Heart Shot (9 page)

“Oh yes, you’re such a bad person, Em. A real hard case. Stained and tainted beyond repair.” His words were filled with laughter and teasing, so she knew he didn’t mean them harshly. “A woman with the courage to knock back orders she doesn’t agree with. Someone who takes the time to investigate and be certain of the facts before she commits to any action. You realize it’s people like you who keep Agents like me alive? You do the hardest cases we can’t touch and keep our integrity. You’re bloody amazing.”

Emily leaned down and kissed him. Heat flared between them, threatening to consume them both again.

“I doubt Preston, or many of your co-workers would see it in the same way,” she suggested as they broke apart.

“I think we need to talk to Preston, and Keyton,” Fin said.

Emily frowned. “And James?”

“No.” Fin shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s hear what Keyton has to say for himself before we open
that
can of worms.”

“Fin, James wouldn’t have set me up. Why should he? I’m sure he’s got plenty of people who work for him, presumably many who could kill me if he was inclined to get rid of me.”

“Have you ever been to his office? Seen which division he works with? Has James ever taken you for training or seminars inside Thames House? Or Parliament?”

Emily chewed over Fin’s questions. They were ones she’d asked herself before, but she had always been able to laugh off as paranoia going overboard. Her confidence shaken, she raised a hand to stop his words. She didn’t want to push him further and possibly crack something irreparable within her.

For years, the knowledge she was doing the right thing had been all she could hold onto. Taking that away from her—she didn’t know what would happen, or what she’d discover she’d become.

“That’s enough,” she said, her tone low. “Call Preston and Marshall. Set up a meeting. Somewhere public and central.”

Fin glanced at the clock on the wall. Emily’s gaze slid to it, taking a second, startled look as she realized it was far later than she’d guessed.

“Tomorrow morning will be soon enough,” Fin said.

Emily watched her lover, letting the warmth in his eyes heat her chest once again. A few days ago she’d written in her journal how she’d felt as if her soul was frozen, her whole life cold and barren. That wasn’t even close to the truth now.

With Fin, everything had come to life, including her sluggish heart and her long-dormant sexual libido. She grinned at him, an answering need building again in her belly, heart and pussy. She lifted her hands, got her fingers working on the buttons of her shirt once again. She wanted it off. She wanted to be naked with Fin.

“I’d love a hot shower,” she murmured. “With you, all soapy and naked. I promised myself I’d taste you next time. I want that, to feel you fucking my mouth, all the way down my throat. Would you like to come while I’m sucking you dry, Fin? All wet and slippery, aching with need?”

His eyes burned and he didn’t need to speak, his answer was written all over his face. She heard every unspoken word in the urgency with which he cradled her into his arms and carried her from the couch. Emily kissed him hungrily, losing herself in his embrace and the heat only he could give her.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to ask herself some hard questions.

Chapter Four

Emily had walked through, driven past and been over Trafalgar Square hundreds of times over the years. It’d been a long time, however, since she’d sat at the edge of the large fountain and waited, passed the time. The professional part of her scouted the area with a slow, assessing gaze, calculating angles and escape routes, finding the best sniper positions and where ambushes would work and alternatives could be instigated.

A small part of her mind had stepped back, enjoying the beauty both of the morning, but also of the gorgeous architecture that surrounded them. If it wasn’t for the few bits of scaffolding that remained from the Gallery’s face-lift, the scene could be placed on a London postcard and sell in the thousands.

An ‘incident’ that had occurred earlier in the year—one the government obstinately insisted had been a training session gone awry—had decimated most of the front façade. Except for a final column and some more delicate masonry work it had all been repaired, the damage cleaned up. A year from now, no one would be able to tell anything had ever occurred.

“Preston should be here any minute now,” Fin said with another glance at his watch. Emily turned to him, a smile on her lips before she’d even finished the motion.

