Target: Hard Target Part 4

"No." She shakes her head. "Some guys from a Tennessee family, who thought we were poaching on their territory, dressed up as Federal Agents. My mother had turned my dad in and wanted protection for me and her, so she let them come on our land." A tremor rolls through her. "It was a ma.s.sacre. No survivors."

"You witnessed it?"

"No." I hear her swallow. "I found them. I was twelve."

"f.u.c.k." I gather her tighter to me, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm... I don't know what to say."

"Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction, but you can Google it." The elevator stops. "It was twelve years ago. I'm mostly fine... now." Her voice wavers at the end, but she takes a deep breath, as if girding herself against the past and possibly the not-so-distant future.

The doors swoosh open, and I push her behind me, palming my gun at the same time. After checking the hallway and finding nothing but the usual hustle of employees, I grab Morgan's arm.

"Why are you holding on to me? I'm not going anywhere," she says under her breath.

"I have to have a reason for bringing you up here. Hauling you to the boss's office means that I've caught you in the act."

"Act of what?"

"Selling company secrets."

"Oh." Her arm goes limp. "That's embarra.s.sing."

"Perhaps, but once we get everything sorted, I'll make sure to let everyone know that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Story of my life," she mutters.

David's personal a.s.sistant, Patrice, greets us. Her gaze bounces between Morgan and me.

"You actually did it, eh?" This she directs to Morgan.

Morgan gives her a wan smile. "Yeah."

"All for a pair of sparkly pink shoes with b.u.t.terflies on the toes." Patrice laughs. "You're hard core, Mr. Romanov. I'll let Mr. Pinter know you're here."

As soon as she disappears into his office, I turn my attention to Morgan.

"Did what?"

Color blooms on Morgan's cheeks. "I took the bet."

"What bet?"

"The ladies and I had a pool going on who would be first to break company policy by asking you out. As of yesterday, it was up to three hundred pounds. I've had my eye on a pair of shoes in a Covent Garden's shop for a while now." She lifts a shoulder. "Obviously, I won. Go me."

"You only asked me out because of a wager?"

"Not only because of that."

Patrice appears in front of us. "Mr. Pinter will see you now."

As we pa.s.s by, Patrice whispers, "You won't tell him I nicked the laptop from the break room, will you? It was only for the night."

Morgan shakes her head as I lead her into David's office.

He is standing at the windows, his hands clasped behind his back. A man against the world, or so he wants to project to his employees, as well as clients.

"Ms. Tanner. It's such a shame to see you in my office." He turns, facing us. Streaks of grey are at his temple, but there are no laugh lines around his eyes or mouth. In fact, he has no wrinkles at all, due to his weekly appointments with one of the company's on-staff dermatologists. It baffles me as to why he would go to so much trouble to keep his face young while allowing the grey to come through. Perhaps he likes the contrast.

I shut the door.

"That's not why we're here." Steering Morgan to the closet chair, I indicate she should sit. "Morgan's done nothing wrong. In fact, it's your security team that should be in here. I was forced to kill a man in your lab. I'm nearly one hundred percent certain that he acted alone, but I texted an alert to security as soon as I found him. They didn't respond."

David's eyes widen. He grabs his phone and puts in a call to security. "Patterson," he all but barks. "Are you aware we've had a security breach?"

A long pause.

"Right. Yes, Mr. Romanov took care of it, but you can pack your bags." He ends the call by slamming the phone into the cradle. He eyes me a moment. "Once again, I'm in the position of thanking you."

"It was no problem at all, sir."

He smiles gently at Morgan. "And you, my dear. How are you holding up? I can only imagine how you must feel to survive imminent death. d.a.m.ned guns are a menace to society."

My gaze sharpens on him for a moment.

"F-fine, sir." She shrinks into her chair, her hands working in her pockets. What is she doing? "I just want to go home."

"Romanov, why don't you escort her home?"

I nod. "Of course. Ms. Tanner?"

She stands, pulling her hands out of her pockets. They're clenched into tight fists.

"Ms. Tanner," David says and she freezes.

"Yes?" her voice is barely a whisper.

"Leave the lab coat."

Wordlessly, she nods and shrugs out of the coat, then drapes it across the chair. For the life of me, I can't figure out why she takes my hand, but David doesn't seem to notice. Most likely, he thinks she's still recovering from- Oh f.u.c.k me.

