Читать книгу: «The Target»

“This is crazy, Quinn.
You can’t just crash in there.”

“But you can?” He found his jacket and turned to Hannah, holding it out so she could help him into it. She responded automatically, and he stiffened his arms as she put the coat on him, the protector hard against his spine, a trickle of sweat already rolling down his back.

She buckled him in, and he saw that her hands were trembling.

“We haven’t done enough recon yet….”

“Hannah! We don’t have time for that.” He plucked his helmet from the rear of the SUV and thrust it on his head. “We have to get those kids out first. Then we’ll deal with the bomb.”

“No,” she said, almost in a whisper. “This is wrong. All wrong…”

He stared at her in puzzled surprise. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes were glowing with alarm. She was the least prone to gut feelings. Why this? Why now?

He reached out and tucked a stand of hair behind her ear, the silk curl soft and fragrant. “Everything will be fine. We’ve got a date tonight, remember? I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.” He bent and kissed her, the taste of her lips lingering on his own. Then he ran toward the building.

He was barely over the threshold when the bomb detonated.

Dear Reader,

After September 11, 2001, the people of America, including me, began to understand and appreciate many aspects of our lives that we had previously taken for granted. The heroics of the police, firefighters and rescue personnel who responded so selflessly to that tragedy moved to the top of my list of “things I won’t forget.” I simply cannot imagine the courage it would take to race toward a horrible disaster that everyone else is fleeing. Think about that…. Could you risk your life for a group of total strangers?

I don’t believe I could, but on that day, hundreds of men and women did that very thing. And many more do it every day.

From the cop who stops a speeder to the soldier guarding a foreign hill, there are people whose job it is to keep us safe. We can worship as we like, live as we prefer, travel where we want because of these incredibly brave individuals.

The men and women in The Target, the fourth book in my series THE GUARDIANS, are representative of these people. Quinn McNichol and Hannah Crosby are members of a national bomb squad. Both are prepared to give their lives for strangers, but neither is happy about the other doing the same.

Nothing I can write comes close to explaining the experiences of the men and women who make up our bomb squads. Tomorrow morning when you walk into the grocery store for a loaf of bread or into the drugstore to pick up some cough syrup, take a moment to think about what you aren’t feeling. You aren’t scared that the trash can by the door might blow up. You aren’t anxiously thinking that the car pulling in next to yours might explode. You don’t give a second thought to the package the woman ahead of you in line accidentally leaves behind.

You feel safe and secure because you know the men and women of our law enforcement agencies are on the job, ready to give their lives for you. Next time you see one, express how much you appreciate him or her.

Sincerely,

Kay David

The Target
Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge some very special people: Dr. Lynch, Dr. Ripepi, Dr. King and the “real” Dr. Barroso. All of you will forever have a special place in my heart because of your dedication and kindness, which no words can possibly describe.

To Rhonda Whitton, Pat Herendon and Debra Fyles, my deepest gratitude for your continued understanding and help.

And finally to Reba. Your love and support mean more to me than I can say. Thank you for everything.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Prologue

HANNAH CROSBY LIFTED her head from the pillow and stared at the man beside her. After their lovemaking, he’d dropped into a light sleep, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that matched the lengthening afternoon shadows. They’d been in the tangled sheets for almost two hours, and the rays now dipped low enough to bypass the blinds and raise the temperature of the bedroom. The overhead fan did little to help, but then again, Hannah wasn’t sure anything could cool the heated blood that still coursed through her body.

Quinn McNichol had that kind of effect on her.

How did he do it? What secret did he know? Where had he learned to make her feel the way he did?

She’d pondered these questions for more than two and a half years—since the day, in fact, that she’d joined the federal bomb squad he’d already belonged to. A firefighter for several years before that point, Hannah had wanted to become a member of EXIT—the Explosives and Incendiary Team—for a long time, but what she remembered most about her first day at work was meeting Quinn, a senior tech in the New Orleans group. She could still recall shaking his hand that morning. His strong grip had set up a chain reaction inside her body unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

And it was still going on.

