure. Where should I contact you?”

  “The same number as before.”

  “And Mr. Tremaine, will he be home if we need him?”

  Jade shook her head. “Just call the number.” She turned and walked toward the restaurant. “Come on, guys.”

  Once in the limo, Jade directed the driver to the hotel.

  “I need to go to my office,” Remy said.

  “You can go after the bomb sweep.”

  “I need to go now.”

  “Going before the bomb sweep is inadvisable.”

  “Can’t you do that now?”

  They sat on opposite ends of the backseat, with David facing them, his gaze flicking back and forth as if he were watching a tennis match.

  “My team is working at full capacity. We’ll get to your office as soon as possible.”

  “Today?”

  “If possible. Let’s go to the shooting range instead.”

  “And do what?”

  “Pick flowers in the meadow.”

  “You actually like that, I guess.”

  “Picking flowers or shooting?”

  “Guns.”

  “I don’t like them, but my job requires me to be proficient with them. Plus, shooting at the range is a great way to release aggression safely.” She angled her head. “You carry a gun. Surely you know how to fire it.”

  “Of course I know how. I just don’t particularly enjoy doing it.”

  “You’re not any good at it, are you?”

  “Not really, no.”

  Her lips turned up at the corners in a half smile that was—graciously—only partly mocking. “Lucky for you, Tremaine, I’m an expert.”

  “So I hear.”

  Their gazes held for just a moment longer than necessary, leaving him to wonder what else they could teach each other.

  She flicked the switch to talk to the driver and gave him the address of a popular downtown indoor gun club. She’d probably researched and memorized that before she’d gotten off the plane. But there was something stimulating about a take-charge woman who probably wouldn’t need a weapon to kick your butt.

  “Make yourself useful and call your maître d’ buddy,” she said. “See if you can get him to give you a list of everybody who ate in the restaurant that night.”

  “He won’t be able to give us the people who paid cash.”

  “The average bill in that place is probably three hundred bucks. Nobody carries that kind of cash these days.”

  “Ahem.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No kidding? And here I had you figured for a black American Express.”

  “Ahem.”

  “Just make the call.”

  Remy’s cell phone rang before he’d finished dialing the restaurant. “Yes?”

  “Hey, Mr. Tremaine. It’s Colin Hannigan. Heard you ran into some trouble the other night.”

  Even for Colin—a small-time criminal and sometimes informant for the government—he’d heard the news quickly. “You’re certainly well-informed.”

  He felt, rather than saw, Jade sit up straighter at his words.

  “Ha, ha,” Colin said. “My job, right?”

  “On occasion.”

  “The thing is…”

  Remy could practically see the sweat roll down Colin’s pale forehead.

  “The thing is…” he said again. “I heard somethin’ you might be interested in.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah, well. I thought we might make our usual deal.”

  “We might.”

  Colin had helped in a minor way on a few cases, though Remy knew a few agents who used him more frequently. Colin was known to embellish facts or his importance in gathering info in order to get a better bribe—which he generally spent in a Vegas casino. The guy really ought to move out there, considering the money he’d save on airfare.

  “Can we meet at Club Pi tonight, about ten?”

  “I can arrange that.”

  “I’ll be on the second level. You’ll see me.”

  “Until then.”

  Remy flipped his phone closed. “We need to go to a club tonight.”

  Jade smirked. “Hot date?”

  “With one of my semiregular informants. He may know something about my case.”

  “May?”

  She would leap on that one word. “He has interesting information just over half the time.”

  “I’m not crazy about those odds, Tremaine.”

  “Me, either.”

  He also wondered how Colin could know anything about a crime that had actually begun thirty-five years ago.

  Maybe Remy was wrong about the source of his trouble. Maybe he’d spent so long obsessing about the details and nuances of those long-ago events that he’d completely lost perspective.

  There was certainly only one way to find out.

  AS JADE LED Remy toward the shooting gallery at Masters Gun Club, she couldn’t help the slight spring in her step. Finally, she’d found something she could best Mr. Superstar at.

  “You’ll use my pistol,” she said. “That pea shooter you carry probably won’t even penetrate the paper target.”

  He stopped, angling his head. “Are we actually comparing the size of our weapons?”

  She looked him over. “You think you can measure up?”

  Before she’d blinked, he’d pinned her against the wall, his body molded to the length of hers. “Oh, I think so.”

  His heat and desire enveloped her. Normally, her survival instincts would have been the first thing to kick in. But nothing was normal about this man. When she should have dropped him to his knees with a well-placed groin shot, she instead looked into his eyes and reveled in the hunger she saw there.

