A Breath Away

by Wendy Etherington

  “How does he know that?”

  “Guy gave him a business card with an NYC box number on it.”

  “He give a description?”

  “Dark.”

  Good grief, what an idiot. Jade looked around and pretended to sip her champagne.

  “Dark as in African American, Mexican, Italian, what?”

  “I think he meant dark, like dangerous.”

  “Interesting.”

  Hannigan polished off the rest of his champagne. Tremaine had only taken a sip or two of his drink, while Hannigan had already downed a couple of glasses. Jade wasn’t sure whether to encourage him to slow down or speed up. There was a fine line between loose and incoherent.

  “Then,” Hannigan went on, “last week another friend of mine said an art guy came around, asking questions about you.”

  “Art guy?”

  “Peter Garner. You know him?”

  Jade hoped only she could see the shocked, affirmative answer in Tremaine’s expression.

  “I’ve heard of him,” he said.

  “Anyway, this Garner guy had a card, too. Lots of people givin’out cards these days.” Hannigan gave a what’s-the-world-coming-to shake of his head. “He asks all these questions about you—what’re you doin’, where do you live and work, what’re you like—personal stuff that’s none of his business, you know?”

  “And what did your friend tell him?”

  “Nothin’. I mean, he doesn’t know you. He only knows I know you. What could he say?”

  Plenty. Like, give this Garner guy your name, address and phone number.

  “A lot, Colin,” Tremaine said. “Does your friend know you’re meeting me tonight?”

  Hannigan looked down, then shook his head.

  He could be lying; he could just be nervous.

  “Is he a good friend?” Tremaine asked.

  “Sure. We hang out sometimes.”

  “So he knows where you live?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t go back there. Frank?” When Frank appeared at Tremaine’s side, he continued, “Can we put him somewhere?”

  “We’ll arrange it, Mr. Tremaine.”

  Hannigan paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Why—”

  “You won’t mind staying in a hotel suite for a few days in…”

  “Clearwater, Florida,” Frank finished.

  “In Clearwater, will you?” As if he might actually need it, Tremaine added an encouraging smile.

  “No, I guess not, but do you really think I need to hide?”

  “I do.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Given what happened to me, it’s just a precaution.”

  “You think my buddy is okay?”

  “I think he’s fine. What’s his name?” Tremaine asked.

  “Johnny Malden.”

  “You can call him later if you like. Just don’t tell him where you are.”

  Hannigan puffed out his chest. He was clearly enjoying his important role, even if he didn’t realize the implications. “For security reasons, right?”

  “Right.”

  Tremaine rose and Frank escorted Hannigan away from the table, though he looked longingly back at the half-full champagne bottle. Somebody would no doubt see to it that he had enough bubbles to make him forget about his lost buzz.

  When Tremaine returned to his seat he said nothing, just stared into his nearly full whiskey glass.

  “Peter Garner gets around,” she said.

  “Yes, he does. Let’s dance.”

  “Dance?” She watched Frank disappear through the crowd with the informant. “We’re not dancing. We’re getting out of here.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We’ll get to that.”

  “This whole meeting is probably a setup. Hannigan could have been paid to lure you here.”

  “He wouldn’t intentionally trap me.”

  “Don’t tell me you trust him that much.”

  “I don’t, but I would have known if he was lying. Let’s go.”

  “I’ve got your back, boss,” David put in, leaning toward them.

  “I’m not worried about my back, I’m—” But Tremaine had already hustled her toward the stairs and, presumably, the dance floor. “Why are we doing this?”

  “’Cause it’s fun.”

  “That’s open to interpretation.”

  Naturally, he didn’t listen. She was in his arms on the dance floor, and though a rocking song played, and people gyrated around them, they glided together. “Peter Garner,” she said in his ear.

  “Surely you’re not whispering another man’s name in my ear.”

  “No, I’m shouting one. He’s too close. How did he find out about Hannigan?”

  He pulled her closer, his scent and heat enveloping her. “I don’t know. Can we talk about it later?”

  She wasn’t crazy about it, but she let the point go. And though she knew she might regret her actions later, she laid her head against his chest. She absorbed his heartbeat, she felt his tension and need.

  And she still wanted him.

  Had she thought her feelings were going to subside? Had she thought she could focus solely on her job and not consider the attraction between them?

  Even though she’d told him she could resist him, she’d known that was more wishful thinking than truth. She’d known all along their moment would arrive. She’d just hoped she could find the strength and commitment to put it off until she’d done her job, until he was safe.

  Apparently, she wasn’t as strong as she thought.

  With Frank occupied in securing their informant and David needing to sleep off his shift, she had only Mo to get around to sneak her way into Tremaine’s—well, hell, if she was contemplating sleeping with him she might as well refer to him by his first name—Remy’s room.

  And sneaking around Mo wasn’t a walk in the park.

  Not that she had a choice about being clandestine. She couldn’t exactly be up-front and tell a member of her staff, Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just jumping into bed with our client. Well, maybe she could. She just wouldn’t be able to face them ever again.