Sometimes he managed it with just a look. Sometimes he did it with a kiss. Usually, it was just a simple touch—his finger against her cheek, his hand on her arm, his mouth on her neck. Whatever it was, the result was always the same: she would lose control. Another woman would take over Hannah’s body and do things with it that the normal Hannah would never consider. Quinn unleashed something in her that no one else had ever been able to even find, much less set free. She’d throw herself into his arms and within seconds, their clothes would be gone. They’d made love in so many strange places, she’d lost count.

She edged closer to him, the scent from their bodies lingering between them. Quinn was a tall, striking man, his skin bronzed from the time they spent outside, the richness of the color spiced by his Cajun blood. His dark hair and even darker eyes garnered looks from women everywhere they went, no matter the circumstances. His looks alone couldn’t explain his effect on her, though. She’d been around goodlooking, macho men her entire career, from firefighters to cops. None of them had made her crazy.

Maybe it couldn’t be explained, she thought suddenly. Maybe it was simply magic. She looked at him a moment longer, then rolled to her back and sighed in frustration. Why did it matter what she called it? He had it and she fell for it. Every time.

Otherwise, she would have left him long ago.

The bed moved and she felt his gaze on her profile. He was a light sleeper—they both were, a habit born from years of dangerous work.

“What are you thinking about?” He reached out for a strand of her hair and twisted it around his finger. His question was rhetorical because he could read her mind as well as her body.

Her eyes met his and she felt their intensity all the way down to the bottom of her feet. “You.”

He grinned lazily and another zing shot through her. Using the tip of the curl he’d made, he brushed the ends of her hair over the tops of her breasts. “That’s good,” he said. “I like it when you think about me.”

“You do?” She turned to face him, their lips now inches apart. “Why is that?”

“It makes me think you love me.”

“You know I love you.”

“That’s true, but a little reinforcement goes a long way. Everyone likes to know they’re on the right track.”

She feathered her fingers over his stubbled jaw. The words she wanted to say would spoil this moment between them, but Hannah couldn’t stop herself.

“You’re right,” she agreed slowly. “Everyone likes to know that, including me.”

Their eyes locked and his gaze hardened, his voice becoming deceptively soft as he warned her. “We’ve had a really great day, Hannah. Don’t do this…”

She shook her head, her hair whispering against the pillows. “I have to, Quinn. It’s too important to me—to us—not to talk about it.”

He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “But it’s all we talk about.” The muscles in his back tensed and rippled tightly. He stayed silent for a moment, then he twisted around to look at her. His jaw was a single line of anger, his lips pursed tightly. “How many times do we have to go over this, Hannah? It just isn’t possible right now….”

In the quiet that followed, she could hear the excited cries of the kids down the street. There was an empty lot on the corner, and the evening stillness often rang with the noise the neighborhood children raised as they played tag and red rover and whatever else they could dream up. Hannah loved to listen to them, but right now, the sound was almost painful.

“It isn’t possible only because of you. I won’t see thirty-two again and time is passing. I want a family. I want a husband. I want—”

He stood abruptly and stalked to the window. “I know what you want, Hannah. Believe me, I know.”

With a catch in her throat, Hannah sat up and pulled the sheet around her. Because her own childhood had been just the opposite, she’d always wanted a houseful of children and a special place to call home. Her father’s job had demanded constant travel. He’d never been home. Her mother, Barbara, had finally divorced him, saying he was never there, anyway, so why should they stay together?

The answer had become quickly apparent. Without his income, Barbara had had to return to work to support the two of them. They’d sold the home where Hannah had grown up and moved into an apartment on the other side of town. Hannah and her mother became even closer in their adversity—and were still—but with no siblings and none of her friends nearby, Hannah had ended up spending more time than ever alone and she’d been miserable and lonely.

To compensate, she’d made up another family for herself, complete with a set of twins and three other brothers, a mother who stayed home and baked cookies and a father who went to work at eight and came home at five. It’d been a fantasy, but it’d sustained her for a long time, even leading her, she was now convinced, to her earlier career as a firefighter. Living in the firehouse with all the other firefighters had made her feel like part of a huge family and she’d loved it. Until she’d heard about EXIT. Nothing less than the excitement that assignment had promised could have taken her away from her substitute brothers.

