Exposed Target, page 3
“I’m kinda fond of him, too.”
Olivia put her hand on her belly. “I’m hungry.
Ciara stepped back so the girl could walk in. “How about a muffin? Homemade blueberry.”
“Yay!” Olivia headed into the living room behind Cujo.
The dog beelined to a small basket of toys Ciara had collected for him and Olivia to play with. Cujo liked to chase mini tennis balls and murder small stuffed animals. The squeakers were his favorite thing to chew on.
A loud squeaking came from the corner as the dog happily chewed on a tiny stuffed dragon.
Olivia’s mother, a single mom, worked ten-hour days for a cleaning service, and took online business courses. Ciara had met her and liked her. On her days off, the girl’s mother slept past noon and Olivia fended for herself.
Probably why she was here, although she dropped by lots of times just to talk, color in Ciara’s adult coloring books, or play Monopoly. The girl was a Monopoly shark.
“You can stay ’til 9:30.” Ciara gestured to the breakfast bar and Olivia climbed onto one of the stools. “I have someone coming over for a meeting after you leave.”
“Okay.” Olivia took the paper plate Ciara handed her, a big blueberry muffin on it. “Thanks, Kara.” Olivia bit into it and crumbs scattered on the plate. “Mmmm.” She munched happily until it was gone, including every crumb that had dropped onto the plate.
While the girl ate, Ciara took a bag of small dog treats out of the pantry and gave Cujo two of them.
Olivia climbed down from the stool and tossed the plate into the garbage. “That was the best muffin ever.”
For some reason, Olivia’s enjoyment made Ciara feel lighter, as if her cares and worry simply floated out the window. “Glad you liked it.”
Olivia used Ciara’s markers and pencils in one of the coloring books. Olivia chose a mandala pattern. By the time an hour had passed, Olivia had colored another masterpiece. Sometimes the girl drew pictures of animals and people on blank pieces of paper. At only eight, Olivia had a gift for detail and making whatever she did simply beautiful.
When it came time to leave, Olivia and Cujo ran out of the duplex apartment, Olivia calling out, “Thank you for the muffin, Kara,” over her shoulder. Trailing off with, “We’ll come back later.”
Ciara stood in the doorway and adjusted her oversized sunglasses as she watched the pair run down the sidewalk. Her world had certainly changed with her closest friend now being an eight-year-old with a mini dachshund named Cujo.
For another half hour, Ciara puttered around her living space, trying to keep herself and her mind busy.
At ten, a loud firm rap on her front door echoed through her apartment.
Ciara brushed a few pieces of lint off her yellow T-shirt and padded to the door in her bare feet, over the worn carpet. She peeked through the peephole. A tall man stood outside her second-story apartment and held up a circular silver badge with a star inside the circle. He wore a long shirt over a T-shirt—likely to cover his service weapon, if he was indeed with the Marshals Service.
Still, she left the chain lock on and opened the door a crack. She frowned as she stared at the big man through the gap in the doorway. He held up his badge again. It looked just like Gary’s.
“I’m Deputy Marshal Beck Richardson.” He lowered the badge. “May I come in?”
Beck Richardson…where had she heard that name? She was certain the man wasn’t associated with Niko—she’d never met anyone like this man during her relationship with her ex-fiancé.
“Ma’am?” he said when she didn’t answer.
“What?” She blinked. “Oh. Just a sec.”
She closed the door, unlatched the keychain, and let the marshal inside.
Beck Richardson…Beck Richardson…
The name banged around inside her head.
“What happened to your lip?” he asked with a frown as he closed the door behind him.
She shrugged. “Got into a fight with the bathroom door.”
His eyes narrowed. He clearly didn’t believe her, but he said, “Looks like you lost the fight.”
“You didn’t see the door.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him the truth. Maybe she just needed to warm up to him.
She gestured to an overstuffed armchair near the matching sofa. She sat on the sofa and curled her legs beneath her. “Have a seat.”
After he settled into the chair, they stared at each other as she tried to place the deep blue of his eyes that studied her with intense scrutiny.
He was so damned good looking in a hard masculine way that she was certain she would have remembered meeting someone like him. His thick brown hair had an unruly wave, and the shape of his eyebrows gave him an intense, sexy look. He had a rugged, tanned complexion and he was so tall. His incredibly deep and penetrating masculine voice caused butterflies to bounce around in her belly.
For a moment, the soft pop music was the only sound in the living room.
“It’s been a long time.” His voice caused her to jump.
Then his words made her go still. Tiny prickles climbed up her arms to her scalp. She slid her feet off the couch and readied to defend herself if she had to
“How do you know me?” She bit out each word. “Who are you?”
He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his thighs, his hands clasped. “When I saw your name in the file, I wondered if you were the same person I knew years ago. The moment I saw your picture, I was certain.”
She clenched her hands into fists. “Tell me who the hell you are.”
He smiled. She knew that little boy smile.
It hit her then. Sally, a middle school friend, had a younger brother named Beck. And this man had eyes the same color as Sally’s.
