The hard target, p.1
The Hard Target, page 1
part #1 of Men of Delta Series
THE HARD TARGET
MEN OF DELTA SERIES
BOOK ONE
M.M. ROSE
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE DORA
CHAPTER TWO RICHTER
CHAPTER THREE DORA
CHAPTER FOUR DORA
CHAPTER FIVE RICHTER
CHAPTER SIX RICHTER
CHAPTER SEVEN DORA
CHAPTER EIGHT DORA
CHAPTER NINE RICHTER
CHAPTER TEN RICHTER
CHAPTER ELEVEN DORA
CHAPTER TWELVE DORA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN DORA
CHAPTER FOURTEEN RICHTER
CHAPTER FIFTEEN RICHTER
CHAPTER SIXTEEN DORA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN DORA
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN RICHTER
CHAPTER NINETEEN DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE RICHTER
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR RICHTER
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN DORA
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT RICHTER
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE DORA
CHAPTER THIRTY RICHTER
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE DORA
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO RICHTER
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE DORA
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR RICHTER
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE DORA
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX RICHTER
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN DORA
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT RICHTER
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE DORA
CHAPTER FORTY DORA
CHAPTER FORTY ONE DORA
CHAPTER FORTY TWO DORA
CHAPTER FORTY THREE RICHTER
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR DORA
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE DORA
CHAPTER FORTY SIX DORA
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN RICHTER
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT DORA
CHAPTER FORTY NINE DORA
CHAPTER FIFTY RICHTER
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE DORA
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO RICHTER
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE RICHTER
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR DORA
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE DORA
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
DORA
❦❦❦❦
There are moments that define a life. What came before or what happens after fades into insignificance. It’s like standing at the edge of a precipice and seeing the world open up below.
Or, in my case, the corner of East 275 and 276, Dale City, VA.
I’ve never been here before. From what I’ve seen so far, there’s no reason to come back either. There are no lights on in the three-story building opposite. There are no lights on in the whole block, period. Two blocks away, traffic lights at an intersection blink on and off. Distant headlight beams point my way and swerve away. For some reason, I press myself into the shadows.
What I do tonight will make or break me.
Hell, I’m scared. I don’t even know if I should be here. I got a handwritten note, left by a nameless person with door security at the office of the newspaper I work for. It told me to come here after ten p.m. if I wanted secret information about Senator McGlashan. Eternally curious journalist that I am, I found the offer hard to ignore. The magazine I work for is a small start-up, and we focus on political gossip. There’s a big market for it in DC, as you can imagine. I’ve been following McGlashan ever since the Ethics Committee raised questions about his campaign funding sources. Multiple shell companies in the Bahamas. I have no idea who left the note for me, or how they knew I was looking for a story. It’s not like I’ve published anything yet.
Security mentioned the person who dropped the note was a short, slim man. He had his head covered with a hoodie and wore dark glasses. We don’t have CCTV at our office, so no images of him exist. The envelope he left the note in contained a key. I’m guessing the key is for the front door of the building opposite me.
I digress. Goosebumps prickle my skin. I remember the words of my fellow reporter and best friend, Julia: A scoop will make your career.
Yeah, right , I said. What if this guy turns out to be some psycho who targets female reporters?
So I left the address with Julia, and right now, on my iPhone, I’m sharing my location with her. This is something the man who delivered the note told me not to do. But as desperate as I am to get a scoop, I’m not stupid. I’ve got my mace spray with me. The digital recorder on my phone will switch on the second I enter so Julia can hear every word and sound.
The cordless earbuds are in my ears. “Julia?” I whisper.
“Hey, you. All set?” she whispers back.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“I know, but just think. In our business, you never turn down a source, right? Especially if he has some info that can make your career.”
Julia got a scoop like this by meeting a man in some seedy hotel in New York. She actually went up to Times Square to meet him. He turned out to be the husband of a politician who was taking kickbacks from a Mexican cartel. When the story broke, Julia went from unknown reporter to star journalist.
“Remember what we discussed?” Julia asks softly.
I pause for a second before replying. “Don’t go inside. Open the door and wait for him to show himself. He just wants to be sure I am who I say I am. Then ask him to come out for a coffee or something.”
“Correct. You got this!” Her tone is meant to be encouraging, but all I get is a sinking feeling of dread.
And yet I know I need this. The rent in DC is expensive; that alone takes up two-thirds of my salary. I got used to certain comforts growing up, and I can’t live without those. Add in bills, and I’m virtually broke. Wearing the same dress every day of the week or shopping in thrift stores is normal for me. But it would be nice to spread my wings once in a while.
