Kira leaned back against the sofa. “So what are we dealing with? In your expert opinion?”
“Expert?”
“Wolfe Sec is a world-renowned firm. You deal with people targeted by crazies and assassins all the time. What do you think this is about? Who is doing this?”
He finished off his pizza crust, stalling for time. Then he dusted his hands on his jeans.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but Liam would be the one to tell you about motive. His brother’s a criminal profiler and weighs in on some of our cases.”
“Seriously? I didn’t know that.”
“He used to work for the FBI.”
“Interesting,” she said. “But what about you?”
“What about me?”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you think? You’ve dealt with all sorts of threats. How does this rank? How worried should I be?”
Jeremy studied her face, trying not to stare at the damn cut on her cheek. But the cut said it all, really. She’d caught a piece of shrapnel in her face. How worried should she be? Very.
Jeremy had been asked that question before. Sometimes the clients wanted reassurance or soothing words. Sometimes they were in denial that the threat against them was real.
Kira wasn’t in denial, and she didn’t want reassurance or platitudes. She was a realist, and what she wanted was information. But could she handle it, or would it freak her out?
She watched him, waiting for his answer.
He cleared his throat. “There are several kinds of threats we see a lot of. On American soil, most attacks are carried out at close range and with a handgun.”
“What’s close range?”
“Less than twenty-five yards.”
She nodded.
“Then there are long-range attacks. That’s with a rifle, sometimes hundreds of yards away. Shooters like that tend to be ideological killers.”
She frowned. “Give me an example.”
“The abortion doctor who was murdered last fall. Guy shot him with a Remington seven hundred at two hundred yards.”
“Was he a sharpshooter?”
“No, but he had military training. Guys like that—ideological killers—they get in, do the job, get out. They have a plan of escape and no desire to get caught.”
“Who would?”
“You’d be surprised. Some of these up-close shooters—people like John Hinckley, who shot Ronald Reagan—that’s exactly what they want, especially if their target is a celebrity. The second they pull the trigger, they go from a life of obscurity to instant fame. They may not even care who the target is, as long as it’s someone famous enough to get them in the news. Or maybe the target is interchangeable. In those cases, personal security is everything.”
“How come?” She looked skeptical. He could tell from the worry line between her brow.
“An attacker like that takes one look at us and sees a hard target. It’s going to be a lot tougher for him to get what he’s after, which is attention. So he switches targets. The identity of the target may not even matter.”
“How does it not matter?” she asked. “If someone is willing to risk their life and their freedom, I’d think the target would mean everything.”
“Maybe it’s symbolic.” Jeremy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “The job I just finished? That’s exactly what it was. Our guy was an American business mogul. Didn’t matter his name or what his company did—just that he was a rich American traveling in their backyard. That’s why he was targeted by Islamic extremists, and they should never have gotten near him, but we screwed up.”
“What happened?”
Kira looked riveted. And he hadn’t meant to tell her this shit, but now it was too late to go back.
He looked her in the eye. “There were six of them, divided into three vehicles. They surrounded his car and ran it off the road, hoping to either kidnap him or murder him on the spot. They hosed Roland’s car down with bullets. Missed him but managed to kill a kid who was standing on the sidewalk next to his mom. She was hit, too.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Course, that didn’t make the headlines. Even though a six-year-old died, it was barely mentioned.”
“Where were you?” Kira asked.
“Car behind, passenger side. It was a two-vehicle convoy.”
The whole thing had lasted less than a minute, but at the time, it had felt like slow motion. The seconds dragged out as Jeremy saw everything unfolding, right there in front of him, and all he could do was jump from the vehicle and try to put a stop to it, but he was two seconds too late.
“It never should have happened.” He shook his head. “This group should have gotten one look at our client’s security and picked another target.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Jeremy gritted his teeth. “Social media. They had a critical advantage. Leo Roland’s PR flack posted his day’s events online, and they were waiting for us when we pulled up. That’s why we prefer unpredictability. Unscheduled arrivals, unscheduled departures. Don’t tell people exactly what you’re doing and when, because it gives them an edge.”
“Sounds to me like the PR flack was the one who screwed up, not you,” she said.
“Same result. And it’s part of our job to control the information that goes out, or at least be aware of it. We could have had agents on the rooftops when our guy arrived, but we thought his schedule was private, so we didn’t take that step, and a child got caught in the crossfire of something that never should have happened.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Jeremy could still hear that mother wailing as she bent over her son. He wished he could erase the sound. Erase the whole day.
“I went to see her in the hospital. The kid’s mother.” He shook his head. “She was catatonic. Her sister and the rest of her kids were with her, but she couldn’t even talk.”
Kira just watched him, her eyes somber.
“Leo Roland’s been racked with guilt over it. He’s going to take care of them financially, but nothing he can do will bring that boy back. And all because some gutless fanatic wanted to grab a headline and post a video.”
“God. Did they?”
