A Breath Away Read online

  Nearly all her clients begged for her services. She’d worked for rock stars needing protection from overzealous fans, wealthy businessmen who wanted to protect their assets from thieves. Even politicians, who always seemed dogged by threats and stalkers, called her and her team every election year.

  They all did what she said without question, either out of fear for themselves or their families. They relied on her expertise.

  No one had ever been so cocky as to order her services through a third party, then not even bother to show up for his purchase. She was sure the contrast wasn’t lost on Tremaine.

  At l:00 a.m., she locked the guest-bedroom door, showered, re-dressed, then lay on top of the bed. She might as well get some rest if her client was going to continue to ignore her.

  In a fitful sleep, she dreamed about her parents. They stood behind their ancient walnut bar at Beau’s, their arms crossed over their chests, their faces set with disappointment. Guilt washed over her. She wanted to tell them she hadn’t failed them. She wanted to explain she was sorry she hadn’t been there to protect them….

  Then she was hugging Lucas. She lay her head against his chest and delighted in the beat of his heart, realizing there was still one person in the world who loved her unconditionally, who shared her blood. She relaxed, letting the feeling of security wash through her.

  His lips whispered over her cheek. “I need your help,” he said softly.

  In less than a second, she realized she was no longer dreaming. There were indeed lips against her cheek. Warm, soft, persuasive lips attached to a warm, hard, male body. Neither of which belonged to her cousin.

  Though training and instincts screamed danger, she paused to breathe in the scent of a spicy, exotic cologne and a faint smell of whiskey and realized the rumors about her new client must be true.

  He was very good with his hands.

  By the moonlight streaming through the window, she could see he lay on his side, pressed against her, his lips sending shivers of delight skating down her spine, his clever fingers gliding up her stomach. Under her shirt. That simple touch ignited sensual sparks inside her, creating a longing she fought to ignore.

  Did he intend to disarm her before seducing her? Somehow, she doubted he’d bother.

  “Move your hand up another inch, Tremaine, and you’ll lose it.”

  With a quick flip, she’d straddled him and pressed her Beretta to the center of his forehead.

  The rogue had the nerve to smile. “My, my, Ms. Broussard. Is this how you greet all your clients?”

  “Only the ones who pick the lock to my bedroom.”

  “You could hardly call that thing on the door a lock.”

  No doubt she could have gotten past it herself, but what infuriated her was that she hadn’t heard him. He’d come through the outer door, crossed the living room, opened the bedroom door, crossed that room, then slid into bed with her before she’d been aware. Normally, she’d have heard him when he put the key card in the exterior door lock. Either she was really tired, or he was even more skilled than she’d imagined.

  She also wasn’t crazy about the way she’d responded to his touch. For a moment she’d relished the contact with him and wanted more. Staring down into his sculpted face, his silvery eyes glittering back at her, his jet-black hair gleaming almost blue in the low light, she wanted him still. His innate sensuality was even more potent in person than in pictures, though some part of her managed to recognize that an attraction to her client was a weakness she couldn’t afford.

  More aggravated at herself than him, she holstered her pistol. “Is there a particular reason you’re in bed with me?”

  “It’s my bed.”

  “It’s the wrong bed. This is the guest room.”

  He grinned. “My mistake.”

  “I’m sure. Where the hell have you been?”

  “On an errand of mercy.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Pictures don’t do you justice, Agent Broussard.”

  “That’s former Agent Broussard, and I’ll have to return the compliment.” Her body still hummed from the feel of his fingers. Men—especially male clients—didn’t overwhelm her. They didn’t affect her personally.

  He braced his hands at her waist. “We could continue what we started.”

  To her surprise, Jade was tempted. She held nearly everyone at a distance, so she rarely took the time to indulge in sex. She was definitely aware of the hard ridge of male flesh pressed intimately between her legs. She already knew his hands promised magic.

  Their physical attraction was as obvious in the room as the bed they were lying on. Her stomach fluttered with need. Her fingers tingled. All she had to do was lean down, press her lips to his…

  “Bad idea,” she said, jerking back.

  As she climbed off him, his eyes darkened with seemingly genuine regret. “Perhaps another time.”

  She didn’t comment and glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 4:00 a.m. It was time to get back to business. “You want to tell me who shot you and why?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you, would I?”

  “Why do you need me? Why don’t you trot back to Washington and let the NSA deal with this?”

  He rolled off the bed and gained his feet with a grace that she was certain had gotten him through more than one second-story window undetected and unscathed. “I’ll tell you everything over coffee.”

  Somehow I doubt that.

  Watching him stride from the room, Jade’s gaze slid down his lean body, covered in tailored black pants and a black ribbed turtleneck, and wondered if he’d really given up his former profession.

  How many people had he made a fool of in his murky past? How many beds had he crawled into? Was his present just as devious? She knew that less than half of the rumors about her were accurate. Was it the same for him? What was his real story?

