Aim for the Heart Read online

  "Dr. Lemay."

  He crossed his arms in front of her and lifted her from her feet. Holding her off the floor, he backed away from the window. Broken porcelain and slivers of wood crunched beneath his shoes. He stopped when he reached the center of the room. "Is this far enough?"

  "Yes."

  He set her back on her feet. He loosened his hold but he didn't let her go. His arms encircled her as if she were fragile and feminine, as if she didn't have Weltzer's rifle slung from her shoulder or her own handgun still clutched in her fingers. As if they hadn't both just watched a man die. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "No problem. How about you?"

  "Fine."

  "The emergency personnel on the sidewalk will see which window he fell from," she said. "Help should arrive any minute. We'll stay put until they get here."

  "I can't believe how fast…Sarah, are you sure you're all right?"

  She dropped her head back against Hawk's shoulder, inhaling deeply, fighting to stem the horror that was curling inside her. Oh, she wanted to stay right where she was and soak in his warmth. She wanted to embrace the fact that they were both still alive and to hell with her duty. It was almost over, anyway.

  Yes, it was almost over. And that was good.

  So why did she feel like crying?

  * * *

  Hawk turned over his shirt in his hands and looked at the bullet hole in the side. He'd been hit when he'd tackled Sarah. It had been like getting punched in the side by a pile driver. The vest had stopped the shot, but his ribs hurt like hell. Sarah would know how that felt. It had happened to her on her previous mission.

  "Lift your arms, please."

  The paramedic spoke English. Hawk did as he said, allowing the man to probe the area of the bruise. Hawk ignored the discomfort and moved his gaze to Sarah.

  They had been brought to the hotel manager's windowless ground-floor office while the police conducted their investigation. The interrogation of Sarah and Hawk had been brief—their assailant had been positively identified as Weltzer, and the evidence made it obvious what had happened. Still, Sarah had insisted on an armed escort before she had agreed to leave the bullet-riddled suite for this office. Only then had she requested medical help.

  She was sitting on the edge of the manager's desk, her feet propped on the seat of a chair. Her skirt was hiked to her hips to allow the other paramedic to disinfect the wound on her thigh.

  "Your ribs do not appear broken, Dr. Lemay." The first paramedic pulled off his gloves and stepped back from Hawk. "An ice pack should reduce the swelling. Would you like something for the pain?"

  Hawk shook his head as he lowered his arms. He wasn't sure he could trust his voice. He hadn't realized Sarah had been injured until they had left the suite and the light from the corridor had revealed the rip in her skirt and the blood on her thigh.

  The sight of her blood had been like another pile-driver blow to his chest. The paramedics had said the cut wasn't deep enough to require stitches. Only the top layer of skin had been broken. Weltzer's blade had merely grazed her since his intended target had been Hawk.

  This time she hadn't stepped in the way of a bullet, she'd stepped in the way of a knife. She had saved his life. Again. She had been hurt because of him.

  Hawk heard fabric tear. He looked down and saw he had pushed his fist through his shirt.

  The door to the office swung open. The corridor bustled with activity as firemen withdrew. The hotel staff had begun allowing people to return to their rooms several minutes ago. The damage from the fire had been minor and was confined to the basement. The conference events would continue. Life was resuming its normal routine, almost as if nothing had happened.

  One of the hotel security guards entered and walked over to Sarah. He spoke for a few moments in Swedish, then left.

  Sarah pressed her lips together briefly before she looked at Hawk. "They found the two police officers who had been stationed outside our room," she said. "They were on the roof near the place where Weltzer had fastened his rappelling rope. They had both been shot."

  "How…" Hawk cleared his throat. His voice was so rough he didn't recognize it. "How are they?"

  "Dead."

  He felt a cry build in his chest. It was rage mixed with helplessness. And guilt. Remorse grew thick enough to choke him. "They were trying to protect me. Just like you."

  "That was their job," she said. She waited until the paramedic finished smoothing a row of sterile adhesive strips over her thigh to close the wound before she spoke again. "They knew the risks. It's not your fault, so don't feel guilty."

  It didn't surprise him that she knew what he was feeling. She was an intelligent, perceptive woman. Yet her sympathy didn't ease the guilt, it made it worse.

  Sarah was hurt and two men were dead because of him. No, three men were dead. Weltzer had been scraped off the cobblestones because Hawk had knocked him through the window.

  But he couldn't feel guilty over Weltzer. The man would have killed him and Sarah.

