The Risqué Target (11 page)

Bugged?

Her reaction must have given way to her amazement, because he nodded. “Yes, bugged. That bomb threat I made was a bluff, the only way to make you stop screaming. You know it was.” He studied her face, looking for something and not finding it. “I didn’t bomb your sister's shop. Someone must have been listening to us.” He inhaled deeply. “They want it to look like I followed through, like I did it. Someone’s working very hard to frame me.”

Did he really think she’d fall for that?
But why was he doing this? What was in that file?

“Look at me,” he said.

Startled at his tone, she did. And saw a portrait of sincerity. “Hurt your sister? I couldn’t do that, Nala.” His pleading was a hoarse, thick tenor. “I didn’t do it.”

That's when she saw it, the little flicker in the corner of his right eye. It was the second time she’d seen that little nerve flinch. The first time, she’d caught him in a vulnerable moment of honesty.
Is he
…
could he be telling the truth?

“Here.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out her phone. “Call her. Brook’s fine. See for yourself.” He handed her the phone and took his hand from her mouth.

She snatched the phone from his hands and frantically punched in Brook's number.

“Oh my God, Nala!”

Her heartbeat started to slow when she heard her sister’s voice.

“Where have you been? I've been trying to call you. Did you see the news? My shop! It caught on fire!” Her words came rushed, as if she was trying to get everything out in one breath. “A package arrived at the old shop. I got busy and forgot to open it. They think it was a bomb. Oh my God!”

“Is everyone all right? No one's hurt?”

“Everybody’s fine. We were all at the new place getting ready for the grand opening.”

Tantum's body relaxed. She felt him move back.

She snatched her towel. “I was so scared for you,” she breathed, refastening the damp terrycloth around her body.

“Where are you? Can you come over to Dad's? We're all here, and—”

“No, no, I'm sorry. I can’t get away from work. I'm just glad you're okay,” Nala stammered. She wanted badly to go to her sister, to be with her family, but when she glanced at Tantum he shook his head.

“I could've died tonight. What if I'd been in the shop? Would you have pulled yourself from your work then?”

She closed her eyes and fought back the sting of her sister’s hurt. “You're safe, Brook. That's all that matters. And whatever you think, I love ya, Brook. I’ll see you soon.” She clicked the phone off and glared at Tantum. “How did you know she wasn't there when the bomb went off?”

“She called while you were in the shower. The bombing was already on the news. I knew she was safe. I just hoped nobody else was hurt.”

“No one was harmed,” she told him, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. Like all the other little flashes of caring, it was an act.

“Whoever did it wasn’t looking to hurt anyone. They just want you to believe it was me.” He shoved his hand into his pocket. “But what motive would I have?”

She shook her head. She doubted he was responsible for the bomb, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down. “I don’t trust you,” she told him flatly.

His hand touched her arm. Obviously, he didn’t trust her either. He steered her back into the apartment, holding her with a gentle but firm touch. “Pack some clothes in a bag, and consider putting some on. Then we’re outta here,” he said quietly.

Because her place was bugged? Or because for some reason he wanted her to think so? “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said vaguely before he pushed the door open and whispered, “Somewhere… I need to think.” His voice drifted off as though the thinking had already started.

He was confused. Good.

But so was she.

****

Tantum wasn’t one to pace the floor, but he did notice he was wearing down the carpet as he waited for Nala. He wanted to tell her to hurry, but remained silent. The longer whoever was listening took to figure out what they were doing, the better.

The anxiety, not usual for him in the most dangerous cases, had started when he saw her sister's burning salon on the news. When an incoming call came from Brook’s number, he still couldn’t be sure Brook wasn’t dead. Someone could have very well made the call from her phone. The tension had subsided a bit when Nala recognized her sister’s voice and confirmed her safety, but now centered around the bugged apartment. There was no other way someone could have known to target her sister’s shop.

Nothing made any sense, and he wasn’t the type of man to allow such uncertainty to persist. His control was breaking up, falling to the floor bit by bit. His Target, the killer, had turned out to be Nala. A piece of the puzzle dropped to the floor. The file, its implication. Another piece crumbled. His affliction, the maddening desire he had for her. Several pieces cracked and crashed at his feet. He had to get it together, to pick up those pieces and repair this mangled mess.

The information in the file was classified, meaning it was supposed to remain sealed. Someone at NESA had given it to her without authorization, but he didn’t know who or why. Whoever it was, they'd put him in this situation. He had to protect himself, even if it meant kidnapping Nala. He'd killed in the past to keep an assignment secure.

That didn’t mean he could kill Nala.

How deeply was she involved in this?

****

A pair of jeans. How the hell am I supposed to go with him? Three pair of socks, silk underwear
…
 no, bring the cotton ones. Why would someone bug my apartment? A sweater, a few t-shirts
…
He didn’t bomb Brook’s salon. Or, did he?
She slung her bag over her shoulder.
Screw him.
But that only flashed an image of his naked body before her eyes.
No,
she scolded herself.
Not that way.
She went into the bathroom.
Toothbrush, lotion
…
 How long does he think he can hold me captive? NESA will notice my absence when I don’t report in.

She came out of the bathroom, entered the kitchen, and found Tantum filling her living room. He consumed the small ten-by-twelve space, a paradox of strength and impatient aggression.