“Yeah, it’s out there.” He raked a hand through his hair. How had they gotten on this topic? She’d been asking about her case, not the job he’d just come from. He shouldn’t be dumping this on anyone, least of all someone he was protecting.
But he was. Something about Kira made him want to tell her things straight.
“But back to your question.” He leveled a look at her. “What kind of threat is this? How worried should you be?”
Her eyes turned wary, and it looked like she was bracing herself.
“In my opinion, both shootings were professional jobs.”
She watched him steadily.
“By professional, I mean that the gunman was hired, not that he’s very good at it. He’s an average shot if you look at the ballistics.”
She smiled nervously. “Great. So I shouldn’t be worried?”
“No. You should. The problem is he’s brazen. He walked right into that house and fired rounds at three people, then calmly filled a duffel bag and left. He may be a crappy shot, but he has nerves of steel, and that’s concerning.”
“Concerning. Yeah.”
“Also, he knows how to blend in. The clothes, the car, the confidence. All of it tells me he’s comfortable in his targets’ environment, and when you combine that with the BMW? That tells me he has money, or at least he’s around it.”
“Someone rich is paying him.”
Jeremy nodded. “And when you combine that with this new evidence that Andre Markov is involved in some kind of shady business down on the ship channel . . .” He trailed off, and she waited for him to finish. “It’s looking more and more like a crime syndicate.”
She shuddered.
“I’m not trying to scare you, but—”
“Sure you are. If I’m
scared, I’m less likely to push back when you guys tell me what to do. You want me scared. You want all of us scared.” She stood abruptly.
“Hey.”
“No, I get it. I’d do the same thing if I were you. Tell the client she’s on a hit list, that some crime syndicate is after her, ensure full cooperation.”
He stared up at her. She looked pissed now. And rattled, too. And okay, yes, that had been part of his objective from the start of this conversation.
She carried the pizza box to the minibar and tossed it onto the counter.
“Sorry.” She rubbed her forehead. “I know I started this.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I’m being a bitch, it’s just . . .”
Jeremy stood and walked over. It was dim beside the window with the drapes closed, but he could still see the strain on her face.
“It’s been a long day, with the funeral and the detectives, and everything last night . . .” She trailed off again and looked away.
And she hadn’t been sleeping. He could tell just by looking at her that she was on edge and had been for days. He knew how to relax her and get her mind off everything, but he was not going to go there, and he needed to get the fuck out of her hotel room. Where was Trent?
He checked his watch. “Listen, Kira—”
“Do me a favor, will you?” She stepped closer, and her eyes looked different now. Heated, but in a way they hadn’t been a second ago. And he got the sense she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about.
She eased closer, close enough for him to smell her hair again, that subtle floral scent he noticed every time he was around her.
“Will you?”
He cleared his throat. “What is it?”
“Stay.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
I WANT TO keep talking. We don’t have to talk about the job or anything, just . . .” She looked around. “Let’s have a drink.”
He gazed down at her, and she could see some sort of battle going on in his head. He wanted to stay. She could tell. She sensed he wanted to do a lot of things, but he was determined to hold back.
She tipped her head to the side. “Please?”
The muscle in his jaw twitched, and she knew she had him.
“One drink,” he said.
She opened the minibar and crouched to examine the contents. She spied the bottle of Jameson and felt a pang in her chest. Ollie had given her a bottle for Christmas last year, and it was collecting dust in the back of her cupboard. It seemed like fate that the same brand was here in her minibar tonight.
Without looking at Jeremy, she flipped over the pair of glasses on a silver tray and poured them each a shot. She handed him a glass and took a deep breath.
“To Ollie.” She wanted to say more, but there was suddenly a rock in her throat. She clinked her glass with Jeremy’s and took a swig.
Jeremy watched her as he took a sip. She turned and pushed aside the curtain to open the slider and step outside. The suite’s balcony overlooked a swimming pool. Rain pitter-pattered on the water, dimpling the surface.
The lights went off, and Kira turned around.
“You don’t want a silhouette,” Jeremy said as he stepped out.
It took her a moment to get it. “Oh. You mean in case—”
“Yeah.”
She stifled a shudder, even though it was eighty-five degrees out. She couldn’t imagine thinking about assassins all the time.
Kira knew she was more aware than the average person, given what she did for a living. It was second nature to her to watch her mirrors and check her reflection in windows to make sure she didn’t have a tail. But all that was different. She wasn’t used to being a target.
“We’ve got a man in the courtyard.” Jeremy nodded toward the pool four stories below, and Kira noticed the uniformed guard stationed beside a lamppost. She’d noticed him earlier when she’d been out here on the phone.
“I thought he was with the hotel?”
“He’s ours. Uniform is just for show. And we’ve got another agent on patrol of the perimeter.”
“Sounds like you thought of everything.”
He didn’t comment.