  But Weltzer was only doing what he perceived as his job, too. Someone else had given the orders.

  "I understand what you're going through, sir." Sarah slid from the desk and twitched her bloodstained skirt into place. "Every soldier goes through it whenever there are casualties on a mission. It's healthy to feel regret, but don't feel you were solely responsible for what happened." Her voice softened. "We all choose our own paths in life. We can't control the choices other people make."

  She was right. Hawk should know how useless it was to attempt to control other people. The policemen and Weltzer. Sarah. Faith. They had chosen their paths themselves and he hadn't been able to influence them.

  What made him think he could influence Jibril or his country? Or the direction of history?

  He'd been a fool. An arrogant fool. He'd thought he had a duty to make sure no one suffered because of his research, but people were already dying.

  What good was a speech in the face of that? Nothing he said would have the power to influence every choice of every politician and bureaucrat and industrialist.

  The truth was, Hawk was just an ordinary man.

  He raked his hands through his hair. It had all seemed so clear two days ago.

  Sarah said a few words to the paramedics as they packed up their gear, then moved to where Hawk stood. Hesitantly, as if she couldn't help herself, she reached up to smooth his hair. "Our belongings have been moved to another room in a different wing of the hotel. If you're ready, I'll ask the police officers in the corridor to escort us there."

  Hawk shrugged on what was left of his shirt, then cupped Sarah's cheek in his palm. They had agreed not to touch each other unless it was necessary, but dammit, this was necessary. So was the way he'd held her in his arms until the police had arrived at the suite. He looked into her eyes, drinking in the familiar strength in her steady gaze. "I'm sorry you were hurt."

  "I'll be all right. It was only a scratch." She wavered, as if she were fighting the urge to lean into his caress. She didn't lean in, yet she didn't pull away, either. "Your ribs are going to ache for a few days."

  "They're not as bad as your shoulder must have been." He brushed his thumb across her temple. "Sarah, saying thank-you doesn't seem enough. You saved my life."

  "All part of the job, sir."

  He moved his hand to her throat, placing his fingers over the pulse beneath her ear. It was racing like his. He knew much of it was a reaction to their brush with death. An effect of tension.

  But there had to be more to what he felt than circumstance. Something was happening between them, something he wished they had the time to explore. Because despite the scientific knowledge he held, he was just a man. And beneath her training and her duty, Sarah was just a woman.

  Why couldn't everything be that simple?

  Chapter 7

  Sarah didn't know whether she wanted to praise Hawk's courage or weep over it. Weltzer was dead, but whoever had hired him was still out
there. Until they discovered who it was, the threat wouldn't be over.

  Yet Hawk had refused to cancel his appearance. He betrayed no fear as he rose from his seat at the front of the ballroom and approached the dais. A murmur spread through the crowd. News of the deliberately set fire and the attempt on Hawk's life had leaked to the media. Until now the conference hadn't received much coverage—the bulk of the business here had been done in private meetings—but arson and intrigue had changed that. Television crews were set up in front of the hotel and in the lobby. Although no cameras had been allowed into the ballroom, reporters with notepads and tape recorders were lining the walls and crowding the aisles in a way that Sarah found alarming.

  They weren't worried about Hawk's safety. They were hoping for a story. If the confusion that their presence created allowed another attempt to be made on Hawk's life, they wouldn't care. They would likely be pleased. Blood would make better headlines than scientific theories.

  Sarah shifted her position, dividing her attention between the necessity of scanning the room and her desire to watch Hawk. He was holding up well for a civilian who had been under fire. The bruise over his ribs had to be painful but he hadn't uttered a word of complaint. His only concern had been for her and for the families of the slain police officers.

  The violence had hit him hard. That's because he was a brilliant and sensitive man. Yet he was no coward. He hadn't hesitated to fight at her side as fiercely as any of the warriors she knew. The nightmare moments of Weltzer's assault flashed through her mind, but she blocked them out. For Hawk's sake she had to keep her head clear.

  But what about her heart? That wasn't clear at all.

  Hawk shook hands with the conference chairman and moved behind the podium. He'd cleaned himself up and changed into a fresh suit. On the surface he looked calm, but Sarah knew the calm was deceptive. She could see the hardness in his jaw and the determined light in his eyes. His knuckles paled as he gripped the edge of the lectern.

  That's when Sarah realized he carried no notes. She was momentarily puzzled—he'd spent half the night preparing his speech and had been working on his computer right up to the time they had been escorted from their new hotel room to the ballroom—but the moment he started to talk she realized this couldn't have been the speech he'd intended to give.

