Aim for the Heart. Ingrid Weaver
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up the antenna, then thumbed a button. She spoke rapidly in what sounded like Swedish.
As a rule, Hawk didn’t take this long to work things through. Sure, he liked to be confident of his facts before he drew any conclusions because he hated to be wrong, but he wasn’t normally at a loss. He could blame it on jet lag, or on the shock of being tackled by a strange woman…or on the sensation of warm, spicy-smelling female draped over his body and silk tickling his nose.
With an effort he forced his brain into gear. She was an American; she said she was from the army. She knew his name. She said there was a shooter. She had spread herself over him as if she were trying to shelter him…
Damn! She was trying to shield him with her own body. The realization wiped everything else from his mind. Hawk clamped his arm around her back, hooked his leg over hers and rolled them both toward the stone wall he had been lounging against only seconds ago.
She grunted as his full weight settled on top of her. She shoved at his chest. “Dr. Lemay, you have to get off me. Your life is in danger.”
“First of all, I don’t believe the government’s story,” he said. “And second, even if I did, I don’t consider my life worth more than yours.”
“It’s my job to protect you.”
“I never hired you.”
“This is hardly the time to debate my orders.” She bucked beneath him, folding her arms in and her knees up. With a move too quick to follow, she flipped him to his back, then scrambled over him to crouch at his side. Keeping herself between him and the street, she reached into her pocket once more. This time she withdrew a handgun.
The two-tone bleat of a siren sounded in the distance. Voices came from the street. The taxi driver was arguing with the driver of the delivery truck. More cars screeched to avoid them. A crowd was gathering.
But the woman appeared oblivious to the commotion she had caused. She sat back on one heel, bracing her elbow on her upraised knee to steady her gun. Her head moved from side to side as she scanned the area.
Hawk sat up behind her and followed her gaze. He saw plenty of faces turned toward them, but he couldn’t see any threat. He moved close to the woman’s shoulder. “Whatever you think you saw, ma’am—”
“Captain Sarah Fox,” she said again. “United States Army. I would show you my identification but I’m occupied right now.”
“I don’t think anyone’s shooting at me. If they were, we would both be dead.”
“Which is why I knocked you down, sir. I saw a rifle.”
“Where?”
“The dark-yellow brick building. Third window from the left, second floor above the antique store.”
The truck that had hit the taxi blocked his view. Hawk leaned to the side and scrutinized the window she had described. It was a multipaned casement style, divided vertically by a black frame, identical to all the other windows in the quaint, centuries-old structure. One side had been cranked open, which was unusual, considering the chill in the air—it was November —but nothing was visible inside. “I don’t see anything.”
“Chances are he would have retreated when he realized he couldn’t make his shot, but he could still be in the area.” The siren grew louder. She raised her voice. “With the wall and the canal at our backs and the truck giving us cover in front, this is a good defensive position. It would be safest to stay where we are until the police get here.”
Hawk moved his gaze from the open window where there might or might not have been a gunman and focused on the woman at his side.
She had twice identified herself as Captain Sarah Fox. Her military bearing, her physical agility and the ease with which she handled her firearm supported her claim. Yet she didn’t look like a soldier. Her features were a study in classic softness, like something from a painting by Rembrandt. Wisps of hair the color of ripe wheat had pulled loose from the clip at the back of her head to tease her cheeks. The slim fingers that gripped her gun were delicately feminine. Her voice, even when it was barking orders, had a smoky timbre that evoked images of dimly lit bars rather than battlefields.
Hawk wasn’t accustomed to following orders. He didn’t have the temperament to obey blindly. He always preferred to work things through for himself.
But he was no fool. Although he didn’t believe the government’s story about a hired killer out to get him, this woman obviously did. What if he was wrong?
He might be willing to gamble his own life, but he had no right to gamble with hers.
The warm air hit Sarah like a fist the moment she entered the hotel lobby. Until now, the pain had been numbed by the cold. This was supposed to be light duty, an easy breather while the injury she’d suffered during her previous mission finished healing. It shouldn’t have presented a problem, but she hadn’t anticipated needing to tackle her subject within minutes of her arrival.
“Captain Fox, are you all right?”
She paused to glance at the man beside her. She didn’t want to tilt her head, so her gaze only reached his chin. “That’s what I should be asking you, Dr. Lemay.” She began a careful visual sweep of the lobby. The marble-and-gilt old-world elegance of the King Gustav Hotel was illuminated by wall sconces. Great for atmosphere, not good for visibility. “I’ll arrange for a doctor to check you over in case you got a concussion when you hit the sidewalk.”
“I don’t need a doctor. You’re the one who seems to be in discomfort.”
He was more observant than most people, she thought. That didn’t surprise her, considering the number of degrees Hawkins Lemay had the right to string after his name. He was a Nobel laureate, a bona fide genius. He wouldn’t be an easy man to deceive. “No, I’m fine. I regret having to knock you down, but it was necessary.”
“Was it? I thought the police didn’t find anything when they checked that building where you saw the gunman. They appeared to give us a ride to my hotel out of courtesy for your rank rather than out of a need for security.”
Satisfied that the lobby didn’t hold any immediate threat, Sarah started forward. “That’s true, but I hadn’t expected them to find any trace of the shooter. By all accounts, we’re dealing with a professional.”
“Could have been a mop handle.”
“What?”
“The object you saw in the window. It could have been some innocent cleaning crew at work instead of this alleged assassin.”
“Trust me, Dr. Lemay. I do have some experience with firearms and am able to recognize one.”
“It was dusk and you’re probably jet-lagged like me.”
“I’ve been informed of your skepticism. We can discuss this further once you’re somewhere safe.” She gestured toward the front desk. “Let me pick up my bag first. I left it here when they told me you had gone for a walk.”
He put his palm on the small of her back as they moved toward the desk. It was a courtly gesture. It went along with the faint trace of the South that tinged his deep voice, a holdover from his early childhood. It also fit with the gallant way he’d tried to protect her out there on the sidewalk…even though he claimed not to believe her.
Sarah was accustomed to working with men as her equals. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been treated with gallantry. She had to admit it was a pleasant change, but she couldn’t allow it to distract her attention.
She was here to protect him. Those were her orders. Work with the local authorities, organize security and take whatever measures were necessary to keep Hawkins Lemay alive while he attended the Stockholm Energy Conference. Once the conference ended, so did her mission.
She retrieved her suitcase from the desk clerk and turned toward the elevator.
Lemay