White Heat (37 page)

Max caught up with Navarro and Daklin as they flew around the corner and vaulted over the gate.

“So, while I wait,” she swallowed roughly. “I’m going to close my eyes, and pretend that you’re here with me.”

Three local T-FLAC operatives had dragged out a man apiece, two in Swiss guard attire, one man in black, and were hauling their asses to a waiting vehicle.

“Access?” he asked as he took the first set of metal stairs in three giant steps.

“Got it.” Daklin held up a micro unit. The door at the foot of the stairs then clicked open. They thundered down the ancients’ stone streets, past tombs and mausoleums. Down a second flight of metal stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly through the narrow tunnels as they ran. She’d hear them. Couldn’t miss. She’d take heart that she wasn’t alone.

I promise. I’ll never let anything hurt you.
Was he going to be able to keep that promise?

“Emily!” Max yelled. Christ—”Don’t move!”

The three men crossed the first tomb suspected of holding St. Peter’s bones, without pause or interest, and turned the corner into the small room that housed the bones of the Saint.

“Max.” Her lips moved with barely any sound.

“Max.” Levine repeated in his ear.

“Yeah. Got it.” He pulled off the glasses and the lip mic, dropping them on the hard packed floor as he moved toward her. He locked his eyes on hers as Navarro and Daklin got out their tools.

“Hi honey, how’re you doing?”

Her eyes were enormous, her skin drained of color, sweat beaded her clammy face. Blood stained her lip and chin, and one beautiful eye was almost swollen shut.
Ah, sweetheart

“Not one of my finest hours.”

“Yeah, I see that. Keep perfectly still, okay?”

“Everything itches,” she mumbled, not moving her lips.

He bit back a smile. “Isn’t that always the way?” He took the kit Navarro handed him, and carefully placed a helmet over her head, then pulled down the clear visor. He supported her head so it didn’t flop forward with the weight. “Okay?”

“That’s rhetorical, right?” Her voice was muted by the headpiece.

“I’m going to let go on the count of three. I’ll have my hands right here so I can support you if it’s too heavy; okay?”

He released her slowly, and her neck was able to sustain the weight of the headgear.

“Let me know if you need a hand holding it.”

The headgear had the highest ballistic integrity of any bomb disposal helmet in the world. Tested and defeated over 2000 FPS the visor—2315 FPS. But it wasn’t going to save her if the bomb detonated.

She looked at him through the clear visor, her eyes shadowed. She knew all these precautions would be moot if the bomb detonated.

Navarro was crouched down in front of her, looking the device over before he touched it. Daklin got down there with him. They were the best bomb disposal experts T-FLAC had to offer, Max was grateful, and he wanted to fucking yell at them to hurry the hell up.

He’d never take patience for granted again. Every atom of his body was jumping. He gently wrapped Emily’s upper body with a LockOut blanket with the added protection of ceramic plates embedded in the fabric. He did the same for her legs and arms, careful not to jar her as he worked.

The blankets and helmet wouldn’t do her a fucking bit of good either. The device was strapped right over her heart.

“Any chance of getting it off her first, then disabling it?” he asked Navarro quietly.

“No.”

Yeah. What he thought. Max would’ve done anything, promised anything, to any gods, to be able to make that look of abject fear in Emily’s eyes go away.

Thirteen minutes.
“We have plenty of time,” he told her calmly.

“You have the best bomb disposal unit in the world, right here. Try to relax.”
As if
.

THEY DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO GET THE THING OFF HER, EMILY COULD tell by the way they didn’t make eye contact. An eerie calm came over her and she slowly let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Max,” she said softly, then waited for him to look at her. “Whatever happens—”

“Now this is really touching,” Greta sneered, strolling into the room, a strange looking weapon held at waist level and pointing right at
her.
The Greek stood just behind her.

My God,
Emily thought, eyes transfixed to the weapon the woman was toting.
Where had they come from? Why hadn’t they gone with Norcroft?

“Three
heroes to save the beautiful damsel in distress. How gallan—”

Max shot her hand, causing her weapon to go flying, spewing bullets indiscriminately in all directions.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
With a scream, the woman staggered backward, holding her bloody arm against her body.
Nonononono!
Emily screamed inside as bile rose in her throat.
No shooting. Bomb here, people. No freaking shooting!

