Kill Shot (24 page)

Rapp arrived back at the hotel with his shoulder feeling marginally better and his mind satisfied that they were ready for tonight. Greta was waiting for him in the room and looking a bit nervous despite her effort to seem otherwise. She wanted to know what had taken so long, and he told her about the license plates and a few other seemingly meaningless tasks that he’d performed. Before she got on a roll he turned the tables and started asking her questions about her afternoon. While he listened, he emptied the contents of one of his shopping bags onto the bed. There was a sewing kit, a pair of jeans, a new jacket, and some other items. Rapp laid the jeans on the bed and retrieved his silenced Glock from the back of his waistband. Greta stopped talking at the sight of the gun. Rapp placed it over the left thigh of the jeans, grabbed a marker, and began to make an outline.

“Did you try on the wig?”

Greta ignored him. “What are you doing?”

“My shoulder holster is rigged for a lefty and my left hand isn’t much use right now. I need to make a holster for my gun. Keeping it stuffed in the back of my pants isn’t the best move.”

“Why . . . because you might shoot yourself?”

“No, it’s not very comfortable and not very easy to draw when you need it.”

She nodded while she watched him take a pair of scissors to the new jeans.

When Rapp had his hunk of fabric he placed the new black denim jacket on the bed and opened it to reveal the inside front left side. He set the gun down and then laid the jean patch over it until he had the angle right. He pinned the fabric to the flannel liner and then got out a needle and thread.

“I didn’t know you knew how to sew.”

Rapp gave her a lopsided grin. “It’s one of my many talents. Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “Just tired.”

Rapp plunged the needle through the denim and the flannel and then brought it back up before he pierced the denim on the outside of the jacket. “Why don’t you try the wig on for me? We don’t want any surprises tonight.”

Greta wanted to ask him why he needed to bring a gun if there was no risk, but she knew it was a stupid question. His whole life was a risk, and she’d been trying to ignore that fact for as long as she’d known him. She grabbed her shopping bag and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She took her ponytail and twisted it into a bun and then carefully placed the wig over her blond hair. After tugging the left side down and then the right, she patted the top and shook it out. It was fine, but she didn’t like the fact that she was looking at a stranger.

Rapp heard the door open and looked up from his needle and thread. The black hair ran several inches past her shoulders. Her perfect face was framed by black bangs that stopped an inch above her eyebrows. Rapp didn’t realize it, but his mouth was hanging open.

“What do you think?” Greta asked.

“I think I’m horny.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.” Rapp set the jacket on the bed and stood. He walked over to Greta, stopping only a foot away. She looked at him for a second and then protectively folded her arms across her chest and looked across the room at the blank wall. Her body language was clear enough, but Rapp was not so easily deterred. He gently placed his right hand on her chin and turned her face toward his. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this. Maybe it would be better if you went back to Zurich. I’ll do what I need to do and when things have settled down I’ll come see you.”

“And if things don’t settle down?”

Then I’ll probably be dead
, he thought, but he didn’t dare say it. “They will. I’m good at my job, honey. Trust me when I tell you these guys have more to fear than I do.”

She shook her head and her eyes began to fill with tears. “You were almost killed the other night. If that bullet had been just a few inches to the right you would have bled to death. As it was you almost fell to your death. I just don’t understand why you can’t leave with me right now. Walk away from this insanity.”

“This isn’t the type of job you just quit. You’re going to have to trust me on this, Greta, and if you can’t then you should head back to Zurich.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” The first tear began to roll down her left cheek.

Rapp didn’t like to see her like this. He wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I want you to be safe and the safest place for you is definitely not with me, but there’s another part of me . . .” Rapp’s voice trailed off.

“What?”

“There’s another part of me that can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.”

More tears fell. “It doesn’t have to be that way. All you have to do is . . .”

“Walk away.” Rapp shook his head. “It’s not going to happen, darling. I need to see this thing through, and then we can talk about it.”

Greta reached up and grabbed his face with both hands. “I love you.”

Rapp smiled. “I love you, too.” He bent down and kissed her. His right hand left her chin and found the small of her back, pulling her in tight. Their kisses became deeper and more passionate. Rapp’s breathing grew heavier and he slid his hand down to her perfect little ass.

Greta moaned. She knew what he wanted and she wanted it every bit as badly. She missed him and wanted nothing more than to lie in his arms and spend the rest of the weekend in bed. But she pushed herself back a few inches and asked, “What about your shoulder?”

Pulling her close, Rapp whispered in her ear, “We’ll just have to be careful.”

Greta started unbuttoning his shirt.

Rapp hooked his thumb under her sweater and slid it around her hip to the front of her jeans. He found the top button and with his thumb and forefinger he popped the button open. It was suddenly as if the starter had fired the gun. They began tearing each other’s clothes off, stopping only to help the other with a particularly stubborn garment. Shirts, pants, sweater, socks, and shoes flew in every direction until Rapp was left in his white boxers and Greta in her sheer black bra and thong. Other than the bullet hole in Rapp’s shoulder and his bruising, they were the picture of perfection. He was hard and chiseled, every muscle defined and ripped tight. She was lithe and shapely in all the right places and her skin was as soft as anything he’d ever felt.

Greta pushed him back onto the bed, where he sat looking up at her, his hands on her hips. Greta grabbed his face and said, “I’m not wearing the wig.”

Rapp wasn’t going to deny that the wig was a turn-on, but Greta was so beautiful she could have been bald and she still would still have driven him nuts. “You don’t have to wear the wig.”

Greta smiled, pushed him onto his back, and climbed on top of him. She reached up and pulled the wig off with one hand while she undid her blond hair with the other. A gentle shake of the head and her hair fell to her shoulders. “Just sit back and relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

Rapp smiled, closed his eyes, and for the first time in days his mind was clear of thoughts of retribution and murder.

