The Perfect Target. Jenna Mills

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СКАЧАТЬ camera,” she said, firmer than before.

      He refused to hand over her prized possession. “Have lunch with me. Maybe the clouds will clear by the time we’re done.”

      “No.” Fascination crumbled into determination. This man was not what he seemed, and she knew better than to teeter on a rocky outcropping with the tide rushing in around her.

      “Look, I really need to get going, so just give me my camera,” she said, extending her hand, “and—”

      He took her wrist and started to tug. “Relax, bella. I know just the place—”

      “Miranda!”

      The urgent voice came from behind her and had her spinning toward the shopping district. A large Viking of a man broke from the crowd of older tourists and sprinted toward her. “Miranda!”

      Hawk.

      Her heart started to race, adrenaline spewing like a geyser out of control. They’d found her.

      She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The second a man touched her, one of her father’s men always, always came running.

      “Miranda!” Hawk shouted, gaining ground.

      The stranger’s grip on her arm tightened. “Do you know him?” he asked with an urgency that hadn’t been there before. But before she could answer, the sound of gunfire ripped through the late morning and sent the crowd scattering like leaves in the wind. Pigeons took flight. Hawk went down.

      Miranda screamed, lunging toward her fallen bodyguard.

      But the stranger wouldn’t let her go.

      “Get down,” he commanded, shoving her toward the nearest merchant’s stall. He crouched beside her, sandwiching her between a display of rooster tablecloths and his big body. “Stay low.”

      A large man dressed in army fatigues bolted around the corner, with what looked to be a semiautomatic in his hand. “Hold your fire!” he was shouting. “We’ve got you surrounded!”

      “Too bloody late,” the stranger muttered.

      The man in fatigues kept running. He was beside the fountain when another volley of gunfire ripped through the chaos. His arms flew out as though he’d slammed into an invisible wall, and he crumpled to the ground.

      “Cristo.” The stranger glanced around sharply. “Where the hell are the shooters?” He held his briefcase in front of him, scanning the crowd. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

      “But Hawk—”

      “—is probably dead.”

      Horror convulsed through her. Hawk. She’d spent the past year evading the unyielding man at every turn, but she didn’t want him dead. Until now, everything had always seemed more like a game than life or death.

      “Look!” she cried, “he’s getting up.”

      “Fool,” the stranger hissed, just as the first police officer arrived, running from the perfume boutique to dive behind a nearby stall. Sirens screamed nearby.

      “Stay down,” the stranger shouted. “Be ready to run when I tell you.” Then he took aim on the police officer’s hiding place and sprayed the area with bullets.

      From his briefcase.

      More screams. And Hawk went back down.

      The sirens wailed louder.

      But there was no movement from behind the stall.

      The stranger didn’t stop firing. He pointed his briefcase toward a tree, unleashed another volley and brought a slender man with a ponytail crashing into the fountain.

      Miranda cringed as the water turned red.

      Her heart was beating so crazily she could barely breathe. And when the stranger faced her, she felt her eyes go wide with shock. He hardly resembled the man who’d brought her senses humming to life barely minutes before. Seduction no longer glimmered in his gaze. Those black pools were hard and dark and empty. The planes of his face were severe. Even the whiskers covering his jaw looked forbidding now. Dangerous. “Run!”

      She did. Miranda shot to her feet and turned from the violent man who’d just mowed down her bodyguard, ran as fast as she could. The playful skirt tangled around her legs like vines, forcing her to grab a handful of fabric and yank it above her knees. She ran past a local vendor and down an alley, around the side of the building. She ran through muddy puddles and around trash bins. She ran until her sides hurt and her lungs protested.

      Then she ran some more.

      He was behind her, she knew. Running. And his legs were longer, stronger. She could hear him gaining on her, the pounding of heavy footsteps, the harsh edge to his breathing. She tried not to think about what would happen if he caught her, all the things he could do, but years of security lectures echoed insidiously through her mind. Small dark rooms. No windows, no light. Cold. Darkness. Blindfolds. No contact with the outside world. Favors for food. Bloodlust.

      Comparatively, Hawk’s fate was a gift.

      The truth spurred her on, the knowledge of what a critical mistake she’d made. She knew better than to trust strangers. She knew better than to let a stranger’s smile, no matter how seductive, lure her into lowering her guard.

      But, God help her, here so far away from American soil and the media who hounded her family, she’d thought she could live a little without inviting disaster.

      Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

      The man with the enigmatic eyes and seductive words had only been playing her, melting her guard by claiming he wanted a picture of her, then trying to lure her away. That’s when the shots had started. When he’d put a hand on her body, Hawk had broken from hiding and tried to fulfill his duties.

      And now he was probably dead. Because of her.

      The thought, the reality, chilled as badly as the knowledge the stranger was gaining on her.

      “You can stop now, bella.”

      The raspy voice tore through her as though he’d used his lethal briefcase and not his vocal chords. “Stay away from me!” she gasped, racing around a corner and into a narrow street. A car horn blared and brakes squealed, but she didn’t slow, not even when the driver shouted at her.

      “Bella! It’s okay now.”

      God, no. A cramp cut deep into her side, but she refused to let the pain deter her.

      “Please,” he roared. Closer. Harder. “It’s not safe to be on the streets.”

      Determination pushed her forward, when fatigue had her stumbling. She didn’t know where she was now, just knew she had to make it back to the embassy. The ruthless stranger had already killed.

      She doubted he would hesitate to do so again.

      “Help!” she СКАЧАТЬ