“Yeah, I got this,” I say, more to myself than to Julia.
“Atta girl,” she whispers. “Break a leg.”
Unfortunate choice of words, Julia.
I say nothing and hang up. I take a deep breath, eyes fixed on the foreboding building in front of me. No way am I going inside. Lights come on in a house at the end of the block, gaining my attention. More of them do, and a couple opens the door and steps inside. It helps to relieve the darkness surrounding me, and I breathe a little more easily.
I look to either side. No car comes down the street. I grab my phone and spray and cross the street quickly. The front door looks huge and intimidating. The brass key in my pocket digs into my fingers. I take it out and, taking a deep breath, fit it into the keyhole.
The latch is well oiled, and the key opens the door without a sound. I push it gently, and it falls open. The streetlights illuminate a wide hallway. It’s dim, but I can make out a switch on the wall. I reach in to flip it. A bulb in the ceiling springs to life, washing the place with sudden light. It’s an old place, and it’s seen better days.
The carpets are threadbare, and paint peels forlornly from the walls. A musty smell prevails in the air, thick like fog.
The front room is to my left, light slanting across its opening in a triangle. The hallway stretches into a landing, with more rooms leading off it and a staircase going up. Darkness swallows the stairs as my eyes follow them up.
I wasn’t aware I was holding my breath. I let it go, exhaling slowly. The place looks deserted, but anyone could be hiding in here.
“Hello?” I say tentatively. “Is anyone here?”
Silence greets me. I wait then repeat my question. Silence again.
Right, this is silly. I can’t do this. I need to turn around and head back. Part of me wants to call Julia again, but this is not her gig. She might have advised me, but the decision was my own. Whatever I do is up to me.
Trouble is, I’m not good at stepping away or letting it go. A voice is whispering inside me, saying this could be the start of something big. The person who wrote the note was specific.
This will change everything —their exact words. Sure, they could be a psycho or a lunatic. But should I not at least try to find out now that I’m here?
I’m wearing my running shoes, yoga pants, and a light jacket. I can take off fast if I sense trouble. Leaving the front door open, I peek inside the front room. What harm can it do? I have a Maglite I can use as a weapon if need be. Heart thudding against my ribs so loud I swear someone standing next to me could hear it, I step inside.
I glance back to the relative safety of the street. The parked cars are all empty, with no sign of life. I click the latch of the front door out, ensuring it can’t slam shut. My mouth is drier than the Mojave at full noon in August.
Another five, six paces, and I’ll reach the door of the front room. Its windows face the street, and I’ve already checked that the curtains are drawn. If there’s anyone in here, they’re waiting in the dark. The thought chills my spine, and I come to a halt.
This is madness. What the hell am I doing?
My mind goes back to the informant. What could be so important he has to meet me like this? For no reason, thoughts of my father also come to mind. My media tycoon father, who has always disapproved of every path I’ve taken. I didn’t want to work for one of his TV channels. He didn’t want me to work for what he called “a shitty nest of liars.”
If my dad was here, he’d be shaking his head and clicking his tongue. I can suddenly hear his voice in my head, like a distant echo against the fading, par ched walls of this age-worn hallway.
Dora, Dora, Dora. What are you doing with your life?
My father is used to making people do what he wants. When I didn’t follow the neat plan he had for my life, he shut me out. Strange as it sounds, that’s okay with me. There is no scope for variety in my father’s life, only drab routine. His life is cold and impersonal, and his manner toward me has always been distant, aloof. I’ve never understood why.
Resolve strengthens in the pit of my stomach like an iron fist. I can do this. I can get the scoop of a lifetime. I can show my father what I’m capable of. The news anchors at one of his TV stations will be dying to interview me one day.
A sudden creaking sound splinters into my consciousness. Like air collapsing from a burst tire, my daydream vanishes. The hair stands on the back of my neck, and my spine straightens. What was that? I’m pretty sure it came from the direction of the front room.
The ka-boom of my cardiac muscles almost drowns out rational thought. I swallow hard and find my voice. It’s a croak, and I clear my throat. “Hello? Somebody there?”
Silence again. Damn it. Whoever is in there won’t give himself up. I remember what Julia said. This guy’s just as scared as you are, Dora.
I raise my voice a notch. “Listen, it’s just me. Dora Simpson. I came alone, like you asked.”
Great, well done. If he’s a psycho, he now knows you have no backup.
Still no sound. Why doesn’t he show his face?