The Greek shoved the woman out of the way, and kept coming. The room wasn’t that big. But three bullets to the head pretty much put paid to his approach. Brain matter and blood splattered walls, floor, and ceiling as his head seemed to disintegrate like a watermelon under a heavy blow.

Emily’s stomach heaved as the visor covering her face became red speckled.

Bullets were flying. Bits of rock and stone joined the maelstrom of projectiles as Greta staggered to her feet and returned fire.

Could the bomb explode because her heart beneath it was going manic? Either that, or it was going to go off when a stray bullet hit it, or it was going to go off because there were only—She had no idea how long. She didn’t know which was worse. Watching the last few minutes of her life tick away, or being oblivious to how long she had left.

Something large and heavy fell across her lower legs, jarring her. Navarro or Daklin? She couldn’t see. Everything inside her froze as she waited to be blown to kingdom come by the jolt.

Her eyes, the only thing she dared move, slewed in search of Max. He was still firing, although there was so much noise in the small space it was impossible to tell from which direction. His pant leg was dark and shiny. He’d been shot. Her heart lurched, but he strode over to Norcroft as if it were merely a scratch. Strode over to Norcroft as if the other man didn’t have a blazing gun in his hands.

God. Was Max
insane?

“Don’t” trembled on her lips, but she bit it back. He was doing his job. A job he did brilliantly. She wasn’t going to sit here and distract him. She bit the corner of her sore lip. The pain kept the worst of the fear at bay, but her heart was slamming hard against her ribs.

Max hauled Greta up by the collar and shook her hard. “Get up, you piece of crap.” Max dragged the woman toward Emily. “Deactivate the bomb. Now.”

“Is the billion dollars in the account?”

“Not just no, but
hell
no. Deactivate the bomb or I’ll kill you now.”

Across the room Daklin was securing the Greek even though Emily was sure he was dead.

Emily stared at Greta as she was shoved in her direction. She couldn’t believe the bitch had come back. Since she couldn’t look down, she had no idea how much time remained on the clock. But whatever small chance there’d been a minute ago, was now gone. Greta wasn’t going to let
them
defuse the bomb. And
she
sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.

But was she a martyr for his cause? She bet not.

The question wasn’t up for debate because without warning,

Max shot her in the head.

Twenty-two

MAX HADN’T LET DOWN HIS GUARD FOR A SECOND. ONE MOMENT he’d been hauling Greta toward Emily and the bomb, the next, the bitch had a weapon in her hand, and
pointed at Emily’s chest. No contest. He blew the fucker away. It was instant and instinctual.

“You can open your eyes now,” he told Emily, shoving the other woman’s body out of the way and joining Navarro, who had his chamois tool pouch open on the floor beside him.

One big brown eye peered at him through the filter of the lacy red blood splatter on the visor of the helmet she wore. “I’d really, really like to throw up sometime soon.”

“Give us a minute.” His eyes met Navarro’s. This was going to be dicey. The device was like nothing Max had ever seen before. The highest of high-tech electronics. No wires on the outside. Nothing but a sleek, oblong box of brushed aluminium. Seven inches wide, three inches high, with an LED timer blinking the countdown in one-inch-high green numerals.

Navarro gave a small nod, gaze and hands steady. “Let’s do it.” With the precision of a pair of surgeons, Max and Navarro inspected what they could see to start deconstructing Norcroft’s intricate bomb. It was a tightly sealed box.

“How much time?” Emily asked sounding dazed and numb, perspiration made her face glow. The room was hot, and being covered with the insulating blankets, plus the ceramic pads, was like being in a sauna.

“Minute.” He glanced at Navarro’s hands wielding his tools, to see how far he’d gotten in even opening the container.

Time to detonation one minute.

Time needed?

Three minutes.

