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Spencer gave her a polite smile. “Just one. When do I start?”
“After you tell me what this note says.”
Frowning, he took the paper she handed him. “Is this a test?”
“Consider it part of the application process. Your résumé says that you’re fluent in written and spoken Arabic—but people have been known to exaggerate. I’d like a brief demonstration of your abilities, if you wouldn’t mind.” Toni sat back and crossed her arms.
“Right.” Spencer looked down at the handwritten Arabic scrawl. “Uh, I don’t think you’re going to like what this says.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it basically states if you move forward with this charity trip, they’ll kill you.”
“Really?” She snorted and shook her head. “You’d think they’d be more original after all this time. Any specific group named?”
“No.” He scowled. The death threat was disturbing, but since she didn’t seem bothered by it, he was able to put his concerns to the side and focus on therestof what the note said. Specifically, the part where it mentioned the e-readers her father had donated to the charity and how if she delivered them to Jubail, there’d be all-out jihad. Was this just an attempt at repression, as she had suggested, or was it an attempt to stop the spread of intel to terrorists? He couldn’t be certain—but he was more sure than ever that heneededto be on this trip. Somehow, in some way, shit was going to hit the fan—and he had to be there to get answers when it did.
As he read over the note one more time, something else caught his eye. “There’s a little doodle drawn near the bottom.”
Spencer held the paper up to try to decipher what the design was—it looked familiar. One small circle with an A in the middle. Wait, no. Not an A. A rifle and a machete and a crossbow. The insignia of Miles Arrieta, one of the most notorious criminals on the planet, and—
Glass shattered—the window—and then the vase of gardenias on the side table exploded. Shards and water flew everywhere.
Someone was shooting at them.
2
He acted on well-trained instinct, diving across the desk and tackling Toni to the ground, shielding her with his body. The cloying smell of the gardenias tickled his nose. He could feel her shaking. She’d been so calm seconds before when discussing threats, but he wasn’t surprised that the real danger had gotten under her skin. Nothing could truly prepare someone for the first time they found themself in the line of fire. It was stomach-churningly awful, and he hated that she was having to experience it. Her hands were clutching at the front of his shirt, fingers digging in. He slid one of his hands over hers, twining their fingers together and offering what little comfort he could, wondering if she was even aware enough to feel it or if she was in shock.
But then she squeezed his hand, and when he met her eyes, they were clear and focused. Oh, she looked scared—as well she should. Fear was a perfectly normal and rational response to an attack like this. But she hadn’t let the fear drag her under. She was still with him—still holding herself together in a situation where absolutely no one would blame her for falling apart.
His estimation of her went up another notch.
The shots had stopped. Spencer rolled off her and raised his head slightly to survey the area. At the moment, all seemed clear. He signaled for her to stay put, then pushed up onto his knees. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark silhouette on the rooftop of the building across the street—the shooter retreating.
If he’d done his goddamn job and done a full scan of the office when he’d entered, including checking sightlines out the window, would he have noticed the shooter before? He couldn’t be sure, but he was pissed with himself for falling short. This was what happened when you got distracted by a beautiful woman—situational awareness went right down the toilet. Grumbling, he stood and made sure the coast was clear, then extended a hand to help her up. The same dazzling spark jolted through him at her touch, but this time it made him frown. He couldn’t let his attraction to her distract him anymore. It wouldn’t end well for either one of them.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by the receptionist sticking her head in. The color drained from her face as she took in the shattered window and vase. “I heard a crash, but I had no idea… Are you all right, Ms. Williams? Should I call the police?”
“Yes,” Spencer said, “right away. Tell them that there were three shots fired by a sniper positioned on the roof of the building across the street.” He walked over to inspect the bullet hole in the wall, then squinted across the room. “From the trajectory and size of the entry point, I’d say your assailant used a Dragunov SVD. Most likely a well-trained Russian marksman. Or a Middle Eastern–based terrorist. Either way, this was someone experienced.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened, and Spencer realized that that had maybe been a lot of information to unload on a civilian. She looked more scared than Toni, even though Toni was the one who’d come within inches of being shot.
Toni turned toward the door with a comforting smile. “Paige, give us a moment, please. Thank you.” Paige shot Spencer a wary look before exiting.
“Well, then.” Toni straightened her blouse and skirt before resuming her seat, her expression prim as a church lady on Sunday. “So, that happened.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed, “it did. Was that the first time you’ve been attacked?”
“By a sniper? Yes. There have been issues before—rocks or garbage thrown at me, bomb threats at places where I’m staying, verbal attacks in the media—but a shooting is…new.”
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice dropping automatically into a gentler register. She met his eyes with a smile that only shook the tiniest bit at the edges.
“I will be. Thanks to you. I appreciate the quick action.” She let out a rueful chuckle. “And here I thought I was testing you with a little Arabic. I wish I’d known that a bigger test was on its way.”
“Ma’am, I know—”
“Toni.”