She took a deep breath and continued the running argument. “Then if you know what I want, when are we going to do something about it?”

“People who have children have to be responsible for them.” He faced her. “As long as we do what we do, I’m not going to bring a child into this world. It’s too risky.”

Grabbing the sheet, Hannah rose to her knees and shook her head. “I disagree! And even if that was true, I’ve told you—”

“I know what you’ve told me—you’d quit. But a kid needs two parents, a mother and a father—”

“I’m well aware of what—”

“No, you aren’t aware of anything or you wouldn’t be asking for the kind of commitment you are. It’s not fair. To me or to the poor kid we’d leave behind if one of us got blown to hell and back!”

This certainly wasn’t the first time she’d heard Quinn say something so harsh, but for some reason, the words cut deeper than usual. Hannah stayed where she was a second longer, then she got out of the bed. Her legs were shaking with anger, but she remained silent. If she spoke right now, she’d say something she’d regret later.

Quinn crossed the room, reaching for her. Knowing it was pointless, but trying anyway, she ducked his embrace. He took another step and captured her, his hands on her bare shoulders, his eyes cajoling as he stared down at her.

“You know I’m telling you the truth.” He moved his fingers as he spoke, his thumb rubbing her collarbone, his other fingers massaging her shoulders. Hannah fought to ignore the sensation he was creating.

“I know you’re telling me what you think is the truth,” she said. “But you’re wrong, Quinn. Very, very wrong. Our jobs are only dangerous if someone screws up.”

“Which does happen.”

“But not often.”

“It only takes once.”

“Then we’ll both quit.”

A tense moment passed, then he bent his head and kissed her, the feel of his mouth blanking out everything else. She swayed in his embrace, but he held her tight. When the kiss was over, he raised his head and looked at her, his breath soft on her cheeks. “I’m not going to quit. And neither are you.”

“But—”

“That’s not the answer to this problem. You’d resent the sacrifice every day for the rest of your life. You’d end up hating yourself…and me.”

She tried to think of a counter to his logic, but thinking was impossible with his body pressed to hers and his hands stroking her back.

“You have to be responsible for the children you bring into this world, Hannah. Kids can’t raise themselves, and when they try, they get piss-poor results.”

Hannah had always thought she could change Quinn’s mind—she’d changed everything else in her life she didn’t like—but she was beginning to despair. With dogged determination, she tried one more time.

“But we’ll be here,” she said. “We’ll raise them ourselves. We can be responsible for them—”

“Hush, Hannah, hush…” he murmured, bending down to nuzzle her neck. “We don’t need kids at this point in our lives. Maybe sometime in the distant future—but not just yet. I can be enough for you now if you’ll let me—”

“But, Quinn—”

He cut off her protest with a kiss, pulling her down with him to the bed they’d just abandoned.

She cursed herself and her weakness, then she gave in—once more—and closed her eyes. Quinn’s magical touch banished the argument from her mind.

But not from her heart.

CHAPTER ONE

Three months later—January

“YOU STILL HAVE THAT little black dress hanging in the back of the closet?”

Quinn paused beside Hannah’s desk and she looked up at him. Her eyes were a startling shade of light blue. Sometimes when they were in bed, they almost looked translucent, but right now, as she glared at him, they went dark with suspicion. They’d had another “discussion” about a family the night before and she was still angry. But he hadn’t budged and he wouldn’t. He’d been around a lot longer than Hannah, and he knew their profession much better than she did.

In the flash and heat of a single second, he’d seen friends—people he cared about—disappear in a pink cloud. She didn’t understand, and frankly, he hoped she never would. The knowledge was costly, to your body and your soul.

“I think it’s in there somewhere,” Hannah answered. “Why are you asking?”

“I want you to wear it tonight.” He forced aside his grim thoughts and concentrated on the present. “We’re going to Galatoire’s.”

The name of her favorite restaurant brought an involuntary smile, but then her lips tightened. “If you think taking me somewhere fancy is going to make things okay, you can forget about it. Crab cakes and deviled oysters won’t do the trick this time, Quinn.” She shook her head. “And I mean it.”

