Heart Shot (3 page)

“I’m not asking you to get us more funding, or assist in cutting some of the red tape—though I’d not turn down any help you managed to get us either. You’re there to monitor Marshall and see if you can find out whether he’s been turned, or is willingly selling information. This isn’t a party invitation, but a proper mission, Mann. Understood?”

Fin nodded, resigned himself to a week of boredom, social prattle and walking a pace behind his target. Meek, mild and unnoticeable wasn’t usually within his job parameters, but he could do his best. He tried to look on it as a challenge, and wondered how many of the political men he would wind up in his stay there.

“I don’t suppose you would get a proper haircut?” Preston added. The wry twist to his mouth showed he was only being half serious.

“Pierre insists this cut makes me look like a prince,” Fin grinned. “Okay, so I’m not really there to bodyguard, though that’s evidently what we’re telling Marshall. So what am I
really
supposed to be doing?”

“There’s something going on in his circle of cronies.” Preston handed over a file from his desk. “I’ve got nothing but instinct here, that’s why you’re going in supposedly to guard him. There isn’t anything in Marshall’s phone records, expenses, his financials are all above board and add up. It’s been driving me insane. I can’t find a shred of evidence, but I’m positive someone thinks he’s doing something and speaking quietly in all the right ears to that effect. There’s a person or group of people out there who want to cause a world of trouble for Marshall, and they’re doing a very good, albeit subtle, job of it. Reputation is everything over there. Even if Marshall is as clean as the Virgin Mary if too many people start listening to the whispers he’ll be shut out faster than you can sneeze.”

“He’s the only reliable link we have to the PM?”

“Yes, he’s the only one who’s stood by the Agency through thick and thin.”

“Okay then. What am I looking out for?”

“You’re recon only. I want you to make a note of who he talks to, who he’s checking into, who he gets in contact with—everything. Even who he is supposed to be talking to and doesn’t. Like I said there is nothing concrete, only my instinct.”

“And enough of a whiff to have me follow this schmuck around for a week,” Fin added. “So, you must either be desperate to get me out of the office, or fairly certain something’s off.”

“It’s both,” Preston replied with a serious tone.

Fin chuckled.

“I’m supposed to go unnoticed for a whole week? Well, I’m sure I can rise to the challenge. Just be warned, I’ll bring out my most obnoxious outfits upon my return.”

“And you will have to wear your piece,” Preston insisted.

Fin made a sour face.

“You serious? Aw, get off it. You know I hate carrying.”

“You won’t have anyone there to watch your back, and what kind of legitimate bodyguard doesn’t carry a gun?”

Fin made another face, but had to nod in resignation. Martial arts weren’t his forte, and no one who took a glance at him would believe he could intimidate anyone with the size of his body alone.

He hated carrying a gun. Not just because they ruined the look and fall of his jacket, but they were bloody uncomfortable when the holster rubbed against him. And they made him feel as if he were unevenly weighted.

To add insult to all that injury, he was a lousy shot.

He’d failed the shooting course three times. Fin had finally changed from the standard gun to a smaller sized piece, and had just barely scraped past the testing procedures.

Fin liked to talk his way through situations, to charm, cajole, befuddle or just use physical means. Turning to his gun was always a last resort and rarely even remembered, let alone used.

Preston was still staring at him, his look grim. Fin sighed and lifted his hands in defeat.

“Okay, fine, I’ll carry the damn thing. And I’ll check your guy out. I’ll report back anything remotely suspicious.”

“This could just be smoke and mirrors,” Preston insisted. “I learned a long time ago that what the gossips are wagging about, or the latest new story can often be inflated if not outright libelous. You and Troy know that better than most. I’d hate to start a witch-hunt. But I still feel there’s something going on there. I want you to figure it out and let me know.”

Fin stood, the folder still unopened in his hand.

“I’ll get onto it, don’t worry. When is Marshall expecting his new bodyguard?”

“Review the files tonight and start tomorrow.”