In a royal purple blazer, pale orange slacks and a white shirt, he made a delightfully outrageous figure. She’d snuck a look at his wardrobe when he’d been in the shower. While he did own a few pairs of regular jeans—both blue and black—they mingled with some truly amazing colors. He had trousers in all shades—green, powder blue, lemon yellow and a pair of brown cords that looked straight out of the seventies. There were also a few plain T-shirts, but his closet overflowed with all manner of brightly patterned, loud outfits.

Discreet, quiet and sober were not words one could use in describing his flair for fashion. She loved it.

“We were early,” she reminded him. “I feel more comfortable that way. I can get a feel for the situation. Besides, I’m used to waiting for the right moment—occupational hazard.”

“Preston is usually a little early too, punctuality is his middle name.” Fin came to stand beside her. “If we’re waiting on anyone it will be Marshall, though he insisted he had an early meeting that he couldn’t miss. I doubt he’ll keep us waiting too long either.”

“Are you sure this is the right move?” Emily asked for perhaps the fourth or fifth time since they’d shared a morning cup of tea. After showering they’d raced to her home and while she changed Fin had made them both a cuppa. They’d lingered only a few minutes before catching the tube here. She’d been determined to keep a close eye on their surroundings and not be shocked again.

Being ambushed once was enough for her.

Fin took her hand, lifted it to his lips in a surprisingly elegant and gallant gesture. He kissed her knuckles. Emily’s heart fluttered wildly.

“You don’t have to tell him all your secrets,” Fin insisted. “I’m sure we haven’t yet begun to divulge all manner of intricate, personal details. We have time, years, for that yet. But I need you to see for yourself what a good man Keyton Marshall is, to hear for yourself that Preston is a noble man and not responsible for what happened. I need for you to judge all this for yourself, not just take my word for it.”

“Fin…” She didn’t really know what to say. She trusted him, she did, but without meaning to he was asking her to turn her back on the only thing she’d believed to be true in a world of falsehoods and deception.

“I know what I’m asking,” he said, seeming to read her face.

She felt balanced precariously upon a knife edge of indecision. “You want me to tear down everything in my world, and rebuild it upon the foundations of yours,” she pointed out. “That’s a lot for anyone to ask of me. We’ve come a very long way in twenty-four hours’ acquaintance, and if you were asking something smaller I’d take you at face value. I do trust you.”

“I know.” He grinned. “And I’m not judging you. Were the tables turned I’d need to be certain too. You’re not a woman who makes decisions lightly. It’s what’s kept your soul intact till now. You think things through, research them for yourself and make your own mind up. No man can force your hand or bully you and I love that about you.”

Emily stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Heat flared between them, a now familiar glow that warmed her blood.

“So you’re the reckless, eager flirt and I’m the sober, serious brains. Is that how this partnership will work?” she teased.

He laughed. “I think my flirting days are behind me, sweetheart. Last thing I want is to make you angry at me. Besides, keeping up with you will almost certainly keep me too busy to have my head turned by another woman.”

Emily tilted her head, coolly assessing him.

“I don’t know. I bet you have a few weapons still concealed in your arsenal.”

“Didn’t I mention that? I’m a lousy shot.” Fin winked at her as he lifted his hand in greeting to a man in a gray suit. “I practically had to bribe the instructor to give me a passing grade. Failed the test three times and was going to get booted. Bloody balls up that was— Hey, Preston!”

Caught somewhere between laughter and curiosity, Emily swallowed her questions and turned to glance in the direction Fin shouted.

A tall, dark-skinned man crossed the square toward them. His black hair buzzed short, he looked like an ordinary businessman. Emily studied him thoughtfully, then caught a few hints.

Preston searched around, showing an acute awareness of his surroundings. He tracked the other city commuters with his gaze. People were rushing all around them, going about their morning routines. The man’s posture was straight and sure, balanced in such a way she felt he was no stranger to fighting and understanding the way to best use his body. Preston might be a manager now, but he’d clearly had time out in the field, getting down and dirty in the real world.

Her respect grew for him.

When he drew level with them, Fin held out his hand, releasing hers as he did so. They shook—a warm grip that appeared to be between good friends. She already knew Fin liked and trusted his boss, the ease between them showed they were mates as well as manager and colleague.