She’d said these words last night and he’d heard them before, as well, but a new resolve seemed to be growing behind them. Someone else might not have noticed, but Quinn had picked up on it instantly.

Sometimes he hated his instincts.

Life would be much simpler for him if he was more like Hannah. She didn’t intuit things or emotions—if it wasn’t before her in black and white, it simply didn’t exist. Everything had hidden nuances for Quinn; he could read the tension in a room by simply walking into it. Hannah’s way was better. What she didn’t know, she didn’t worry about. What she didn’t accept, she changed.

Until she’d hooked up with him.

He leaned close enough to smell her shampoo and see the freckle on her right cheek that she always tried to hide with makeup. Being this near was all it took to make him want her. His concern over their fight evaporated.

“This is more than just dinner. A lot more.”

She arched one blond eyebrow. “Like what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Hannah said flatly. “And I think we need to talk about last night. I’m not going to let this drop, Quinn—”

“No talking.” He stopped her words with a light kiss and shook his head, saying, “Tonight. Dinner.” Then he walked away, his surprise intact.

He’d given the evening ahead a lot of thought. When Quinn told Hannah his news, he wanted to do it right, not blurt it out in the middle of the bullpen. Bill Ford, their boss, had told Quinn that morning he’d been selected to be the new team lead. Bill was moving on to Washington. The announcement would be made next week, but for the moment, no one knew about the promotion except Quinn. And Bobby Justice.

Quinn made his way down the hall to his office, the tall, black tech on his mind. Bobby had been the only other serious candidate for the job. Well-respected and just as competent as Quinn, Bobby had been on the team even longer, fourteen years to Quinn’s twelve. He was a quiet, steady man whose life revolved around his wife and children, but he—and everyone else on the team—lacked the one essential Quinn had in abundance.

He had a mysterious, indefinable touch. However much he downplayed the ability when others mentioned it, Quinn couldn’t deny the truth to himself; he had a sixth sense about bombs. The others on the team were all terrific, especially Hannah, whose strength was analysis. But Quinn’s skill was unique. Consequently no one really understood it. Including him.

He reached his office, stepped inside and went to work. The mundane details always piled up—reports to read and file, examinations to be studied, fragments to examine… This was his least favorite part of the job and he tended to put it off. That technique might have worked in the past, but as the boss, he’d have to be better at dealing with it all. He worked steadily until noon, then stopped for lunch.

The call came in right after one.

Bobby appeared at Quinn’s door, every line in his face drawn with worry. “There’s a problem off the Central Business District,” he said. “CBD dispatch caught a suspicious package and sent out a coupla uniforms. It looks bad.”

“They all look bad,” Quinn said.

“Not like this. It could be Mr. Rogers….” Bobby paused. “That’s why they called and gave us a heads-up.”

“Oh, man…are you sure?”

“The box is propped up against the back door of a day-care center, adjacent to a school. Kids everywhere. Metro’s dogs alerted on it…all the pieces are in place…”

At Bobby’s words Quinn felt his stomach roll over. EXIT had been tracking a serial bomber for what felt like ten lifetimes. They’d linked him to three bombings across the South, each occurring every two years for the past six; one in Georgia, one in Mississippi and one in South Carolina. Day-care centers in run-down neighborhoods were his targets, hence the “Mr. Rogers” nickname. The team had been on edge for the whole month. The bomber didn’t always strike on the exact same day, but the month—January—never changed. His devices were frighteningly potent, and it’d been a miracle that no one had been killed. Yet.

Hannah came up behind Bobby. She already had on the black leather jacket they wore when they were called out, with EXIT embroidered across the back in bright yellow letters. Right behind her was Mark Baker, the newest member of the team. Baker grated on everyone’s nerves, making up for his lack of experience with bluster. Without conscious effort, at least on Quinn’s part, a rivalry seemed to be developing between the two of them.

Bobby ignored the other techs and focused on Quinn. “I’m going over there. If it’s him, we need to know. I can take a quick look, then tell the rest of you what’s up with it.”

Quinn understood the reaction—he’d like to do the same, but he held up his hand. “Hold on. Did Central request our help? I thought you said it was just a heads-up call.”

