“What the fuck are you waiting for, Phoebe?” Through the scope she could see how his eyes flared. “You want me? You want to take me out? Do it!”
Panic threatened. He knew she was here. Jesse knew she was here. She stared through the scope. He was standing there with his arms spread wide, inviting her to do her job.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t shoot him. She looked through the scope at the face she’d come to care for and knew that no matter what that text had said, she couldn’t hurt him.
She was thoroughly and utterly compromised.
And he was just standing there. He was standing there making himself a huge target. What if there was a backup? It happened sometimes. Sometimes the person who sent the kill order would watch from nearby to make sure his or her order was followed and to bear witness to the act.
Or to deal with failure.
Where would Ten be? What the hell had he found that would cause him to place a kill order on Jesse? The only reason Ten would ever place a kill order was because he feared a coming attack.
Jesse wouldn’t attack anyone. Well, not anyone who didn’t trigger his very righteous PTSD.
Ten was wrong. Wrong. Jesse had to get out of here. He had to hide.
Just as she was about to shove the rifle aside and run to the balcony, there was the terrible sound of her door cracking open and a whole bunch of yelling.
Taggart was here. Her heart started racing and she had two choices. She could try to get away or try to warn Jesse.
She didn’t even think about it. She jumped from her sniper’s perch and ran through the open doors, her bare feet hitting the concrete of the balcony. She ran until she hit the railing.
“Get down! Get down!”
But she could see that he was already down, his body covered by a man in a dark suit. Simon. His partner had done his job. Ten wouldn’t take out Simon Weston. There would be too much fallout. She had some time to figure out what was going on. All she had to do was get away from Taggart and get to her brother.
“Give me one reason I don’t kill you right now,” a dark voice said.
Taggart was right behind her. From the sound of his voice he was still in the suite, but the door was open so it wouldn’t take more than two or three steps for him to get to her. Once he put hands on her, it would all be over. Shit. She put her hands in the air because she had zero doubt he would take any reason she gave him. So she needed to come up with something really fucking fast.
“It’s not what you think,” she said evenly. Calm. She needed to stay calm.
“I think you’re a liar, Phoebe, and I’m going to figure out what you’re doing here. Si, do you have that fucking maniac under control?” Tag asked.
“He’s not a maniac.” Sometimes she didn’t like the way Taggart talked to Jesse. Oh, she understood it on an intellectual level. It was a guy thing, but it bugged her because Jesse wasn’t crazy and he wasn’t stupid.
“Your opinion is not needed,” Taggart said.
She could see Simon touch his ear. He was likely telling Taggart that he would take care of things.
“You have to get them off the streets. There could be a backup.” She wasn’t going to prevaricate or play coy. Now that she was staring this thing in the face, she knew she’d been lying to herself for a long time. She didn’t know what had happened in Iraq, but she couldn’t be Jesse’s executioner and she couldn’t stand here and watch it happen either. “They’re in danger until you get them out of here.”
She knew her career was over with that one little piece of advice, but there was nothing else she could do.
“If you think I believe a word you say, you haven’t studied me hard enough. Turn around very slowly. I would deeply enjoy putting a couple of holes in you. I don’t like being played.”
Oh, but she’d enjoyed playing him. At least at first she had. He’d been a challenge and she’d needed it at the time. She’d enjoyed knowing things Taggart hadn’t known. She’d waited and watched for the moment his supposedly dead wife would return and get her revenge on him.
And she’d watched as they’d fallen in love again, her heart aching because she’d finally figured out that he hadn’t been the one to push Charlotte Taggart away. He’d been mourning her for years.
The way she mourned Jamie.
She stared out as Simon rolled off Jesse and started hauling him up. Jesse looked up, his eyes meeting hers.
She wanted to reach out to him, to talk to him, to beg his forgiveness.
He turned away as Simon hauled him into the restaurant. It didn’t escape her attention that they’d sat in that Mexican place for hours not weeks before, and for a little while she’d forgotten why she was there. She’d been Phoebe Graham, not Phoebe Grant, and she remembered the moment she’d leaned over and brushed her lips against his and it had been on the tip of her tongue to invite him to stay the night. She’d been ready to sleep with him. God, she’d been ready to cheat on her husband.