She straightened, unable to believe she was looking at someone from her past. “You’re Sally Richardson’s brother.”
The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “She’s Sally Grace now. She and her husband are expecting their first child. In a few weeks I’ll be an uncle.”
“Congratulations.” Ciara smiled.
Beck gave a nod. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe it’s been so long since those days. It’s been ages. Your family moved from L.A. when we were still young.” Ciara shook her head with disbelief. “You used to mow our lawn.”
He smiled. “Your mamá paid me well.”
She tipped her head to the side. “You looked different then. You were skinny, short, and wore braces. And didn’t you have a lisp?”
Beck gave a low laugh. “And you were tall and beautiful, with a voice like an angel.”
“Curvy,” she added. She hadn’t been exactly thin. “Extra curvy.”
His lips quirked into a smile, but he didn’t respond.
She appraised him in a different light. How did that skinny boy with a mouthful of braces turn out to be such a muscular and drop-dead sexy man?
“I had the biggest crush on you.” He gave her that little boy grin she remembered. “I wasn’t even a blip on your radar.”
“That’s not true.” Ciara smiled. “But you were just a kid.”
“Only two years younger than you,” he said.
Ciara laughed. “At that age, two years might as well be ten.”
He grinned. “I always did like older women.”
She snorted out a laugh and clapped her hand over her mouth.
His grin broadened. “You still have the same laugh.”
She lowered her hand. “It feels so good meeting someone who knew me while I was growing up.” She smiled. “Someone who knows I’m alive. You are the only person who does.”
“I’m sorry for the circumstances,” he said. “But it is good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” She still had a hard time picturing that boy turning into this gorgeous man. “So, you’re a U.S. Marshal now.”
“Deputy Marshal.” He studied her and his voice changed so that he spoke in a flat tone. “And you made it out of Los Angeles to something a whole lot bigger.”
The way he said the words made her feel as if she’d been slapped. All the positive emotions she’d just experienced vanished.
Her face burned. She knew it looked bad that she had been engaged to the nephew of a crime boss. He probably thought she was a gold digger. Or maybe he thought she’d been involved in Niko’s and his family’s business dealings.
“Don’t you judge me.” Her words came out sharp as broken glass. “Don’t even begin to think you know who I am or what happened to land me here with no family and no friends.”
He raised his hands in a “whoa” gesture as he said, “It’s not my job to judge you, Ciara.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “But that’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“I read your statement to the FBI. It’s in your file.” He watched her as he spoke, as if to gauge her reaction. “You were emphatic on the point that you had no idea you were engaged to the nephew of a notorious Russian mob crime boss. How could you not know after six months?”
“I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m innocent.” She gripped her T-shirt hem in one fist, her body tense. “Either you believe me, or you don’t. Go ahead and be judge and jury and convict me on what you think happened.” She uncurled her legs and got to her feet. “We’re done. You can leave now.”
“We’re not done.” He gestured to the couch. “We need to go over a few things.”
“Shove it.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “I’ll wait until I see Gary.”
He didn’t move. “That’s what I’d like to talk with you about.”
She stared at him a long moment. “What happened to Gary?”
Beck shifted in the seat. “Gary is ill, so now you’ve got me.”
She frowned and eased back onto the couch, her chin tilted. “What if I’d like a different deputy marshal?”
“How are things going for you in Colorado Springs?”
His change in topic only annoyed her more. “Peachy. Every one of my friends and my mother thinks I’m dead, and if the mob finds me then I will be.” She brushed him off with a wave of her hand before he could say anything else. “I know. I know. As long as I follow the rules, the mob won’t find me.”
“That’s correct,” he said.
She removed her oversized sunglasses to chew on the earpiece.
“Where did you get that black eye?” His expression grew hard. “And the cut on your cheek?” His tone told her it wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t messing around. “Who did you get into a fight with?”
“That bathroom door is one tough sonofabitch.”
Beck wasn’t about to let that go. Door, my ass. “It’s my job to know everything that’s going on with you. Tell me about the fight, and not the bullshit about the door.”
“A bunch of rowdy college idiots got into a fight in the bar I work at.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, I didn’t do a great job of trying to break it up.” She tucked her hair behind one ear. “A reporter happened to be at the bar, but no photographer, thank God. I know I have to report in if anything happens that might draw attention to me. I did call Gary and left a message.”
Of course. He didn’t have access to Gary’s personal voice mail. Yet.
“From this point on, you need to call me.” Beck pulled one of his cards from his shirt pocket. “Both my cell and office numbers are on here. If it’s urgent and you can’t get a hold of me, contact the office. They can send another deputy marshal if needed.”
She reached for the card. “All right. Does this mean Gary isn’t coming back?” Her fingers brushed his and the contact shot tingles through his arm. She caught her breath and her eyes widened as their gazes held.
He didn’t release the card, leaving her fingers still in contact with his.
She finally whispered. “Are you going to give me the card, Deputy Marshal Richardson?”
“Beck,” he said. “Call me Beck.”