Kira leaned back against the wall, watching the rain as the whiskey began to warm her. Jeremy propped his shoulder against the wall and looked at her. He hadn’t brought his glass out, she noticed. That had been for show, too. He wasn’t actually going to be her drinking buddy tonight. He was holding back, keeping his distance, and she knew it was because of what happened before.
Kira took another sip and looked out over the pool. The scent of chlorine wafted up, and she remembered the same scent at Brock’s the other night.
“You all right?”
She looked at him, and his face was shadowed, but she could still see the outline. He had strong cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. And then there were those beautiful blue eyes that she couldn’t really see right now. But she knew from the furrow in his brow that he was worried about her.
“I’m fine.” She sighed. “Just thinking about the day.” She shook her head. “I hated seeing Ollie’s family hurting. He was nuts over those grandkids. They’re really going to miss him.”
She was really going to miss him. She already did.
“You know, Ollie was my one real friend in the business. All my contacts at the courthouse—they’re passing acquaintances. Ollie was different. He took an interest in me from day one and set me on a career path. He was my mentor every step of the way. Even when he was driving me crazy, I learned from him.”
She took another sip, and the whiskey slid down her throat, smooth as velvet.
“Liam’s like that for me.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “We don’t always agree, but I always respect his judgment. He’s a good man.”
“I respected Ollie, too.” She hadn’t realized how much until now. “Even when he used me, I didn’t mind.”
“How do you mean?”
She looked at Jeremy in the darkness, suddenly tuned in to his wide shoulders and big arms. He was in one of those black T-shirts again, and she wanted to slip her hands under the sleeves and feel the warmth of his skin.
“Ollie liked me to go out and interview witnesses, develop sources,” she said. “He liked me to play the petite woman card. You know, dupe people into thinking I was harmless, and they could let their guard down. It usually worked, too. I’d interview witnesses for our case—or the prosecution’s case. I’d figure out who was credible and who was stretching the truth or outright making stuff up. I can always spot the fakers. Ollie called me a human polygraph.” She smiled at the memory. “He’d been pressing me about pursuing that career-wise.”
“Pursuing it how?”
“Jury consulting,” she said. “I’ve had a chance to sit in on quite a few trials as part of the defense team. I watch the voir dire. You know, jury selection? People answer questions, and I observe their body language while the lawyers are talking and giving details about the case. Some people try to lie their way onto a jury because they’ve got an ax to grind. Or maybe they think they’re going to write a screenplay, or maybe they’re just plain bored. Whatever it is, if they’re misrepresenting themselves, we need to know about it, so I would watch and pass my opinion along to Ollie, who would pass it along to the lead attorney.”
“You like the work?”
“Absolutely. It’s challenging. And the money potential is a lot better than what I’m doing now, so . . . I guess I have Ollie to thank for yet another aspect of my career.”
Kira sighed. She felt a little dizzy now that the whiskey was kicking in. She looked out at the rain on the pool, and her eyes burned.
She wasn’t going to cry.
Four full days, and she hadn’t lost control. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to start right now, in front of Jeremy.
He touched her shoulder, and her heart lurched.
“I’m sorry.”
“For
what?” She wanted him to keep his hand on her shoulder, but he tucked it into his pocket as if he regretted touching her.
“For what you’re going through right now.”
“I’m fine. It’s his family I’m worried about.”
Kira looked at him in the darkness, and she couldn’t read his expression. But she sensed his mood. Tense restraint. If she let herself cry, she had a feeling he’d wrap his arms around her. And she felt a deep-down ache, hoping he’d do just that. How nice would it be to rest her head on his chest and just feel safe for a moment and let everything fall away?
Kira held his gaze. Maybe she should just get it out there. It wasn’t like her to hide from things. Maybe she should just say it. You’ve probably figured this out already, but I’m dying to touch you, and the way you’re keeping your distance is making me crazy. How about if you get me another bodyguard, so you can stop being so uptight and we can see where this goes?
Yeah, right. He’d never agree to that. Even more intense than the attraction flaring between them was his dedication to his work. He took it very seriously, and whatever fling they might have together—and she had no doubt that to him, it would be a fling and nothing more—would never be worth letting down Liam or his teammates by removing himself from an assignment and leaving them in the lurch. Kira didn’t know Jeremy that well, but she knew loyalty was a big thing for him.
Thunder rumbled, and Kira glanced up. As the rain fell harder, she knew it was going to be another restless night. She’d had this hang-up since Hurricane Harvey. Unceasing rain put her on edge.
Jeremy stepped away, once again putting distance between them. He leaned against the rail and looked out.
“I need to tell you about Monday,” she said, mustering her business voice to cover her disappointment.
“What about it?”
“Brock wants me to sit in. He wants my input on the jury pool.”
Jeremy didn’t respond, but she could see his shoulders stiffen. His brow furrowed, too, and he seemed to be thinking of the logistics.
Her Deadly Secrets Page 20