Heart Shot (10 page)

Worried about the impression she must have made, she brightened her grin and shot her best one at Keyton. The bodyguard removed his hand and the two men started toward them. Emily shot a glance covertly under her lashes at Preston Jones. He studied her thoughtfully, though she didn’t feel any judgment in his gaze. Indeed, he appeared…interested. Or perhaps curious? She doubted he’d missed her reactions and hoped she hadn’t blown what tattered remains of a cover she’d managed to hold onto.

“Well, that’s certainly interesting,” Preston said in a low tone, as if he was speaking to himself.

Keyton arrived at their small group before anyone could say anything further. More introductions ensued. Keyton looked at his solid silver watch. Emily reminded herself that her paranoia was becoming excessive when she wondered for an instant if these were yet more signals to someone outside the square, possibly lying in wait. She forced herself to get a grip. This was the stage where assassins could come unhinged, seeing meaning, covert symbols and double-crosses in every move and innocent gesture.

That level of paranoia was the tricky road upon which true madness lay.

Emily forced herself to breathe slowly. She flexed her fingers against the impulse to draw her weapon. Instead, she focused on scanning the area for hidden snipers. Keyton made an apologetic face, apparently oblivious to the trauma he caused her.

“I’m snowed under, chaps,” he said as a greeting. “I can only give you five minutes, I’m terribly sorry. But Preston insisted this was important. Is it about that debacle yesterday?”

An itch formed at the back of Emily’s neck when both Preston and Fin turned to her, clearly expecting her to speak. Tact and diplomacy weren’t her strong suit. For a moment she was silent, flummoxed.

Keyton followed the other’s lead and looked at her, waiting.

Mentally shrugging, Emily bit the bullet. She was a free agent here. She answered to no one—to hell with being polite and subtle.

“There’s a lot of talk in certain circles, Mr. Marshall, that you’re selling secrets.” Emily held Keyton’s look and tried to speak in a neutral tone. “It’s been suggested since your reputation is above reproach that you’d be an ideal candidate to…play both sides of the fence—so to speak.”

There was a heavy silence for a minute. Emily ignored her need to scan their surroundings, violated every aspect of her training to remain aware and held her gaze steadily with Keyton’s. If she was going to accuse him of being a traitor, the least she could do was meet his look and tell him to his face.

Small lines of strain bracketed Keyton’s mouth. He didn’t fly into a rage, or denounce her and bluster. Emily felt her respect for him notch up. Many men in his position would posture and bully their way through such an accusation. The fact he took her words in, considered them and didn’t lose his temper showed what a rational, calm man he was.

He showed her the courtesy of taking her seriously.

“That’s quite an accusation, Madam,” he replied. “Is there evidence to back this up?”

“No, sir.” Emily shook her head. She took care to reply in an equally formal and polite manner.

“Then who are you?” Keyton asked.

“My name is Emily, sir. I’m merely looking into the situation. I’m…an independent party.”

“Independent, eh?” Keyton threw a speaking glance to Preston.

Preston appeared to understand whatever was in the politician’s look, but Emily couldn’t translate it.

“Let me tell you something, Emily,” Keyton continued. “I could sit here for hours, wasting both our time and expounding upon how much I love my country, how loyal I am to the Queen and everything our nation stands for. I could show you photos of my beautiful wife, two picture-perfect children—who incidentally, behind closed doors, turn into identical hellions when bed-time is mentioned—and wax lyrical on rhetorical gibberish and ask why I’d risk the so-called perfect life for something as base and meaningless as power or money. But I won’t. What I will tell you is this. The Prime Minister and I went to school together. We joked around and pulled a few discreet pranks. We weren’t caught in most of them and were never expelled. We played cricket together, snuck beer into the dormitories together and grew up practically in each other’s pockets.”

Keyton paused. Emily studied him carefully. When he smiled, it was genuine and full of remembrance of a happy, more carefree time. She was used to sizing people up, trusting her assessment of character. Keyton Marshall was being fully honest and seemed completely genuine.