Grinning, Fin mock saluted Preston then crossed to the door and opened it.

“Oh and Fin?” Fin paused at the threshold as Preston called out again. Turning, he faced him. Preston smiled, his teeth white against his skin. “Try to stay out of mischief, at least until Troy gets back.”

“Always, boss. Always.”

As Fin closed the door behind him he saw Preston wince. He chuckled and returned to his desk to review the files.

Chapter One

Emily didn’t know what to make of it. Keyton Marshall sat in front of a market café, sipping a frothy cappuccino as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was wedged between two men at a small table, both speaking earnestly to him, seeming to pitch something. All three of them reeked of upper class, perfectly bred business men. They all had near-identical clean cut looks, well-tailored three piece suits, polished-to-a-sheen shoes and even matching briefcases.

It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to see each of them coming out of similar molds. The best schools, happily married with two point three children and the beloved family pet.

Was there some sort of secret handbook she’d missed out on?

Keyton listened politely to the two gents and didn’t appear at all bored. With his dark brown hair, brown eyes and thin-rimmed glasses, he seemed like almost any other businessman. Had she not known the power he wielded from his close connection to the Prime Minister she’d have thought him another banker, accountant or generic—albeit well-to-do—working stiff.

The pair appeared almost to tag team him, one picking up the thread the moment the other closed his mouth. With identical hand gesticulations and matching eager looks on their faces, Emily bet it was a major deal they were trying to pitch.

She’d almost come to the conclusion that Keyton wasn’t involved in selling secrets. But some inner instinct held her back from making a firm call on it. This was the fourth day of her following him and she couldn’t put her finger on what gnawed at the back of her mind. Marshall worked long hours in his office according to the tiny tracker she’d managed to hide under the lapel of his jacket.

Despite the late hour of his arrival home, every night this week she’d followed him. She’d witnessed the nightly ritual of him being greeted at the door with a steamy, loving kiss from his pretty wife and being climbed all over by dressing-gown clad children. Research had taught her that the son and daughter were six and two respectively, and that his wife of nine years seemed to genuinely love him and relished being a professional housewife.

Emily hadn’t been able to find any extra discretionary funds. Nor was there a hint of a mistress—male or female—whom Keyton kept in style. Indications of hidden tax benefits such as a beach house or real estate under a different family member’s name also turned up negative. While financial auditing wasn’t her forte, she’d become good at uncovering the simpler and more common methods of hiding untaxed assets.

Marshall didn’t fit any of the molds she was used to.

Many things held Emily back from calling James and accepting the job, but the most important was she believed in her own, personal, code of ethics. She had never yet killed an innocent person. Adhering to this code had become particularly important to her in the last few months as she questioned her actions.

One of the few things that had kept her going was the knowledge that she only killed those who deserved it. This was what helped her remain strong while she struggled with her doubt. Never once had she questioned the rightness of what she did.

She didn’t kill innocent people.

Ever.

The weight of doing such a thing would eat at her soul, destroy her slowly but surely. That sin would never be washed from her hands and would devastate her spirit more than anything else she could conceive of.

But Emily couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on here. Why would James send her after this man if he wasn’t selling secrets? James knew she tailed her subjects, surveyed them thoroughly and vetted every aspect of their lives. She never jumped in, accepting the money and killing without regard for her own beliefs. Emily couldn’t understand why James would send her after someone whom he wasn’t sure of.

James knew her well enough to know that if she found no evidence against the target, she’d never go through with the contract.

So why put Keyton Marshall in her sights in the first place?

Sure, she’d heard the rumors. The gossip mill was in overdrive about Marshall right now. But in a week or two there’d be some poor other idiot in their sights, accused of dirty deals. Then there’d be another person after that, and that. It was common dealings in politics.

Was James getting blasé? Thinking she’d believe a few whispers from jealous competitors and his pleas over her own research and mind? Or was she getting jaded? Cynical? Or even tired, losing her nerve and not wanting to pull the trigger when needed?

