Secure Target (Elite Operators) (23 page)

He barely felt it—he was numb, blind with fury. In less than a second he had Warren on the floor, with his hands around his throat, as a guttural howl ripped loose from somewhere deep within him and rattled through his chest. Warren thrashed beneath him, clutching at his wrists, but Bronnik had never felt so steady, so strong.

Then there were men all around him, tugging at his arms, trying to pull him off. He braced himself against their efforts, gritting his teeth, until Dassie tackled him from the side, and the two of them went crashing to the floor.

Bronnik felt his skull bounce against the linoleum, and just like that, the anger ran out of him like water down a drain. Dassie pinned him to the floor, holding one forearm against the back of his neck while his arms were twisted up behind him, but he didn’t need to. There was no fight left in him.

From the other end of the room he heard Warren coughing and assuring everyone he was fine. “It’s all right, Dassie,” he told his fellow officer softly. “I’m done.”

He felt his friend hesitate above him. “Mason,” he began, and then stopped himself. When he spoke again his voice was low, intended for Bronnik’s hearing only. “We’ll get her,” he murmured. “And you can have your kill. I promise you.”

Dassie backed off, and Bronnik rolled up to a sitting position. He propped his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead.

Lacey—that was what this was about. Not his bloodlust, not his vengeance. Rescuing her was the only thing that mattered, and she deserved to come back to the same man she knew when she was taken.

The man with principles, ethics and moral standards. Not a cold-blooded killer.

Warren crouched beside him and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, Mason, but I had to do it. You weren’t thinking straight. You had to blow off some steam.”

Bronnik shook his friend’s hand gratefully. “I’m sorry you have such a thick neck.” He cracked a tentative smile, and Warren grinned.

“If you’re quite finished,” Thando barked. “We have a rather pressing situation to resolve.”

Bronnik hauled himself to his feet. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lacey rolled her shoulders as Hardy drew back the side of the blind on the front window, peering out at the street. Her muscles were stiffening from sitting in the same position, and her light summer dress offered little insulation from the cool interior of the office.

“If that moron doesn’t turn up soon, I may just have to kill you and get out of here. I’m getting sick of waiting,” Hardy muttered from his place by the window.

She let her head fall back against the chair. It had been half an hour since the phone call to Bronnik, and her whole body was drained and shaky from spent adrenaline. She had racked her brain for some innovative way to free herself and had visually scoured the room for anything she might use as a weapon. Eventually she’d given over to a sort of detached, sorrowful resignation. There was no way out of this.

She didn’t want to die, she thought pitifully, squeezing her eyes shut against hot tears. She still had so many plans, so many dreams, and things she wanted to do and experience and accomplish. Maybe if she’d been hit by a car or struck down with a terminal illness, she could be more at peace with the idea, but not this. Not at the hands of this vile man who’d picked her at random out of a newspaper.

The recollection of her absolute anonymity in Hardy’s designs was like a cold slap, and she sat up straight, seething with fresh anger. He picked her as a template, not a person. He just thought she looked right. He didn’t give a damn about the twenty-eight years that brought her here, or the woman they’d made her into.

She glanced around the room with renewed purpose. No way was she going down without a fight. Hardy would know the true measure of her character if it killed her.

And there was a good chance it would.

There was nothing in sight that seemed to have any potential as a weapon. Her wrists and ankles were bound, and the rolling chair had been placed right in the center of the room, with nothing nearby except the high outer wall of the reception desk. She sighed in exasperation.

Hardy was still looking out at the street, twirling the knife in his right hand. She thought about the methodical, hyper-choreographed nature of his killing: the phone call warnings, the similar settings, the choice of women who all looked alike.

And then there was his obsession with an audience. He didn’t just want to kill her, he wanted Bronnik to suffer, to know his power. In Kansas he’d taken his chances in public places, in the firing range and the mall, and he’d known the police were all over the dental office.