“Please let the card go, Beck,” she said as she tugged.
He released it. She stared down at the card, avoiding his gaze. Her eyes met his again.
She wasn’t the only one who had to regain her bearings. He cleared his throat. “Are you all right? Were you hurt anywhere that’s not visible?”
She shrugged. “Mostly bruises.”
“We’ll have to move you,” Beck said.
“Just because of a bar fight?” Her eyes widened with clear surprise. “I don’t want to start somewhere new. It’s not that long until I need to leave Colorado Springs to testify. And then I’ll end up God knows where.”
Beck leaned forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “Ciara, we can’t take any chances since a reporter was there.”
Ciara’s lips parted and she leaned back on the couch. “I don’t get it. No photographer, just a reporter.”
“This situation is not your fault, but it changes things.”
She braced her elbow on the sofa arm and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Damnit.” Anger infused in the word. “So, I have to find a new bartender job.”
Beck shook his head. “A different occupation.”
Ciara closed her eyes for a long moment before meeting Beck’s gaze again. “Then what? WITSEC makes it clear I must stay away from prior occupations from my old life. First, I had to stay away from retail sales since I managed a clothing boutique and had worked in retail most of my life. Now I can’t be a bartender. I suck at waitressing—I usually want to kill the customers who are idiots. And God knows I would go crazy working in an office. What do you suggest I do? I’m running out of jobs.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
She buried her face in her hands. Her words came out muffled. “This gets better and better.”
Ciara raised her head and Beck stared at her until she squirmed in her seat. Her dark eyes seemed to become even darker as she studied him in return.
Damn, she was gorgeous. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she looked more beautiful than he’d remembered. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen a more lovely creature than Ciara Cruz. He’d thought the same thing when he was a teenager—and as lovely as she’d been then, she was ten times more so now.
He wanted somehow to reassure her. “It’s going to be—”
The lights went out.
The music died.
The digital clock went dark.
The refrigerator stopped humming.
Silence.
The sound of gunfire punctuated the air.
3
Bullets slammed into the heavy wood door.
Stuffing exploded from the couch in a burst of white foam chunks near Ciara.
“Get down!” Beck pushed her off the couch. Her palms and knees hit the floor.
Ciara’s body flushed with cold heat. Terror ripped through her like an eagle’s talons tearing her flesh. She clapped her hand over her mouth, holding back a scream.
She moved her hand away as she asked in a hoarse whisper, “How did the Sokolovs find me?”
“We don’t know who it is. Yet.”
“It has to be them.” Ciara’s heart hammered against her chest as one thought after another circled through her mind.
The mob? Here?
Dear God. Olivia and Cujo. Her whole body turned to ice. What if Olivia decides to come by early?
Right now, it didn’t matter how they’d found her. The little girl and dog were more important.
More bullets left holes in the door, daylight streaming through.
Beck scrambled to the curtain over the glass arcadia doors that led to the apartment’s back patio. He moved aside the curtain slightly and peered out.
“Shit.” He fell back a fraction before the window exploded. Glass rained down on Beck.
“Crawl into the bedroom.” He moved closer to Ciara as he motioned to her room. “I’m right behind you.”
More bullets splintered the wood door. Drywall erupted as bullets buried themselves in the walls. A vase shattered and a lamp toppled onto its side.
Ciara crawled into her room as fast as she could, gunshots and her rapid-fire heartbeat speeding her forward.
She dove for her purse and pulled out a switchblade, her small Sig Sauer P238, and an extra magazine with seven rounds. She shoved the knife and magazine into her jeans pocket and switched off the micro-compact’s safety.
When she turned to face the now closed door, Beck nodded to her and inclined his head toward the bed.
She wanted to tell Beck about Olivia, but yelling would alert the men to where she and Beck now hid. The men might also look for the little girl to use as a pawn.
Ciara scooted to the bed, near the bedroom’s patio French doors. She glanced at the curtained doors, wishing she could see if anyone was outside them.
She slid behind the bed and rested her back against the wall, her Sig in both hands, her elbows braced on her thighs. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. She’d shoot any bastard who came through that doorway.
Ciara struggled to catch her breath as adrenaline pumped through her body.
She kept her finger off the trigger like she’d been taught, but she was prepared to shoot the moment she needed to.
Is this it? After all she’d been through, would the mob kill her now? If it was the Sokolovs.
Who else could it be?
She wanted to end this in a hurry for Olivia’s sake.
Beck took concealment behind a wing chair on the opposite side of the patio doors.
The sound of the front door ripping from its hinges and crashing against the entryway wall reverberated through the bedroom.
Ciara stayed hidden behind the bed and aimed her weapon. Her hands shook.
The bedroom door swung open. A man peered into the room. She barely kept from making a sound when she recognized one of Oleg’s men. Boris.
It’s them!
Boris said something in Russian and he raised his gun.
Beck’s bullet nailed him in the chest.
Boris pitched forward. Another man leaned around the corner of the doorframe and sprayed bullets across the wall.