He turned those dark eyes to take her measure as Fin introduced them. Emily tilted her chin higher, refusing to cower or let anything close to her nerves show. Fin described her as ‘an associate’ and left it open-ended like that. While she hadn’t expected him to be crude, neither had she thought he’d lie by omission.

Casting Fin a curious glance, she then quickly returned her attention to Preston as he held out his hand.

“A pleasure,” he said.

She returned the firm but not tight grip as they shook.

“Likewise,” she answered. “I apologize for having Fin call you out here. But…it’s complicated.”

“We’re moving into budget time,” Preston replied with a warm smile. “I’m grateful for the break. Anything not involving grant money, promissory notes, bid reports or—heaven forbid—meetings to explain and give details to classified operations I
can’t
justify or give solid responses to is more than welcome. Compared to those songs and dances, I’m confident we can surmount anything you and Fin might have stumbled upon.”

“Uh.” Emily cast a speaking look to Fin, asking him
what now?

“Preston, this might be a bit more delicate than I led you to believe. You see, Emily here—”

A sleek black town car pulled up, the windows darkly tinted. Emily’s posture changed, she bent her knees to lower her center of gravity. She hovered her hand over her jacket, itching to pull her gun out and train it upon this new arrival. On edge, feeling exposed and under scrutiny, she memorized the license plate.

Her instincts screamed at her. She wanted to shoot and run, escape. The hair at the base of her neck prickled as she felt eyes from within the car trained on them.

“Em, it’s okay,” Fin whispered to her. He laid a hand on the crook of her arm. When the doors opened, an enormous, beefy security guard stood and scanned the area. She recognized the look of well-trained but hired muscle. There was no feeling of personal connection here. The guard rested his glance on the three of them for a moment, but passed on to encompass the entire area.

Despite the fact she knew there wasn’t a threat here, Emily couldn’t relax until she was certain. She stepped closer to Fin, unconsciously placing herself in a protective, defensive position between him and the car. If she’d thought about it, she’d have realized her posture, her natural instinct to step between potential danger and Fin was a classic symbol of someone personally involved. Although the knowledge was subconscious, it was how she’d recognized this other man as hired, not personally invested muscle.

When he’d assessed the area the man stepped fully onto the footpath and moved to make room for another man to step out of the car.

Emily relaxed as she recognized Keyton Marshall. In a similar but fresh three piece suit, he appeared calm and relaxed. Unlike her previous encounters this week, this time Keyton himself scanned the area for a moment. His glance didn’t have the sharpness of a professional, but he still took the time to assess everything within the square before committing himself.

He’s learning.

She turned her brown eyes to his, but no recognition shone in his gaze. Emily fought to not smile. She was quite proud that despite the complete clusterfuck of the day before, she’d still not been made by her target.

A girl needed to take what she could get these days.

Keyton adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting from the lenses. Emily tensed again. Bodyguard work wasn’t her area—though being the polar opposite of an assassin’s work it wasn’t a stretch for her to imagine it, either. She was used to finding the weak spots in a bodyguards’ defense, so that gave her some understanding. Had Keyton been her client she’d have either made him wear contacts—light reflecting from glasses was an excellent target—or she’d have him use that as a private code. Either way it set her back on edge again.

Nerves jangling, she hated being out in the open like this. She wasn’t used to being so vulnerable, exposed. Every instinct in her was to take advantage of such stupid mistakes. It rubbed her wrong to be willfully indulging in such idiocy.

“Em,” Fin reminded her.

The bulky bodyguard had placed a hand on Keyton’s shoulder, holding him back when he would have come to meet them. Fin lightly squeezed her arm. She realized her hand still hovered over her jacket, where her gun was safely holstered, but only seconds away from being pulled in self-defense.

It took her a moment to collect herself. She’d chosen to come here, to get some answers and weigh things for herself. Yes, she felt on edge and terribly exposed, but that, too, had been her decision. Fighting her intuition she forced herself to relax, to move her hand and smile as charmingly as she could muster.