He liked having everything in his control. He wanted to be the big man, the one calling the shots, and he loved it when the supposedly powerful police had to dash around at his beck and call.

But having his victim fall for his enemy? He hadn’t planned on that. That was way beyond his control, and that was why he was so angry—and so sloppy.

Putting a bomb in her car was haphazard and desperate. So was trying to stage a siege with a fresh injury. Hardy was not working to his usual standard. He could see the situation slipping out of his hands, and he was panicking.

Lacey fisted her hands in excitement. This could be her chance.

Hardy turned to her with a smug smile. “Evidently the Special Task Force doesn’t require its members to be able to read a map. Then again, given the backwater hole he crawled out of, I suppose we’re lucky the good sergeant isn’t completely illiterate.”

“How do you know where he’s from?”

“I do my homework, Miss Cross,” Hardy replied primly. “When he was first assigned to the case I did some rather illegal reconnaissance in the police’s personnel department. I read his file, and it wasn’t exactly a page-turner. Reared on an arid shell of a farm, a few years spent sucking his thumb at Stellenbosch University, and then a series of sickeningly enthusiastic performance reviews from his professional betters. So he can run fast, do a few chin-ups and shoot a gun.” Hardy rolled his eyes. “What a star.”

“Did you read Thando Zarda’s file as well?” she asked, eager to keep him talking.

Hardy flicked his hand dismissively. “Zarda’s not a threat to me.”

Bingo. “But Bronnik is?”

Hardy advanced on her so quickly from across the room that she instinctively pushed back against the chair.

“Does he look like a threat to me?” he demanded, gesticulating wildly with the knife. “You’re in here with me, not out there with him. If anything, he should be afraid of me.” He began pacing the room. “What on earth is taking so long?” he muttered, brows furrowed in agitation.

By Lacey’s reckoning, the more he lost control, the weaker he would be. It was a gamble—if she pushed him too hard, he might snap and kill her before Bronnik arrived. But if she was right, and he was already off-balance when Bronnik got here, it might be that much easier to press him into doing something wrong, or Bronnik might catch him in a moment of vulnerability.

“He’ll be here,” she said calmly. “I know he will.”

Hardy snickered. “What makes you so sure? Back in Kansas he had all his boys and his toys. I’m not sure he’ll be such a warrior without his Task Force security blanket.”

“Because he loves me,” she replied, infusing her tone with a confidence she didn’t feel, and ignored the twinge of uncertainty in her heart.

Hardy’s cheeks reddened. “How can he love you? You’ve known him less than a week. You’re living in a fantasy land, Miss Cross. Perhaps killing you would be doing you a favor, because otherwise you’re in for a rude awakening when your beloved Mason runs off with some busty young waitress he meets in a bar.”

“He loves me,” she repeated firmly. “And he’ll kill you to save me.”

To her surprise, Hardy threw back his head and laughed. “Oh Miss Cross, you really are naïve.” He came toward her again, and trailed his fingers down the side of her face. Lacey braced herself against his touch, keeping her face stony and unchanged. “Bronnik Mason doesn’t kill anyone. He doesn’t have the nerve, or as you Americans might say, the
cojones
. Not like me.”

He straightened with a grin, and her stomach clenched in worry. Her attempts at unbalancing him didn’t seem to be having as much of an effect as she’d hoped. She glanced at the clock—another five minutes had passed. Surely Bronnik would be here any minute. She had to keep trying.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said brazenly, praying her instincts were leading her in the right direction. “I’ve seen his
cojones
, as you put it, and it’s all there.”

Hardy’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. I said that Bronnik is all man. In fact, he’s more like three men put together. He made me scream so much, I practically lost my voice.”

Hardy slapped her across the face with an open hand. She cried out at the sudden, fierce sting of it, then turned back to him with renewed fury. “He could probably do that better too.”

“Filthy slut,” Hardy hissed, and raised his hand again, but there was a knock on the door and he froze, his hand held in midair.