Twenty-three

HE COULDN’T OPEN IT. EMILY COULD ONLY SEE THEIR EYES as the two men worked feverishly to defuse the bomb. But they couldn’t do it. They hadn’t said anything, but she couldn’t feel any movement around her chest area where Norcroft had secured the damn thing. No movement meant they weren’t touching it. If they weren’t touching it they couldn’t defuse it. Unless they had X-ray eyes.

Daklin had limped across the room, leaving a trail of blood on the stone floor. Feeling devoid of any emotion, plain numb, Emily watched him as he started feeling around the edge of the glass barrier across the tomb of St. Peter. What on earth was he doing? Trying to get inside the tomb? She frowned, remembering not to bite her lip. What on earth …

The glass was bulletproof! The same bulletproof glass the Vatican had been forced to use to protect the
Pietà
after a psychotic visitor had tried to destroy Michelangelo’s statue many years ago.

“Max,” Emily whispered. “Get out of here. All of you. Go.”

“Shut up,” he said in the most unlover-like tones.

What had Norcroft said?
“Unfortunately for you, the bomb will be activated via a remote-controlled device.”

“Norcroft told me the bomb was activated by remote control.”

“Yeah?” Max was distracted. Was he listening?

“Max?” Emily waited until he lifted his eyes to hers. She was shaken to see how terrified he looked in that instant before he masked it. “There’s a remote control device. Greta had it. Look in her left—Shit. No!
Right
pocket. Hurry.”

“Keep working,” he told Navarro as he jumped to his feet and raced over to the woman who was sprawled with what was left of his head dripping on the stone floor. Max flipped her over, then quickly searched her pockets. He pointed the small black box straight at Emily.

“Christ.
Two
buttons. Activate. Deactivate.”

He looked at Emily. “I love you. Close your eyes.”

Twenty-four

THREE SECONDS.

No time to debate.

Max pressed the second button.

TWENTY-FIVE

FLORENCE
ONE MONTH LATER

TURNING AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, EMILY WAVED GOODBYE to the friends who’d brought her home. With a sassy toot of her horn, Rossella eased her car into the traffic and sped off. The four women had attended an afternoon wedding in Sienna. They’d laughed a lot and drunk a little too much excellent Cristal. They’d danced and gossiped, and she hadn’t mentioned Max. Not once.

For a moment Emily stood outside her front door, hugging the cashmere shawl around her bare shoulders as she watched her friend’s car weave through the evening traffic. Her smile faded.

She knew she was just delaying going inside. The weather was warming up, and it had been a glorious sunny day, turning into a beautiful balmy evening. Although she still needed the light wrap around her shoulders, spring didn’t seem too far off with unseasonably warm weather like this. The dark sky was already sparkling with stars, and the air was redolent with the savory smells of family dinners and the sweet evocative fragrance of the early Cape jasmine in the big clay pot beside her front door.

A night for lovers, she thought, and her heart did a little hitch as she pressed her thumb on the newly installed pad beside her door.
Where are you Max? Are you well? Do you miss me half as much as I miss you, or have you already forgotten me?

Everytime she went in or out she was reminded of who and what Max was. The high tech security had been installed when she returned from Seattle. A man she’d never seen before had been waiting to open the front door on her arrival. She’d used her pepper spray and not only managed to knee him, she’d also shoved him down all twenty-six of her front stairs.

Then
he’d showed her how to get into her own home before limping off.

Recognizing her fingerprint, the door lock deactivated with a soft click. It seemed impossible that her feelings for Max had been one-sided. And yet, here she was. Alone. She fervently hoped that the gnawing empty ache inside her would,
eventually,
dissipate. As much as she wasn’t ready to face her empty palazzo after spending the day with crowds of people, she knew she couldn’t stand out there all night. She pushed open the door and started to walk inside, but hair on the back of her neck unexpectedly rose. Her senses alert, she hesitated on the threshold.

The little lights on the security keypad just inside the door were green, not red. The alarm had been turned off.

And hadn’t she left a light on before she’d gone out? Damn right she had. Not as naïve as she’d been a month ago, she whipped the pepper spray out of her purse. She’d practiced, and was damn proud at how fast she’d become at the draw.

As she reached behind her for the light switch, a table lamp across the room blazed on, illuminating the man sprawled lazily on her floral sofa.