"Ben?" Her chest rises and falls so rapidly that I'm surprised she's not hyperventilating.

"Yes."

The door closes behind us. Patrice is no longer at her desk and the hallway is deserted.

"How did he know that the shooter tried to kill me with a gun, or that he had a gun at all?"

There's only one answer to that. David sent the killer himself.

A group of men dressed in black with guns drawn, round the corner.

"Run."

"What?" she asks.

I shove her in front of me. "Move your a.r.s.e!"

We haul a.s.s to the stairs just as bullets begin to spray the hallway. I kick open the door and pull her behind me. There's an emergency water hose by the door, something that's installed on every other floor. I break the gla.s.s and wrap it around the handle and stair railing.

A barrage of bullets ping against the metal door, pus.h.i.+ng out indentions. However, since each entrance/exit inside the PharmGen building is a potential security risk, they are nearly impenetrable.

"Up or down?" she asks, then shakes her head. "Stupid question." She starts down the stairs, but I grab her arm. "Would you stop grabbing me?"

"Up, my love. Not down."

She blinks up at me. "How can we escape on the roof?"

"Trust me." Letting go of her arm, I hold out my hand. "I'll keep you safe."

Once more she takes my hand and we dart up the flight of stairs that leads to the roof. The air is blistering cold and a heavy wind is coming in from the north. It won't be the most rash decision I've ever made, but it comes pretty d.a.m.n close. Unfortunately, I have no choice.

"Please tell me you know how to fly a helicopter," she says, eying PharmGen's sleek, silver model.

"I don't, actually, and my cousin who does wouldn't get here in time to help us." I pull her to the west side of the roof, where I've hidden a bag for such emergencies as this in an underused air vent. "So plan B it is."

An a.s.sa.s.sin is always prepared.

My brother's teachings are always with me. Having learned from the best, I have an emergency bag stashed at the top of every building I've ever spent a length of time in, including the one I live in.

Releasing Morgan, I yank the outer grate off and reach inside. My bag is still there, hanging from a metal hook that I installed on my first day of work, under the guise of installing security cameras.

"What's in there?"

I pull out the tandem BASE jumping equipment from the backpack and shake it out. "Our exit strategy."

"We have to jump?" Stark fear widens her eyes. "I don't know if I can do that."

I shrug into the harness, double-checking it for safety before I make her turn around and secure her to me. "I know, but please be a brave girl for me, yes?"

She gazes up at me. "I don't have any other choice, do I?"

The door bursts open, men spilling out.

"No."

We run for the side of the roof, and as we get closer, I worry about Morgan freezing up. "You can do this," I a.s.sure her.

She trips.

We stumble.

The men see us.

"I'm sorry," Morgan cries, pus.h.i.+ng against me. "I'm so sorry."

I don't answer her. In tandem BASE jumping, one would step off the side of a building or bridge, but I don't have time.

I launch us into the open air.

Chapter Five.

Morgan We're free falling. I can't see a thing and the air is whipping in my ears as we race toward the ground.

Then again, I have my eyes squeezed shut so tight that I'm liable to burst a blood vessel or three, which will happen anyway when we hit the ground.

I hear a whistling sound, followed by a grunt from Ben.

"Are you okay?" I scream.

"For now."

He moves his arms, then we're tugged upward so abruptly that it feels like someone's kicked my chest and sent me shooting backwards.

My eyes fly open.

I gasp against the pain, trying to suck in air, then scream again as a building looms in front of us. Forget the street, we're going to make out with gla.s.s like a bug on a winds.h.i.+eld during rush hour.

Whether it was a change in the wind direction or Ben controlling the chute, we somehow manage to avoid it. We miss the next building as well, and I allow myself to relax, to trust that he will keep me safe. I glance over my shoulder at him. His face is hard, gaze locked on the London skyline. His hands are fisted around two black pulls, and I realize that is how we've escaped smas.h.i.+ng into buildings. He's flying us.

I feel something hot and wet on the back of my leg. I want to touch what's there, but I'm too scared to let go of the harness strapping me to him.

The ground is rus.h.i.+ng up to meet us, but it's not made of pavement and cars. Instead I see green patches and large trees.

"Bushy Park," he shouts.

I nod, unsure that he even needs me to, but I want to do something other than just dangle.

"Pick up your legs," he orders.

I lift them so high that I'm sure everyone below can see not just the color of my panties but the kind of waxing I get done each month.