“I don’t pretend to know what you do,” he said, “but in my line of work, friendship—real, honest friendship—doesn’t come easily. It’s rare enough, and precious enough that it’s worth more than gold or all the power in the universe. Men like myself, like the Prime Minister, we don’t have many friends, not the proper kind. I’m not puffing my ego up here, I’m not the only friend the PM has, nor is he mine. What I’m pointing out is there is very little on this earth that could convince me to turn my back not just on my country, but on a man I hold in such esteem as I do him. I thank God that I haven’t been placed in a position where I need to make such a decision and I pray I never will. Does that help answer any questions you might have?”

Emily forced herself to take a breath and think. In her heart she knew what her next words would mean. If she accepted his answer and let this drop, it would mean she was stepping off the path she’d been on for years. That was a momentous decision for her, and one she didn’t take lightly.

“Yes,” she released a pent up breath with that single world, knowing her life was going to change from this. “Thank you, Mr. Marshall, I think I understand now. Thank you for your time.”

Keyton smiled at her. Although she knew he couldn’t possibly know what she was, or what had come so close to occurring, there was a sharpness in that dark gaze she’d not seen previously. A whisper of intuition had her wondering just how much he really comprehended about this entire, convoluted situation.

He looked at his watch again, his grin both friendly and apologetic.

“I really need to get moving,” he said as he held his hand out to Preston. Keyton shook each of their hands in turn, continuing, “Judy insists I’m useless before my third cup of tea and there’s this bloody budget meeting starting at nine. She sent me off with my second in a travel mug, but if I don’t review these reports and get there on top of my game—well, you know how it is.”

“Thanks for your time, Keyton,” Preston said.

Keyton waved his hand, dismissing it as if it was nothing.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally contracting people who can look objectively at problems and be direct in creating solutions.” Keyton turned his gaze back to her. Emily tried not to frown, surprised he’d assumed she worked for or with Preston. She’d said she was independent, hadn’t she?

“So much of our world is full of paranoia and cloak and dagger rubbish,” Keyton agreed. “It’s refreshing, Emily, to face a challenge head on. Much of the world of espionage is still obfuscated even to those who wish to assist it—and necessarily so—but I’m pleased to see you understand how at times the direct approach can save everyone time and effort. If I can be of further assistance to you, please don’t hesitate to get in touch with me. Preston has my details. Good day.”

Emily watched, stunned, as Keyton returned to his car, his bodyguard shadowing each step. He turned his head continuously, seeming to be finally aware of just how many sniper positions were available around the square. As soon as they were both in the car the driver started it and pulled away.

“Well, Keyton seems to have taken quite a shine to you, but then he always has been a savvy judge of character,” Preston said with a smug air. Emily turned to face him, astonished.

“How can you possibly say that when you know nothing about me?”

“My dear girl, I haven’t always worn this restrictive suit. I was out in the field making snap judgments and spur of the second decisions where you were still in the nursery learning your ABCs.”

“I strongly doubt I was quite that young,” she chuckled. Unless he was an unusually well-maintained man, Preston Jones could hardly have ten years on her.

Tilting his head, he gave her that one.

“Very well, but my main point still stands,” Preston insisted. “Keyton saw, as I did, that you’re an intelligent woman with a well-contained ruthless streak. You don’t make hasty decisions and you collect data before deciding on a thought-out and informed judgment call. Regardless of your other business, you’re not some hot-headed young hoodlum, you aren’t easily led and I’d bet my last ten quid you’ve got a serious stubborn streak.”

“My other business?” Emily laughed hollowly, feeling raw. Except for James, no one in the last five—hell, ten or more—years had appeared to get such a good grasp of her character or cut so close to the bone of truth. Now Fin, Keyton and Preston had all appeared to sum her up on next to no exposure. Was she losing her edge? “My other business, Mr. Jones, is that I’m a damn good shot and one of the best assassins around. Or, I thought I was. Until today, I also thought I wasn’t such an easy book to read.”

“Oh, you and Fin here are mere infants in this industry,” Preston assured her with a smile. He didn’t seem the least perturbed, nor surprised, at her reckless confession. Who said she couldn’t be goaded? “You’re thirty?”

“Twenty-nine,” she admitted. He chuckled.