T
HE
bodyguard did his best, but chivalry got the better of him—that and the fact that the woman called out his boss’s name with such intimacy that he was disarmed. Francine Neville stepped around the fit DGSE sentry and offered her right cheek to Fournier. She knew that would put him in an impossible situation. Part of Fournier’s carefully constructed image was that he was both a ladies’ man and a gentleman. Neville knew she was still a desirable woman, and in front of this well coifed crowd, the spook would have no choice but to greet her with a kiss.

Fournier was startled, but managed to hide it by pretending to plant a kiss on Neville’s right cheek and then the left. “Francine,” he said enthusiastically, “how nice to see you.”

“And you as well, Paul.” She grabbed the back of a chair and asked loudly enough for a third of the restaurant to hear, “May I join you?”

In a voice barely above a whisper, Fournier said, “I would love for you to join us, but we are in the middle of a rather private matter.”

Neville waved her hand in the air to dismiss any concern and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t overstay my welcome.” She pulled out the chair and sat. She then motioned to the last available chair for Simon to join her. “Paul, this is Martin Simon, one of my top people.” Before Fournier could respond, Neville turned her delicate brown eyes on the foreigner sitting to his right. “Hello.” She extended her hand across the table, palm down. “I’m Francine.”

Vega smiled warmly and took her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Francine. I’m Max.” He intentionally ignored the mousy-looking man who was with her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Neville said.

“My dear, the business of the Directorate is always important,” Fournier said, not bothering to hide his irritation. “But obviously the security of the Republic is not so important to you.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t all agree on the best way to keep the Republic safe.” Not wanting to give Fournier a chance to reply, Neville turned to Max and said, “I detect a slight accent. Are you Spanish?”

He nodded.

“CESID?” Neville asked, wondering if he worked for Spain’s main intelligence agency.

Vega laughed. “No, I am a simple businessman.”

Neville returned her gaze to Fournier, not believing a word that came out of the Spaniard’s mouth. Her smile vanished. “I thought you would like a quick briefing on the investigation.”

Fournier glanced uncomfortably at his guest and then returned his attention to his old conquest. “Now is not such a good time. Maybe we could talk later. Why don’t you call my office and set up an appointment.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Your office hasn’t been much help.”

Fournier wondered how she had found him.

“No worries, though. This will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll be on my way.” She took great joy in seeing the pained expression on Fournier’s face. “Yesterday you offered to help with the investigation and my superiors were thrilled. They asked me to see if you could help with a little problem.”

“If it is within my power, I would love to be of assistance.”

“Good. I am told you have a very cozy relationship with the Libyans.” Neville smiled in a humble way. “Being local law enforcement, we have no such contacts, so I was wondering if you could ask them why these supposed bodyguards were never seen in public with the Libyan oil minister.”

Fournier blinked several times before responding. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“The four dead men who you referred to as Tarek’s bodyguards . . . We can’t find a single witness who saw them. Tarek checked into the hotel with his assistant, who told one of my officers that they were traveling without bodyguards.”

“That seems a little strange,” Fournier said.

“What seems strange? You telling me they were Tarek’s bodyguards or Tarek’s assistant telling my officer that they were traveling without protection?”

“Francine, my dear, I assumed they were Tarek’s bodyguards, just as you did. I have no information that would say otherwise.”

She nodded. “Well, the assistant is now at the Libyan Embassy. They won’t let us interview him.”

“I’ll see if I can change their minds,” Fournier offered in a helpful tone, even though he had no such intention.

“There’s another interesting tidbit. We have been unable to locate five of the hotel guests.”

“I’m not totally surprised. The place was crawling with cops and reporters. They probably left and checked into other hotels.”

“No,” Neville said, shaking her head. “Their bags are still in their rooms and you wouldn’t believe the coincidence,” she said in mock shock. “Four of those guests match the descriptions of the four dead bodyguards.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and we found a room down the hall from Tarek’s that was loaded with surveillance equipment.”

“I thought that was the room where Tarek’s bodyguards were keeping watch.”

“That’s what we thought, but according to Tarek’s assistant he didn’t have a security detail with him.”

Fournier pursed his lips into a thoughtful expression and then in a helpful tone said, “This assistant was probably scared out of his mind when your officer interviewed him. Maybe he left out a rather important detail.”

“And what about the hotel staff and guests we interviewed? Tarek left the hotel at least seven times and no one remembers seeing a security detail with him.”

“Well,” Fournier said, trying to come up with a logical explanation. “Maybe Tarek didn’t want them with him in public. Maybe he preferred a low profile.”

“The room with all of the surveillance equipment in it . . . the hotel computers had it blocked off. The computer said it was being renovated even though it was renovated only a year ago.”

Fournier frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Neville could see through the act. “Do you know what else doesn’t make sense?”

Fournier got a bad feeling that he wasn’t going to like the answer to this question. “No.”

“My officers say that while you were in Tarek’s suite with me, one of your men made a little visit to the roof.”

“I had several men with me. I don’t know where they were specifically. I instructed them to spread out and see what they could find out.”

“I’m sure you did,” Neville said, her tone changing from congenial to suspicious. “A rope was taken from the roof.” She wasn’t going to tell him how she knew. “Any idea what happened to it?”

“Surely you are not trying to say one of my men tampered with evidence.” Fournier acted as if he was offended by the accusation.

Neville kept her eyes locked on him. “Paul, I know you better than most. I know you are an extremely deceptive man who is involved in all kinds of nasty things that, God forbid they ever came to light, might possibly destroy our country, so please don’t act offended. Deny all you like, but we both know you are capable of transgressions far worse than interfering with my investigation.”