  He intrigued her more than was wise. In her line of work, she had to maintain a professional distance in order to serve her clients well. In her private life, space was just as welcome. But the moments of personal intimacy she’d just shared with Tremaine already had her thinking of him as something more than a client, and she couldn’t quite shake the lingering tremors of desire.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  Was she really crazy enough to help him?

  Apparently, since she sighed and stalked after him.

  She did, however, double-check to be sure her ammunition clip was fully loaded first.

  2

  REMY EYED JADE “The Arrow” Broussard over the rim of his coffee mug and again marveled that the hard, determined woman now pacing in front of him had been melting in his arms only moments earlier, her fiery hair tangled around his fingers, her voice husky with sleep.

  He wondered if she knew as much about him as he did about her. He wondered if her nickname was well-earned. Because of her deadly sharp shooting skills and her tendency to be a rule-follower—at least by the slippery NSA standards—he’d been as surprised as anybody when she’d suddenly resigned two years ago to follow her partner, Frank Williams, into the private sector. Remy reflected on the way she’d leaned into his touch. She’d relaxed quite a bit since leaving government work.

  A handy convenience for him.

  “I don’t appreciate you dragging my cousin into this,” she said when she finally stopped pacing, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

  “I needed protection. I asked a trusted advisor for guidance.”

  “One who just happens to be my cousin. You had to know.”

  He’d known. His friendship with Lucas had just been a happy by-product of his deep-seated need to find out more about the lady currently scowling at him.

  In fact, he could admit—at least to himself—that he had a miniobsession when it came to Jade Broussard. Ever since he’d seen the first NSA case file involving her, he’d researched her, wondered about her and even sought out her cousin in the hopes of someday meeting h
er.

  After last night’s shooting, she seemed the obvious choice to help him solve a lifelong mystery. She’d single-mindedly gotten revenge for her family. Maybe she could do the same for him.

  “I certainly check out all my advisors before taking them on,” he said finally.

  “Do you ever give anybody a straight answer?”

  He smiled faintly. “Not if I can help it.” Just for the thrill, he let his gaze slide down her body, which was surprisingly curvy for such a fierce and serious woman. “Surely, it’s the same for you.”

  “Very few people ask me questions,” she said.

  “Too intimidated?”

  “I imagine.”

  “You’ll have a hard time affecting me the same way, Jade.”

  Her shoulders jerked at his use of her first name. She clearly didn’t like the intimacy. She liked their attraction even less.

  Ironically, he relished her presence.

  After talking himself out of contacting her for so long—deciding she wouldn’t want anything to do with a former thief—having her close was an interesting kind of torture.

  She would never understand what had driven him to his former life. Yet, despite the philosophical distance between them, his blood sizzled hotter every minute they were together. He had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.

  He’d snuck into her bed to rattle her, to see if the effect she had on him from a distance would strengthen when they touched. But even he hadn’t anticipated being knocked so far off balance. He hadn’t expected the temptation to be so strong.

  “I want some answers from you, Tremaine,” she said as she resumed pacing. “I want them now and I want them straight, or I’m dumping you and going back home.”

  “No compassion for an old colleague?”

  “No.”

  “I was shot, you know.”

  “Whoopee. Been there myself a few times.”

  Though he’d known this, he raised his eyebrows. “Who got the jump on you?”

  “An electronics thief who wanted to turn Miami Beach into his own personal illegal superstore for assorted bad guys. Still have the scar on my upper thigh.”

  That would have been Romildo Ramirez. “And how did he make out?”

  Her gaze raked him. “Not as well as you obviously did.”

  “Just a scratch for me, I’ll admit. But still a rather rude end to a lovely dinner.”

  “Who’d want to shoot you over dinner?”

  “That’s what I want you to find out.”

  “Dinner with whom? About what?”

  All business, this one. Something else he’d known—a quality that was good for his case, though maybe not for his libido. “Is there any chance of you calling me Remy?”

  Her vivid green eyes flashed. “No.”

  “We’re going to be pretty…intimate over the next couple of weeks.”

  “We’re going to be close professionally. Close and intimate are two different things. Dinner—who and what?”

  She didn’t trust him at all. Smart woman. “I was having dinner with a female friend. A personal female friend,” he clarified, though he was sure she’d figured that already. “She enjoys my taste in wine and new restaurants. My interest in art, frankly, baffles her, but then we don’t often go into deep discussions about light and symmetry.”

  Jade smirked. “I’m sure.”

  “She’s a charming companion when I’m between buying trips. Or, for our purposes, between cases.”

  “Which you are now?”

  “For the most part. I’d just started on some research for a new project.”

  “So this shooting is personal?”

  “I think so.”

  She stopped, glancing at him. “Related to your past.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “I have several people in mind.”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “Thieves?”

  She would never understand his past. He resisted the urge to sigh. He knew this, after all. “They all have illegal connections.”

  “Have any of them threatened you? Do any of them know what you do now?”