“Look, I’m coming in, okay? Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”
I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I need to make sure this guy doesn’t do something silly. The front door behind me is still open. I can still make a fast getaway if I need to. I don’t have to step inside. I creep forward, shining my Maglite.
The door to the front room is open. I shine the flash beam inside. It tracks up the wall and around the sides. I see a light switch again, and after thinking for a few heart-stopping seconds, I reach out and flick the switch.
Light floods the room, and I yelp when I spot the man standing before me. He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a well-trimmed beard on his cheeks. I flinch back against the wall, but my eyes are on him.
He’s drop-dead gorgeous. His brown hair is cut short. The cheekbones are high and handsome, the nose sharp, and the pink lips full and sensuous. Delicious light-gray eyes complete the look. But those eyes are like thunder, and he’s staring at me with rage.
“Who are you?” he bites out from between clenched teeth. His voice is a low rumble from his spacious chest, and anger spikes in his words.
I cannot speak, as I’m still staring at him. My eyes move to the large hands hanging loosely by his sides.
I swallow hard. “I...uh...are you the informant?” Deep down, I know it can’t be him. The informant was small and wiry. This guy is tall, dark, handsome, his looks a cross between Keanu Reeves and George Clooney.
His brows meet in the middle of his forehead. “What? Did you say informant?”
His hypnotic eyes hold me captive, but part of me wrestles free from their hold. Just because he’s good looking doesn’t mean he’s not a freak. I start to inch toward the hallway.
“Stop,” his voice rings out. My feet stop moving, but my mind is screaming RUN. I glance at him, and he has not budged. I tear my eyes off him and step toward the door.
Now he moves. I sense more than see him come toward me. But he stops at a comfortable distance as if he knows I’m scared.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice is not a growl this time. It’s still deep, and for some reason it sends shivers down my spine.
“Who are you?” he asks.
I find my voice at last. “I could be asking you the same question.”
The frown returns to his face. “You came in here after me. Where did you get the keys?”
There is a hardness in the lines of his face, and his eyes are flint. But he stands still, watching me closely. I feel his eyes move up and down my body.
My mind is whirring away. Could this guy know something about the informant? I guess I don’t have anything to lose by asking him. If he lunges for me, I can run out the doorway. I tense myself, ready for flight in case he moves.
The frown is back on his face. “You need to start talking. How did you know about this place?”
“Someone left a note at my workplace, asking to meet me here. Do you know him?”
That might have been the wrong question. His eyebrows lower farther, and the thunderous look returns. Still, he remains stationary. I see a muscle twitch in his strong jaw.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, lady, this is important. We don’t have much time. Who told you to come here?”
“If I knew about that, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?”
His eyes move to my ears then back to me. “You’re wearing earbuds. Are you in contact with someone right now?” The growl is back in his throat.
Damn it. My white iPhone AirPods. I forgot to take them off.
I don’t remove them. If this guy is dangerous, I need to stay in contact with Julia.
I meet the fire in his eyes with a lift of my chin. “I might be. None of your business. Who told you to come here?” My reporter’s gut instinct is telling me this guy is hiding something. Something important. What’s going down here tonight?
Good going, Dora. Well done, really. He could be a serial killer for all you know, and here you are baiting him.
Frank bewilderment spreads across his face, and he shakes his head slowly. He squeezes his eyes shut then opens them as if he’s staring not at me but at an apparition. He begins to say something, stops, and drags a hand across his face. His huge chest rises and falls as he takes in a deep breath and then lets it go, not taking his eyes off me.
CHAPTER TWO
RICHTER
❦❦❦❦
I keep staring at her as if I’ve never seen a woman before. Her large eyes are wide with surprise and concern. Light-brown irises deepen to darker pupils into mystic depths. Her nose is small, but her mouth is full, with generous lips. She’s beautiful, even in those yoga pants, light mascara around her eyes, and a ponytail. A need stirs inside me, an ache that sends blood flowing to my cock. I’ve not seen a woman like her for a long, long time.
And I’m on the fucking operation of a lifetime.
Shit.
Get a grip, dickhead.
A lifetime’s training kicks in. I check out the now-lit hallway and the street outside then move my eyes back to her. She’s a civilian, I can tell that much. She could be carrying a piece in her jacket, but if she is, it’s well hidden and a small weapon, like a 9mm Beretta. The fear in her face makes me relax, in fact. This woman is not an operative. First off, she doesn’t have an accent. She’s American, East Coast. Again, she could be hiding a foreign accent, but that would make her one hell of an actress. I’ve seen female agents before though—Russian KGB. She’s not one of them. Confusion clouds my mind then clears as the urgency of the situation hits me again.