  Remy ran his hand down the back of her head, his fingers sliding through the strands of her hair. She closed her eyes and absorbed his touch. She longed to feel his body next to her, his warm, smooth skin gliding against her. She wanted him to fill the ache that pulsed through her every moment they were together. To forget all her responsibilities.

  Sometimes she just wanted to be a woman again. An ordinary woman who worked, lived and loved.

  But she wasn’t ordinary, and neither was her job. Regrets got her nowhere, since she wouldn’t give up her career to be normal. The missions and cases she’d completed—along with the skills she’d learned—defined her, surrounded her and saved her. She’d learned control and taken control of her life. Her job had given her power when she’d had none. It had been her companion and provided a focus in life, whereas before she’d simply been a victim.

  That need for control had spilled over into everything else. She didn’t trust people, and she certainly didn’t let anyone close enough to her heart.

  So, she didn’t have a personal life.

  Leaning on someone else, especially a man as lusciously tempting as Remington Tremaine, was a complete luxury. One she could indulge herself in for only a moment.

  He had offered a wild, temporary affair.

  “Stay with me tonight,” he said into her ear as a slow song finally flowed from the overhead speakers.

  She looked up at him. “Of course I’ll—”

  He laid his finger over her lips. “Don’t you dare say anything about watching over or protecting me.”

  Since that’s exactly what she’d been about to say, she pressed her lips together.

  “Instead of sitting outside my door with a gun drawn, I’d prefer you slinking into my room in a pink—”

  She frowned.

  “No? Oka
y, a blue, mostly see-through bit of lingerie. Just as I drift off to sleep, you appear in the moonlight, then slip beneath the sheets and curl your body against mine.”

  Her heart hammered, but she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You can. You won’t.”

  “We need to go.”

  “Back to the hotel? Where I lose you again to your job?”

  She stepped back. “I was never off the job.”

  He jerked her against him. Even in the low light, she could see his eyes were glittering. Anger or desire? Maybe a combination of both. “This, us together, is not a job. You can fight what’s between us, you can pretend it doesn’t exist, but you won’t dismiss it as part of a case.”

  She couldn’t deny their attraction, but she’d hoped to put it off. Why did she suddenly feel as if she’d backpedaled so far she was against the wall?

  Whatever this connection they had was, it was powerful. And even though she should be a professional and resist the allure, she knew now she wouldn’t. Come hell or high water, as her mother would have said, she had to find out where her path with Remy led.

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  She preceded him off the dance floor, where they joined David, and he radioed the driver to meet them at the back entrance of the club. By the time they entered the alley, though, the driver said he was caught in traffic. A wreck in front of the club had caused gridlock.

  Jade sent David to spot the limo and help him find an alternate route, while she and Remy waited by the door. Given their mission, she didn’t like the way her team was scattered, and that the car—their fastest means of escape—was trapped. But the club’s kitchen door was behind them, she had a weapon and her client had skills that weren’t even on the radar of her usual customers.

  The night had cooled considerably, so she shivered as a breeze skimmed over her shoulders.

  Remy laid his black leather jacket around her. “Where’s your coat?”

  “We went from the hotel to the limo, then into the club. I didn’t bring a jacket.” At his disappointed look, she added, “And I’m used to wearing more clothes than this. I didn’t think about a coat.”

  “It’s February. How do you not think about a coat?”

  “I live in New Orleans. You never need a coat.”

  “Still—”

  She held up her hand to stop him, then went still, listening to the night around them. The base from the club’s sound system vibrated the ground. Dishes clanged in the kitchen. Horns and raised voices echoed from the streets.

  Did she hear a crunch of gravel?

  Another breeze whispered over her, fluttering the hair on her arms, sending chill bumps down the back of her neck.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Remy felt it, too. He’d frozen. She barely sensed him breathing.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered.

  She shrugged out of Remy’s jacket, then slid her feet out of her high-heeled sandals and wished like hell for her boots. She took two steps to her right, then sensed movement.

  A man’s arm swung toward her; a knife was clutched in his fist. Jade ducked, then swung, punching him in the stomach. She finished with a roundhouse kick to his head, dropping him to the ground immediately, his knife clattering on the pavement a few feet from his body.

  Unsheathing her own knife, she planted her foot over his throat. “Don’t even twitch,” she said in a low, deadly tone.

  He didn’t. Probably because he could barely breathe.

  Remy appeared beside her, his gun drawn. “Nice moves.”

  Still trying to catch her breath, Jade nodded, though she didn’t take her gaze off their would-be assailant. “You wanna answer some questions?”

  Red-faced, his eyes watering, the guy struggled to nod. She eased up the pressure of her foot a little but kept her gaze on his. “You alone?”

  He nodded.

  “You got a problem with me?”

  He shook his head.

  She’d never seen the guy. He had brown hair, brown eyes and an ordinary face. The kind of guy you looked through or over—maybe to your detriment. Yet she didn’t think he was a run-of-the-mill mugger. “You got a problem with him?” she asked, jerking her head back toward Remy.