The knock sounded again, louder this time. Hardy looked at her indecisively for a second, then lowered his arm and hurried to the window.

“He’s here,” he said, mostly to himself. “He’s alone.”

He moved back to Lacey’s chair and positioned himself behind it, the hand holding the knife resting just above her shoulder.

“Come in, Sergeant,” he called, and the door creaked open.

Bronnik moved slowly into the room, and Lacey worked hard not to burst into yearning, grateful sobs at the sight of him. He wore a black T-shirt and camouflage trousers tucked into his combat boots. She couldn’t see a radio or the Beretta, and she desperately hoped he knew what he was doing.

“How are you, Lloyd?” he asked coolly, hands at his sides.

“Never better. But I would appreciate a little reassurance that you’ve stuck to the deal.”

Bronnik nodded, his face expressionless, and raised the hem of his T-shirt to reveal his belt line and bare torso. “I’ve got nothing.” He pivoted to show the scar on his side. “Except this.”

Hardy chuckled behind her. “A nice addition, if you ask me. Anyway, it doesn’t seem to be interfering with your ability to attract loose women.”

She heard the rage edging Hardy’s tone, and she hoped Bronnik could hear it too. His gaze flicked to her quickly and then returned to Hardy. “Which loose women are we referring to, Lloyd?”

“My apologies, I didn’t realize there were so many that you struggled to keep track.” Hardy sneered. Bronnik just stared, and Hardy continued, “Don’t play dumb with me, Mason. It seems that sweet little Lacey here is as much of a tattletale as she is a whore.”

She gritted her teeth.
Please understand
, she begged silently.
Please see where this is going.

Bronnik blinked once, twice, and then there it was, registering plain on his face—comprehension. She exhaled a tense breath.

“What can I say.” He shrugged. “I’ve never been able to resist a beautiful woman.”

Lacey could feel Hardy’s hands tightening on the back of the chair. “That you’re a pervert who fucks the women under his protection doesn’t surprise me,” Hardy shot back. “But convincing her you’re in love with her? That you two have some kind of epic romance ahead of you? That you’re not planning to chuck her onto the first plane back to Kansas as soon as you’ve cleared your paperwork? That’s low, Mason, even for you.”

Lacey’s heart thudded as she watched Bronnik’s face for a reaction. If he showed any kind of surprise or denial, Hardy would know it was all exaggerated and the control would be right back in his hands.

But Bronnik’s expression was steady. “I am in love with her,” he said calmly. “Every word she said is true. If anything, Hardy, I should thank you for introducing us.”

That was the step that sent Hardy over the edge. With an inhuman roar, he dragged Lacey up out of the chair and pressed the knife to her throat, its cold point pressing into the soft flesh beneath her chin. She bit back a whimper as she struggled to stay upright on her bound ankles. The blade was so tight against her neck, she was afraid to swallow.

“No more games,” Hardy hissed. “It’s time to make your choice.”

Bronnik was silent—he stood utterly motionless, his hands loose and relaxed.

Still holding the blade to her throat, Hardy climbed onto the seat of the plastic chair, yanking her into a standing position beside him. He reached up to the ceiling, removed one of the tiles and tossed it to the floor. He felt around one of the pipes, and then pulled down a length of silken cord tied into a noose. She gaped and tried to struggle against her bonds as he brought the cord down around her neck and tightened it, but his grip with his other arm was like iron, and she had no chance of resistance.

Hardy held the knife up the light, examining its shining length. Then he tossed it toward the far end of the reception area. It landed on the carpet just in front of the upholstered chairs, about five feet away.

“I’m going to leave your slut dangling here,” Hardy explained. “And then I’m going for the knife. If I get to it first, know that I will kill you without hesitation.” His tone was grave and deadly serious. “As for you, Mason, you’ll have to decide which direction to take. Do you try to kill me and leave the girl? Do you save her and risk your own skin? Or do you still think you can get out of this with all of us alive?”