Emily struggled to understand the situation, the variables not coming together and gelling as they usually did.

She turned toward the fruit stall and picked up a ripe, fresh melon. Emily lifted it to her nose then sniffed it. Her mind remained on her inner thoughts and far away from the globe in her hands.

How could she break this seeming deadlock?

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of pale, blond hair. The breath caught in her throat. She did a quick double take. The man who captured her attention was tall and lanky with a head full of long hair cut to frame his face. When he turned, she noticed a quick flash of the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen.

Emily knew with certainty something didn’t add up here.

She’d seen this man in Marshall’s vicinity three times now. Thrice in four days. She wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but she no longer believed it was a coincidence.

The man wasn’t dressed for subtlety, he didn’t blend into the background. With a snazzy royal blue blazer, khaki slacks, a cream shirt and a multi-colored silk scarf knotted casually about his neck, he looked like the quintessential yuppie on the prowl. Emily angled her face away and pretended to study the fruit still in her hands. Her mind whirled feverishly. Anyone could feel a steady gaze upon them and the last thing she wanted was to capture this man’s attention.

Was he a political competitor of Marshall’s?

Emily stole another fleeting glance. Marshall sat, oblivious to anything except the two men still eagerly chattering to him. Beside the café was a bakery then next to that a used book store. The blond appeared deeply interested in the small display of discounted paperbacks stacked in a box next to the entry to the bookshop.

No,
Emily thought,
no political man would trail around after another like this. That’s what lackeys and assistants are for
.

But this man exuded power, confidence and money. It was in the set of his posture, the casual, arrogant tilt of his chin and the way he surveyed those around him. It screamed ’I belong here, doing whatever the hell I want. I dare you to question my right to such.’

This was no lackey. Neither did Emily feel this man would be involved in anything as mundane as political one-upmanship or backstabbing for the hell of it. She narrowed her eyes, studying him carefully for a few seconds before ripping her gaze away again.

Her heart sped up as he lifted his head mere micro-seconds before she averted her eyes. Keeping her head down, she turned her chin to the side as if seeking a better melon. She replaced the one she held, then lifted another at random. With studied casualness, she tapped it with her index finger and raised it to sniff.

She forced herself to count slowly to five, resisting the urge to glance once again at the handsome man. Her entire focus on the fruit, Emily put it back with the others and sighed as if nothing had measured up. Emily turned and reached for an orange in the neighboring crate. She lifted her head, pretending to take stock of her surroundings and managing to steal another look at the blond man.

He seemed to be surveying the street and stores in a frighteningly efficient manner.

Is he a bodyguard?

There was something professional in his manner, something she hadn’t seen from him before. Like a switch being flicked, he once again appeared to be nothing more than a fop out on the prowl.

What the hell?

The day before yesterday she’d noticed him during Marshall’s lunch break. Eating at a fine restaurant at a well-sought-after window table, Emily had easily been able to find a seat at a small patisserie and watch her quarry. The only reason she’d noticed the mystery man had been because her feminine radar had jangled at his familiar face.

Unreservedly self-assured, his confidence had spoken to something deep in her. She’d admired him from afar, even indulging in a completely unprofessional, raunchy fantasy. She’d mussed that perfectly arranged hair and licked down the strong line of his neck. Emily imagined trailing her fingers over that lean chest then down his torso to discover what lay beneath those crisp pants.

Dragging her mind back, she’d memorized his features for a far more intricate fantasy later on in the privacy of her home. It’d been almost ten minutes before she’d realized what had really grabbed her subconscious attention.

She’d seen him the day before, walking a few paces behind Marshall as he left his office to head home for the night.

And now here he was again.

So that meant he was connected to all this somehow. But where did he fit in? And what would that mean to her?

Again, she thought there were far too many variables. In that outfit and the similar, over-the-top colorful bursts of jackets and ties she’d seen him in previously he was unlike any bodyguard she had come across before. So that left… Emily drew a mental blank.