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“Keep an eye on him,” he ordered. “If he’s as smart as the file shows, he’ll be trying to get information out of Ms. Anderson in no time. He does that, you bring them both to me.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
Bradshaw glared. “Did you get a promotion I’m not aware of?”
“Um… No, sir.”
“And you’re never going to if you keep asking stupid questions.”
With that, Bradshaw slapped the file back into the agent’s hands and moved off down the hall.
* * *
Across the plaza, Kurt sat beside Hayley as a paramedic treated her for a number of scrapes and abrasions and then checked them both for shock.
In the midst of this treatment, a ranking detective from the Sydney Police Department grilled them about the event. What did they see? What did they hear? Why on earth did they do what they did?
“Look at the damage,” the captain said, pointing to the ruined façade of the Concert Hall. “You’re lucky the building was empty.”
Indeed, Kurt felt very lucky on that score. But he also felt he had little choice but to act. “Would you rather I’d just let them keep shooting?”
“I would rather…” the detective began, “… that both of you had stayed inside until proper tactical units arrived.”
Kurt understood that. Police were no different than any other group of trained individuals. Leave it to the professionals. Something Kurt would have been glad to do except there hadn’t really been any time. Besides, he was getting the feeling there had been other professionals on-site anyway.
“Next time,” he said, “I promise.”
“Next time?” the detective muttered. He shook his head, closed his book, and moved off to check with another witness.
Left alone for a moment, Kurt studied Hayley. “You’re a brave woman.”
She shook her head softly. “Not really. I just… Never mind.”
“You ran right through a hail of bullets to rescue a guy you’ve never seen before,” Kurt said. “That’s pretty much the definition of brave.”
“So did you,” she pointed out.
“True,” Kurt said. “But I thought the helicopter was out of the picture. You dragged that guy behind that planter while they were actually firing at him.”
She looked away. She’d been able to clean her face with a water-soaked cloth, but her dress remained tattered and covered in blood. The victim’s blood.
“A lot of good it did,” she said.
There was definite sadness there. More regret than one usually felt for an unknown man.
“How long were you waiting for him?” Kurt asked.
“What are you talking about?” she replied.
“You were sitting out here all by yourself,” he reminded her. “As soon as I showed up, you tried to get me back inside. I’m guessing you didn’t want me in the way because you were waiting to make contact with our friends in the boat. More than likely, they chose a public place where they figured they’d be safe. You chose a white dress so you’d be easy to spot when everyone else was wearing black or gray for the gala ball tonight. You sat out here on the wall so you could watch anyone approach.”
She tried to smile, but it looked forced.
“Either you hit your head very hard or you have an active imagination,” she said. “I’m here for the conference. The Muldoons are old family friends. I chose white because I like to stand out, and because it’s summer here, and because someone recently told me white is the new black.”
He shrugged and turned away. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe it is just an overactive imagination. Tell me, though, whatever happened to the papers?”
“What papers?”