A federal agency, EXIT primarily dealt with two situations: explosions at government facilities or cases that proved to be unusual in some way, such as the serial bomber. With five offices nationwide, they only went to local sites as a courtesy, and even then, their expertise had to be formally requested.

“Well, it was but—”

“Then it’s their baby until they want to give it up.” Quinn spoke calmly, sending Bobby a look that only the two of them understood. Before now they’d worked by loose consensus, Ford more intent on getting to Washington than forging a team. Quinn wanted something different. “Let’s wait. I don’t want to piss off the guys over there—”

Hannah spoke up, disregarding them all. “We’ve never had a potential site this fresh. I’m going now.” Interagency rivalries were meaningless to her. She only wanted to get the job done. She zipped her jacket, then looked at the men expectantly. “Who’s coming with me?”

Baker spoke instantly. “I’m ready.”

Bobby hesitated. He obviously wanted to go, but he just as clearly didn’t want to upset Quinn.

Hannah headed for the door, then paused at the threshold. “You in or out, Bobby?”

The big man sent Quinn an apologetic look and shrugged. “She’s goin’, I’m goin’.”

Quinn cursed, then he jumped up from his desk and grabbed his own jacket. What the hell, he thought. Monday I’ll be a big-shot manager. I’ll make this call and it’ll be my last one.

He had no idea how right he was.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, striding through the parking lot of EXIT’s headquarters, Hannah asked herself the question that had plagued her ever since she’d joined the team.

What kind of sicko would leave a bomb at a day-care center?

The very idea made her want to simultaneously throw up and shoot someone. They were just little kids, for God’s sake! How could anyone be so twisted, so evil? And now it’d happened here in New Orleans, right under their noses. The fact that one day she might have to put her own children in a facility like the one they were headed for made the whole situation even more difficult for Hannah.

If she ever had any children of her own…

Quinn jumped behind the wheel of the response vehicle, and Hannah climbed in the back with Mark, leaving Bobby to go up front. She didn’t want to be any closer to Quinn than she had to be. At the moment, he also made her feel like throwing up and shooting someone, preferably him.

Their fight still stung. Why in the hell couldn’t he commit? She was too damn old for the hot-and-cold, up-and-down, crazy connection they shared. They’d argue, then he’d charm his way back into her good graces. A month or so later, they’d repeat the cycle. Their romance was becoming as unstable and erratic as the bombs they encountered, and she was getting tired of it. The only constant between them—their lovemaking—had yet to suffer, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? When Quinn touched her, Hannah put everything else aside, including, she’d determined lately, her brain.

Buckling her seat belt, she recalled the previous night’s argument. It’d been the same as always: she wanted kids, Quinn didn’t. He’d used the old excuse of their jobs, but other techs had families—look at Bobby.

It was time to make a decision.

And this time, she actually meant it. She’d had her fill. She wouldn’t succumb to Quinn’s lingering kisses and slow hands anymore. After dinner tonight, she’d tell him exactly what she wanted and if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change, then she had to move on. They’d been together two years and she loved Quinn so much it frightened her, but she refused to continue this way. She wanted a husband, a home and children.

The decision to abandon the relationship made her world sway. All at once, she remembered something Quinn had told her…how when a bomb exploded, the universe shifted, and things were never the same again. Ever.

She usually didn’t get Quinn’s mystical pronouncements and this one had been no different, but she suddenly understood. Turning as if to stare out the window, she blinked rapidly and told herself she was doing the right thing. She had no other choice if she wanted to keep her self-respect and have the family she’d always dreamed about. After a few painful seconds, she forced everything to the back of her mind—she had to concentrate on the moment. Nothing could take away her focus from what was ahead.

That’s how bomb techs got killed.

They headed northeast, speeding up South Broad, toward the rough side of New Orleans and the Central Business District, Quinn taking the corners on two wheels, the sidewalks still busy with a late-lunchtime crowd of locals who flashed by the window in a blur. Ten minutes later, as the truck neared the site, they were forced to a crawl on a street already packed with TV cameras and excited reporters, each hoping for some blood for the five o’clock news. Hannah cursed the milling crowd under her breath—half the thrill for the bomber was witnessing his chaos on television. She was convinced EXIT’s number of calls would be drastically reduced if the nuts who made the bombs were deprived of their publicity.