“Yes, definitely a good match. Finlay is thirty, and I’d been quite concerned about him settling down. Anyway, I know you two have plenty to discuss, so I’ll leave you to it. Oh, here’s my card. Should you ever decide to broaden your horizons, please give me a call.”

Emily took the card and frowned. She knew that she should feel pressured, but Preston’s words and manner were so casual, as if he couldn’t care less whether she took him up on his offer or not, she wondered if she misread the situation.

“I have thought about broadening my horizons,” she insisted. “And I have some mild talent at journalism. But truthfully, Mr. Jones my only real skill is in shooting people. What possible use could you or your Agency have for me?”

Preston grinned, shook Fin’s hand and turned back to her.

“Miss Camber, do you really think we don’t have need for the occasional shooter? Sometimes—they’re not frequent, but they do pop up now and again—there is no alternative except to kill certain individuals. As I’m sure you’re aware there are people simply that evil, or situations that dire. I can think of a dozen missions this last year alone where it would have been extremely useful to have someone of your skill along as a last resort. Don’t fool yourself, there are more people like you around than you’d believe.”

With that, he exited, leaving her surprised and incredibly thoughtful. Fin wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him, relishing his strength and warmth. Despite the weak sunshine trying to filter in through the light clouds, she felt quite cold suddenly.

“That went quite well,” Fin said, breaking into her reverie.

Emily looked up at him. A huge grin crossed his face. She felt her heart catch. She lost herself in his blue gaze, feeling warmed as if the sun had come out again merely upon his say so. Lifting herself up, she then kissed him, releasing the tension that had been tied up inside her all morning.

After turning in his embrace, she moaned as Fin closed his arms around her, holding her tightly. They pressed their bodies together and she canted her hips up. His body exuded heat and she enjoyed the knowledge that their touches built passion in him as well. That it wasn’t just
her
loins stirring. A car beeped and she jerked, recalled back to reality with a crash. Once again she felt the back of her neck itch.

Emily no longer cared whether it was paranoia or just plain idiocy, she felt compelled to move. It wasn’t in her nature to remain so exposed and she hated the feeling of being vulnerable. She couldn’t sense any immediate danger—perhaps she was deranged—but she’d ignored her instincts for as long as she could manage.

“I need to think,” she said as she reached out and took Fin’s hand. Seeming content to follow her, he put up no resistance and let her lead him down the busy street.

Chapter Five

Hand in hand, they silently walked down Pall Mall. Her head was full of conflict. Emily couldn’t think of a word to say. As they came to St. James Square, the greenery in the middle of the busy city called to her. Emily paused, Fin followed her lead. She scanned the park, finding a number of more secluded pockets. Without letting his hand go, she took them to a grassy area shaded from three sides of the square by some large hedges.

Finding a good defensive position, she then checked the ground to make sure the hint of morning dew had dried. She sat. Hidden from anyone not coming directly toward them, and with Fin’s lanky form spread casually next to her, their thighs and shoulders pressed together. Emily felt safe, secure for the first time all morning.

The rush to get to work had abated, only a few casual strollers here and there. While the park wasn’t empty of people, Emily convinced herself she and Fin had at least the illusion of privacy.

“I really don’t want to think about this,” she said, knowing it had to be done. Fin nudged her shoulder with his arm, somehow managing to convey comfort and solidarity with her while wearing a cheeky grin.

“I can’t imagine you’re the kind to shy away from difficult things,” he insisted. “You’ve a cool head under pressure. When those snipers were having a go at you, you didn’t cower or wait to be saved, you had your gun out, crouched and looking for ways to retaliate. You’ve a warrior’s spirit.”

“Physical action is different,” she demurred. “You know what it’s like. Adrenaline pumping, fifteen things going through your head at once, and somehow your brain rises above it and can see the world with crystal clarity. Instinct takes over. This is…emotional, and messy. Painful.”

The final word was practically a whimper, and she hated that. Loathed the small, hurt sound that came from her. Part of her wanted to curl into Fin, touch him, lick him and ignore the rest of the world. They could lose themselves in each other, use the sexual chemistry and heated passion that grew between them to shove the world far, far away.