  “My cover is secure, and getting shot is pretty threatening.” Holding up the videotape he’d procured a few hours ago, he crossed the room to the VCR and popped the cassette in. “Maybe this will help.”

  “The tape of the shooting? Lucas said you—” She stopped as he walked back toward her.

  She glared up at him, and he could tell she didn’t like his proximity or their size difference. He was a solid six-two, whereas she was only five-seven.

  “How did you get the tape?” she asked.

  He returned to his seat on the sofa, leaning against the cushions and laying one arm along the back. His effort at casualness was deliberate, since he felt anything but. Both the shooting and the woman who stood so close had knocked him dangerously askew. “From the police.”

  “They just handed over a copy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She looked disgusted. “If we’re going to do this, you can’t just swipe anything you want.”

  “Why not?” he asked reasonably, though when she opened her mouth to no doubt tell him why, he continued, “I made a copy and returned the original.”

  “Is that where you’ve been the last twelve hours?”

  “How do you know I’ve been gone twelve hours?”

  “’Cause I’ve been here nearly that long.” She dropped onto the opposite end of the sofa and propped her feet—encased in dark green alligator boots—on the coffee table.

  “I only spent a small part of that time at the police station. Their security is shockingly lax.”

  “I bet you say that about everyone.”

  “True.”

  Anxious to view the tape himself, Remy pressed the play button on the remote. The digital timer in the upper right-hand corner allowed him to fast-forward to the moment he was interested in, though later he’d watch the hour before the shooting to look for any details that might be relevant.

  At 7:52 p.m., a white male with dark-brown hair, about five-ten in height and dressed in a waiter’s uniform, walked out of the French doors to Remy’s right. Holding a bread basket to conceal his gun, he headed straight to Remy’s table, but at about five feet from his target, another waiter crossed his path, bumping into him and knocking the basket to the floor. The other waiter knelt to clean up the mess as the shooter directed his attention to Remy. Then, in either a panic or a rage, he fired off two shots.

  Remy yanked his date under the table as the shooter leaped over the low brick wall surrounding the patio and disappeared from view.

  He remembered well his heart hammering, his arm burning and his thoughts racing. He’d tried to block out the panicked shouts and cries as he palmed the .22 pistol he carried concealed in an ankle holster, quickly returning the weapon to its hiding place when he realized no more shots were coming. The waiter who’d knocked into the shooter had crawled beneath the table to check on them, and Remy had the presence of mind and training to morph into a shocked and outraged art executive as the police were called and he and his date were sent to the hospital.

  Jade asked for the remote, and he handed it to her without comment. She ran the tape back three times before asking, “Do you make a habit of eating at this restaurant?”

  “I’ve never been there, though I did make a reservation two days before.”

  “Do you often sit outside at restaurants?”

  “Hardly ever in February. But there was a live band, a number of heaters, and my companion pleaded.”

  “You don’t know the shooter I take it.”

  “Never seen him before, and the tape is pretty grainy. We can try running his image through the usual channels, though.”

  “Let the police chase that. He doesn’t seem like a professional.”

  Remy agreed—and all the more reason the shooting didn’t make sense. “Rather lousy aim.”

  “
And the whole plan was bad. Too risky, too public.” She angled her head. “Unless the intent was simply a warning.”

  He nodded. He’d considered that, as well. In fact, given his suspect short list, it was likely.

  “Who would hire such an incompetent idiot?”

  “Somebody desperate, equally stupid or very, very clever.”

  She glanced at him for the first time since the tape started.

  “I’d feel better if it had been a good hit.”

  He was nearly sure she didn’t mean a successful attempt on his life. Still, he agreed. The clumsiness of the whole business was somehow more chilling. It was out of place and unfamiliar in their world.

  The intrigue and danger they lived with day-to-day made them suspicious of everyone, unable to trust, and forced them to distance themselves from most people. As a result, they were paranoid. And very careful.

  But he’d made mistakes in his past. He’d already paid for some and there was one whose bill seemed to finally be due.

  “I need everything you have on your date and the people you believe are behind the shooting.”

  “Got it.” He reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a minidisk, then handed it to her. He was interested in what she’d come up with. More than him? Or at least something different? He was nearly positive who was responsible, but he needed to be sure before he risked revealing details about his past to Jade and her team. “My date’s clean, though.”

  She glanced at the disk before setting it on the table in front of them. “Part of your mercy mission?”

  “I had to stash her somewhere until I can figure out what’s going on.”

  “Where?”

  “Puerto Rico—a lovely resort and spa.”

  “How’d you get her there?”

  “My LearJet.”

  “You have a private plane?”

  He liked the way her eyes turned hot when she was annoyed. He wondered what they looked like when she was aroused. “Mmm. It’s handy.”

  “Bought on your government salary?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it.”

  Though his heart pounded, he watched her with the appearance of calm. The Arrow probably never stepped outside the lines. “Perhaps I bought it with my ill-gotten gains. Maybe everything I have is tainted with greed and deception.”