With Quinn blasting the horn, they finally got past the media, and Hannah spotted the Metro Bomb Squad’s rig, two blocks down. The two-ton truck carried the local team’s equipment: their suits, X ray equipment, the PAN disrupter and demo kits among other things. It also pulled the TCV—the high-impact steel globe could suppress an entire explosion inside its inch-and-a-half-thick walls. All the techs had to do was pick up the bomb with their Andros robot, put the package inside the basket, then move the TCV to a safe place for controlled detonation. Contrary to the movies, no one grabbed the device at the last minute and tossed it out a window to save the day.

Unless, of course, they had to.

Mark cursed loudly and Hannah turned. He pointed to the neighborhood and she nodded slowly. It was a dismal and depressing place. A elementary school in need of paint sprawled directly across the litter-filled street from the TCV. The buildings were ringed by a chain-link fence, but in too many places to count, the wire had been pulled away and folded back to create gaps and holes. Gang graffiti decorated the walls.

On the other side of the ragged pavement, an even sadder building sat, fronted by a lopsided sign that announced Tiny Town for Tots. Built of concrete blocks with a low flat roof above, the day care gave off a shimmer of almost visible hopelessness. The windows were locked and barred, the empty playground filled with dilapidated toys. Hannah felt a wave of sympathy for the “Tots” who visited this “Tiny Town.” Their mothers must have felt the same way, but with no other options nearby what could they do? Another pang hit Hannah, this one even harder, but again she pushed it aside.

Spotting the commander of the local city team, she jumped from the SUV before Quinn had time to fully stop. Tony LaCroix had a little too much testosterone floating through him for Hannah’s taste, but he did a good job. She decided he looked relieved when he saw the team this time, though. With EXIT there, he was no longer responsible for the situation; they were the feds. The other techs caught up with her as she reached Tony’s side.

“Am I glad to see you guys,” LaCroix confessed, confirming Hannah’s suspicions. “I think this might be the guy you’ve been tracking. I was just about to put in a request for assistance.”

“Give us the rundown,” Quinn ordered.

NOPD-Central had caught the call about the suspicious box first, LaCroix explained, then a second telephone warning had come into the Metro bomb squad itself. The messages were the same, short and to the point. There’s a box by the back door of the Tiny Town Day Care. It’s got a bomb in it. Tell them to leave from the front and do it now.

The uniforms who had responded confirmed the caller’s story. In the alleyway, leaning against the rear entry of the center, was a shoe-box-size container. Wrapped in stained brown paper, the unlabeled, lopsided package definitely looked suspicious.

“Everyone’s out?”

LaCroix looked at Hannah as if she’d lost her mind. “Yes, Hannah. Everyone’s been evacuated.”

Quinn spoke. “Have you X-rayed yet?”

“There’s not enough room to get the machine in there.”

“So Arnold’s too big, too.”

LaCroix nodded at Quinn’s assessment of the robot they used. “Way too big. Our mini’s out of service and the four-by-four won’t fit. The alley’s less than three feet wide.” A pained look crossed LaCroix’s face. “We can’t ray it and we can’t bring the damn thing out.”

“How about BIPing it?”

LaCroix shook his head at Mark’s idea. “We blow that puppy in place, and the shit’ll hit the fan.” He jerked a thumb toward the back of the building. “There’s low-income housing behind that fence. The mayor would have a cow.”

Everyone’s stress level increased. “Have they been evacuated, too?”

He nodded at Hannah’s question.

“Then we’ll have to try the PAN,” Bobby said. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

Bobby was a specialist with the bomb disrupter. The device fired a variety of projectiles and was designed to disarm bombs without detonation. So far, they’d had no luck with it on any of Mr. Rogers’s bombs.

“I don’t think we can get it in there, either. The damn alley is so full of trash and crap—” Before LaCroix could continue, a minor riot seemed to break out near the perimeter of the cordoned-off area, then someone screamed—a piercing shriek that sent a sharp chill down Hannah’s spine. She turned in time to see a black woman in a flowered housedress push past a uniformed officer, her face contorted with agony.