  Another shake.

  “Who’s paying you?”

  The guy’s eyes flashed for only a second, but distinctively enough that she had her answer. A paid attack.

  “Why?”

  Another shake.

  He either didn’t know or wasn’t telling.

  She should call the police. Or at least Detective Parker. She wanted to press her foot against his throat, to press her point and her questions. She had little doubt she’d get what she wanted. But she hesitated.

  The prosecution of the attacker was being compromised every second she talked to him without the police or his attorney present.

  “Allow me,” Remy said, as if he sensed her struggle.

  The intended victim questioning his attacker? No way.

  “See if he’s got ID,” she said, hoping to give him a project that would prevent an argument.

  Remy dug into the guy’s back pocket and flipped open a worn brown wallet. “Johnny Malden.”

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  She pressed the panic button on her brooch that would bring her troops, then she dialed Detective Parker’s cell. “You need to get to the back entrance of Club Pi. My client’s been attacked again.”

  “How is he?”

  “My client is fine. The attacker has been subdued.”

  “By whom?”

  “The Easter bunny. Just get over here.”

  David ran to the scene as she disconnected. His gaze swept her, their client and the guy she had pinned to the ground. “You okay?”

  “We’re fine. Help me get him up.”

  As she stepped back and slid her feet into her impractical shoes, David and Remy dragged Malden to his feet. David secured his arms behind him with handcuffs.

  They all stared silently at one another until the limo pulled around the corner and stopped next to them.

  Their driver, Charlie, jumped out. “Sorry, boss. It’s a damn mess out front.”

  “It’s fine.” The implications of the attempted attack were starting to zip through Jade’s mind. Again, the whole thing was poorly planned, poorly executed. Was Peter Garner this sloppy or had he just hired somebody who was? And had gullible informant Colin Hannigan betrayed Remy on purpose or by accident?

  A police cruiser and another car drove up a minute later. Detective Parker slid out of the unmarked car, while the officers hustled over to take charge of the suspect. After Jade exchanged David’s cuffs for the cops’ and handed over the wallet, Malden immediately requested his attorney. The thorough questioning Jade was sure the detective had been planning went straight out the window.

  With little else to do, the officers tucked the suspect in the back of the patrol car and headed off.

  “What happened, Ms. Broussard?” the detective asked, looking considerably more rumpled than when they’d seen him earlier.

  Jade gave him a brief rundown of the attack.

  “So he actually didn’t assault your client. You assaulted him.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “He started it.”

  “You kicked him in those shoes?”

  “I took them off.”

  He still looked as if he didn’t believe she was the one who’d taken Malden down. Underestimation often worked in her favor.

  “Did he say anything to you?” he asked.

  “You mean did he voluntarily offer information to a witness of his criminal action?”

  “Cute. Just answer the question.”

  “No.”

  Remy smiled, and Jade decided she’d definitely been hanging out with him too long, since she was enjoying telling the detective absolutely nothing.

  “No, he didn’t say anything? Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing at all.”
Which he hadn’t. He’d just given a few head shakes, and she’d discerned the rest. She really had nothing definitive to give Parker.

  “How long ago did this incident occur?”

  “Two minutes before I called you.”

  Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, he narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t quite believe her, then his gaze slid over her and Remy. “You don’t look much like a bodyguard tonight.”

  “No, I guess I don’t.”

  The detective sighed. “Somehow I knew you were going to make this difficult. Were you at Club Pi tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what purpose were you there?”

  This is where things got sticky. Revealing what she knew about Peter Garner could expose Remy’s past to the police. The NSA’s promise of no prosecution might hold.

  But she wouldn’t bet her client’s life on it.

  She already had off-duty cops watching Garner; involving yet another police department at this stage would complicate things. Not to mention, if the cops found out Hannigan was connected to Johnny Malden, they’d want to talk to him. Given the fact that they’d hustled him out of town, that was going to be difficult.

  If there was ever a trial, she’d be sure Hannigan appeared with a cooperative smile. For now, though, she had to skate the truth.

  “My client met a friend for drinks.”

  “What friend?”

  “Mr. Colin Hannigan. I believe he’s a resident of Atlanta.”

  Remy added a nod.

  The detective looked around. “Where’s this friend now?”

  “He left.”

  “And went where?”

  “The last time I saw him, he was walking down the stairs. I didn’t ask where he was going.”

  Obviously deciding he’d had enough of her evasive answers, he turned to Remy. “Whose idea was it to meet for drinks at Club Pi?”

  “Mr. Hannigan’s.”

  Parker smiled. “Ah, we’re finally getting somewhere. Do you suspect Mr. Hannigan of hiring—” he flipped open the wallet “—Johnny Malden to attack you?”

  “No.”

  Parker looked exasperated. “No?”

  He was asking the right questions, but he wasn’t making a complete connection. Jade felt sorry for him. Not doing everything she could to help the police was difficult for her. She’d been raised to support and respect cops. But she didn’t know this one well, and she didn’t want to bring anybody into their circle and expose Remy’s past.