A single finger came to his lips, shushing her when she went to open her mouth. He stretched his hand toward the door and raised his brows.

She grimaced.
Sure, I’m ready to go. Tto leave with a man who handcuffed me to a damn radiator all night, a man who took the life of another human being in cold blood.

“Where are we going?” she asked once they were out of the apartment building.

“My family has a place in Loudoun County. It'll take an hour to get there. Most people don’t know me by my real name.” He gave her a sideways glance. “We’ll be safe there, if anywhere.”

“What's your plan?”

“You know better than to ask.” He clicked his key and the lights on his rental car flashed.

She started for the blinking car, but his hand stopped her. “Wait here,” he said. He took a quick survey of the street, then stalked over to the car and dropped to his stomach. He checked thoroughly under the car and beneath the door handles.

If there was a bomb, she figured he'd want it over quick. He swiftly pulled the car door open, but there was no explosion. Standing holding the door, he waved her in on the driver’s side. She did her own inspection, but nothing appeared out of the norm, so she tossed her pack onto the back seat.

A loud, squealing split her ears. Alarm filled Tantum’s face. His palms hit the hood, and in one swift movement, he jumped over his car, soaring with ease, his muscles bunching and retracting, but he was too late. Hands snagged her around the waist, lifted off her feet and shoved her into a moving vehicle.

It was a beat-up, early-nineties Chevy van. Her captor's hand came out to close the side door, but she jammed her foot against it, making it impossible.

To her astonishment, Tantum came at the moving van like the Bionic Man, a treacherous force etched into the muscles of his face as each pounding foot slammed into the pavement.

Damn, the man can run fast.

As he got closer and closer, his contracting muscles pulsated throughout his body. His hand caught the edge of the opened door. The van's speed increased, but he held on. Her eyes widened in amazement that he'd actually made it, but his feet dangled and skidded on the street. The relentless man refused to let go as the pavement tore up his feet. “Take my hand!” he yelled stretching his free hand out to her.

She looked down at it and froze.
Is it worth the risk to be free of him?

“Nala, take my hand NOW!” The struggle to hold on strained his face. Bulging veins popped from his forehead, down to his neck.

She bit her lower lip, considering her options. The street rushed past her eyes at great speed while Tantum’s healthy legs and feet continued to thrash against it. “No! I'm not going anywhere with you,” she told him.

He growled like an animal. His eyes seethed. He frightened her. “Take my fucking hand!” His words seemed to grind between his clenched teeth, and there was a grating sound as his extremities continued to pelt the street.

She bit her lip harder, contemplating.

He reached out to grab the bottom of the frame with his free hand.

What? Is he planning on pulling himself into the moving vehicle?

Tantum slipped and couldn’t get a good grip. His body twisted, and his back slammed into the pavement. Pain shot straight through his eyes, but his death grip on the door didn’t falter. He still held on. Once he’d secured himself again, he snarled up at her, “They're not who you think they are, Nala. Take my hand.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the man holding her around the waist. She'd never seen him before, but she wasn’t going with Tantum because he was too dangerous, too changeable, completely crazy. Insane enough to kill himself trying to take her again. This was her chance to break free, the opportunity she needed. Her hand came out. Catching a glimpse of hope light up in his eyes, she cringed.

“That's it! Grab my hand,” he coaxed and reached out to her.

But she didn’t. She shook her head, coming to her decision, and placed her hand over his, the one hanging onto the door.

“No!” His threatening gaze thrust up at her. “Don’t do it,” he beseeched.

She ignored his pleading words and his begging hand as it waved before her. She plucked his fingers from the door until his grip slipped and he crashed to the ground. She cried out as his body rolled on the street like a baseball coming off a line drive.

She was dragged back into the van, and the door shut. The man who was holding her shoved her to the floor and pointed a gun at her. The driver glanced nervously back at the man. “He's still down!”

The man’s eyes shifted to the driver’s side mirror, and he shook his head. “Don't need to worry about him. He's not getting up.”

“Is—is he dead?” She wondered why she cared. She tried to look out and check for herself, but the tip of a gun pressed against her temple.

“Stay put. I have no problem killing you and delivering you that way,” the man told her.

She sank back, hitting the cold floor two times with her butt. Confused she asked, “Deliver me?”

“There's a hefty price on your head. It’s higher if you’re alive, but don’t piss me off.”

The wheels to the van screeched, and an abrupt impact threw her. Nala’s shoulder slammed into the van door.

****

Tantum lifted his head from the pavement, twisted it painfully to the right, and watched the van turn the corner. Every muscle in his body hurt, and the asphalt burn had already started to sting. He shrugged it off. He had to if he was going to save Nala Dekker’s stubborn ass.

Rising, he took out his phone and typed in the GPS code he had put into Nala's phone while she was sleeping. He limped the few feet to the car and checked her coordinates.

Anger washed away his pain.
That bitch is gonna pay for her little stunt—that is, if those goons in the van don’t kill her first.
Which would serve her ass right.

He sped down the street. A few left turns, a right, and the van came into sight.
Shit! There’s only one way to stop it
. He pulled his seatbelt over his shoulder and clicked it into position. He then pressed his foot on the gas and charged the van from the side, bracing himself.
This is gonna hurt!