  Her body pulsed; her skin tingled.

  There was no talking herself out of wanting him. There was no pretending he didn’t affect her as no man had in a very long time—maybe ever.

  “Have you thought about setting guidelines for our chemistry experiment?” he asked.

  Partly embarrassed that he made her lose control so easily and partly fascinated by her own unusual behavior, she licked her lips. “No.”

  He stroked his hand down her face. “I’m not much on patience.”

  She leaned into his warmth. “Neither am I.”

  “But…?”

/>   “But we have a case.”

  “We’ll always have cases.”

  “Not yours. You’re a client. It isn’t professional.”

  “Screw professional.”

  The whole, wild, unbelievable situation suddenly made her smile. It was either that or scream. “That’s exactly what we’re not supposed to be doing.”

  He hung his head. “You’re killing me.”

  She took advantage of his relaxed position to duck under his arm. “I’m not supposed to be doing that, either.” After she took a deep, bracing breath, she grabbed two pairs of earphones from the hooks on the wall. “Let’s work out some of that frustration.”

  “I can think of much better ways to do that. And the only special equipment required comes in a small foil package.” He grinned. “Which I have plenty of, by the way.”

  Shaking her head and ignoring the flip-flops of her heart, Jade put on the protective headgear, then opened the door to the hallway of shooting stalls.

  No one else was firing, so she selected the first stall. Set up like a bowling alley, you could see all the targets, if not the other shooters. Complete concentration was essential.

  How she was going to do that with the biggest distraction on the planet beside her, she had no idea.

  As she pressed the button to send the target away from them along the overhead track, she tried to blank her mind. Having the hots for a client was bad enough, but if she shot badly, she’d never live it down.

  Target in place, she checked her ammunition clip and took her stance as she narrowed her eyes at the notch at the end of her pistol and aimed some fifty yards away. She didn’t flinch as the gun recoiled. In fact, she barely moved at all as she unloaded nine quick rounds.

  Tremaine said nothing as she flipped the switch to bring the target back. She didn’t, either, knowing her results would speak for themselves. She never bragged about her skills on the firing range. But the man beside her brought out her competitive edge.

  Among other things.

  His eyes widened as the target reached them. Every shot was so dead center there were only five holes in the paper. “Your reputation isn’t an exaggeration,” he said loudly so she could hear him through the headphones.

  The Arrow. Jade nearly rolled her eyes. Couldn’t they have come up with a cooler moniker? Such as former colleague Butch Pelion, a detonation expert who was known as “Smoke.” That was a great nickname.

  She reloaded the gun, then handed it to Remy. “You next.”

  As he took his stance and fired, she watched him closely. He had nice posture and balanced well—not surprising, given his former profession—but he held his arms too stiffly and clenched his hands around the weapon. It was a mistake she’d seen often when a shooter was fighting the recoil with his hands rather than his shoulders.

  The holes in the target reflected his tension. He had a few that were reasonably center, but others were wildly off.

  After replacing the target, she stood behind him, laying her arms along the outside of his. Since he was taller, he had to crouch a bit for her to reach him. “Pin your shoulders down,” she said loudly. “Absorb the impact there, not in your hands. Don’t lock your elbows.”

  He nodded and settled his shoulders.

  “Better.” She moved around him and laid her hands over his. “Don’t be so stiff here. There’s a difference between tight and stiff. Keep your fingers nimble.”

  Being so close to him was necessary for teaching, but made her stomach tremble and sweat roll down her back. Why did he have to smell so amazing all the time?

  “Don’t hold it like you’re afraid of it.”

  He turned his head, irritation sparking in his eyes. “I’m not.”

  Their faces were in dangerous proximity. And as their attraction bubbled beneath the surface, she could feel the level of competition rise. He’d had a fine ol’time breaking into her room and sneaking up on her while she was sleeping. He enjoyed rattling her with his secret smiles and ambivalent answers to her questions. He relished stepping into her personal space.

  Needless to say, she was enjoying his current frustration a bit.

  She stepped back. “Show me.”

  He emptied the clip into the target again, and this time the results were better. They took turns after that, and either by her tips or his need to move closer to her level, he improved greatly.

  On their way out, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, the way a buddy, not a potential lover, would. “Thanks.”

  The fact that she was becoming used to him touching her, that he was somehow familiar after meeting him less than twenty-four hours ago said something about their chemistry. Or else she’d lost her mind.

  “You were right,” he added. “I enjoyed that. What’s next?”

  With true regret, she said, “Something you probably won’t like.”

  BACK AT THE HOTEL, Jade organized her team.

  She called the front desk and reserved the connecting room, then sent David in there to sleep, so he’d be refreshed for the night shift. She updated Frank on the call from informant Colin Hannigan, asked him to contact the police captain about the case file, then she sent him and Mo to Tremaine’s office to do the sweep.

  Before Mo left, though, he gave her a rundown on the suspects—where they were now and the resources needed to track their movements. He was certain of one thing—the shooting was a hired hit. The top three suspects were sophisticated, wealthy men who weren’t likely to be seen dressing in waiter’s uniforms and skulking around restaurants.

  At one time or another, they had all dealt with the police on burglary or smuggling suspicions. They’d all skated by.

  Other than that, Mo was hitting walls. His sense was that their client had more information than he was giving, confirming Jade’s suspicion that Tremaine had more than one agenda on his mind.

  With her team occupied, she gave herself the most arduous task—getting the truth from their client. But first, she had to address tonight’s meeting.

  “I don’t like the place where we’re meeting the informant,” she said, pacing in front of the sofa where Tremaine sat.

  “It’s a crowded nightclub—very public. I’ve been there before, so I can give you the layout.”

  “Like the restaurant was public.”

  “But this time you’ll be there to protect me.”

  She shook her head at him. “You think you’re cute, but you’re not.”

  “I am, in fact, adorable.” He paused, his eyes sparkling. “When the situation calls for it.”

  She didn’t even have to look over to know he was smiling. “I have no doubt.”

  “Why are you always moving and talking at the same time?”

  “It helps me think better.”

  “Looks to me like you’re running. Possibly away from something.”

  “Stuff your psychology and tell me more about Colin, the informant.”

  “I think you’re running from your feelings for me.”

  Now she did stop. She planted her hands on her hips and turned toward him. “My feelings for you? You have lost your mind.”

  “I don’t think so. You’re afraid to give in to your attraction to me.”

  She reminded herself he was good at pushing buttons. Was he trying to get her off topic? Was this his ego talking? Was he worried about how an attraction might affect his case? Or did he honestly care how she felt?

  Probably some combination of all of the above.

  “I’m not afraid of anything, and whatever sparks are between us will be ignored during this case.”

  “That’s not possible for me.”

  “Oh, please. You’re a professional.”

  “It’s not going to go away just because you deem it so.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  He said nothing for a long moment. He simply stared at her. “Have you really shut yourself so completely off from your feelings?” he finally asked quietly.

  She followed her own ad
vice and ignored the quivering in her belly. In fact, instead of softening her, his question made her angry.

  With all of his secrets and personal agendas, he had the nerve to critique her. “Okay, let’s set aside the relatively unimportant issue of talking about the latest development in your case, and let’s talk about feelings. And motivations behind feelings. You, for instance. Why did you hire my cousin as your attorney? You just happened to be in my bar, and he just happened to be there and you two just happened to talk shop?”

  The smile had fallen away from his face, but his direct gaze never wavered. “I was curious about you.”

  “Me?” The shocked response slipped out before she’d thought to edit it. The idea that he’d secretly sought her out did strange things to her heart rate. “So you used my cousin to snoop around my private life.”

  “Yes.”

  She took a slow breath, then blew it out even slower. She was both annoyed and flattered. “Why?”

  “I found you fascinating.”

  Holy hell.

  “Still do, actually.”

  Her heart pounded harder. “You mean like a professional curiosity thing, or…”

  “There’s a bit of that. But mostly I have a wild crush on you. I think you’re beautiful and interesting. Your talents intrigue me, and your body distracts me.”

  Only years of training kept her on her feet. He’d literally weakened her knees. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I have to start trusting you sometime.”

  She tried to find her cynicism. It was either that or melt into the carpet. “As much as you can, anyway.”

  He smiled. “Exactly. And I am leading to a point. For a long time now, I’ve wanted to know what drove a woman so young into the arms of the NSA.”

  Was the heated look in his eyes all about their chemistry or did she detect a hint of anger? “I guess you found out.”

  “They took advantage of your grief and used your rage and pain for their own purposes. I find that despicable.”

  She fisted her hands against their trembling. The idea that she might have had a champion, a defender to protect her from the NSA—the people who’d both given her what she wanted, yet withheld what she really needed—sent a wave of comfort washing over her.

  She’d been alone. She hadn’t known Lucas existed at that time. All she’d had was her hatred and fury.