  "Three men died here today," Hawk said. "They died because someone wants to stop an idea." His voice was steady, as strong as his grip on the lectern. A hush fell over the room. His gaze traveled across the audience. "I have dedicated the past decade and a half of my life to this idea. I believed it was my responsibility to guard it and nurture it slowly until the world was prepared to accept it. I wanted to stop the bloodshed that has been caused by the struggle for resources, not cause more."

  Sarah felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to tell Hawk again he wasn't to blame. He'd only been doing what he saw as his duty. She understood that. Oh, yes, she understood duty all too well. She swallowed hard and continued her scan of the room.

  "Three men died," Hawk repeated, "because I am only months away from perfecting the technology that promises the world a safe, affordable, environmentally sustainable source of energy."

  The audience stirred, obviously surprised to learn Hawk was so close. Sarah focused on Jibril and the knots of OPEC representatives, observing their reactions. Predictably, they didn't look pleased. Neither did the balding Russian physicist, Yegdenovich. Earl Drucker, on the other hand, was sitting bolt upright with interest.

  "I was concerned about the problems that would arise by introducing this knowledge too soon," Hawk said. "But today I realized that I was wrong. If I die, the knowledge that I'm guarding will die with me."

  Scattered murmurs spread through the crowd. Sarah felt the nape of her neck prickle. What was Hawk trying to do? Paint a bigger bull's-eye on his back?

  Hawk slapped his hands against the lectern. "It ends now. Here. Tonight. I don't have the wisdom or the right to decide how you will use my discoveries. I can't control your choices. Therefore, I have come before you to announce that twenty minutes ago I uploaded the entire body of my work to the Internet."

  The murmurs grew. Several people rose from their chairs. Sarah pressed her finger over the radio receiver in her ear. The news crews in the lobby must be listening through a live link. They were clamoring for the security guards to let them inside.

  "My research is now available free of charge on the Web sites of every major university in the world," Hawk continued, raising his voice to be heard above the crowd. "It is up to others to complete what I have started. I sincerely wish you all success." He bowed crisply. "Thank you and good night."

  More people got to their feet as the import of Hawk's words sank in. Looks of shock were giving way to amazement in some, distress in others. Jibril and the OPEC contingent rose as a block and walked out of the room. The diplomats who remained were gathering into huddles. Yegdenovich was slapping his neighbor on the back like an elated schoolboy. Reporters sprinted for the exits or had their cell phones out and were talking furiously.

  Sarah moved her hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers over her lips. Good God. Hawk had just given it away. The Defense Department had wanted exclusive rights to this research. A Texas oil tycoon had been prepared to pay a fortune for it. Someone had been willing to kill Hawk to stop its progress.

  And now it was on the Internet where any kid with a computer could find it.

  This was incredible. After all Hawk's effort, all those years of dedication and personal investment in his work, he'd just…let it go. Did he realize what he'd done?

  Hawk turned his head, his gaze skimming over the audience until he zeroed in on Sarah. The sadness in his expression took her breath away.

  My work is my life.

  For the second time that day, Sarah felt like crying.

  Yes, she thought. He realized exactly what he'd done. Dr. Hawkins Lemay could have had a place in history as the man who made fusion power a reality. Instead he'd publicly invited others to complete what he'd started. He'd sacrificed his personal ambition to ensure his dream was shared with the world.

  Near the front of the crowd, someone began to applaud. The sound spread. Anyone not already on their feet rose to join the rest of the audience. Cameramen and photographers pushed their way into the ballroom. The receiver in Sarah's ear flooded with chatter as the situation spiraled out of control.

  She blinked to clear her vision and started toward the dais, threading her way through the people who were pressing forward. She had anticipated defending Hawk against one assassin attempting to kill him, not a crowd of hundreds vying to congratulate him.

  Hawk acknowledged the ovation with another bow, shook hands with the dazed-looking conference chairman and left the podium. He met Sarah at the bottom of the stairs. Reporters shouted questions. Microphones were thrust toward his face. He ignored them all and kept his gaze on Sarah.

  That's when she realized the rest of what he'd done. By publishing his research, he'd neutralized the threat to his life. No one had anything to gain by his death.

  In all probability her mission was over.

  And that was good. That was what she wanted.

  Wasn't it?

  * * *

  Hawk picked up the bottle of aquavit and rotated it in his hands, noting the way the clear liquid clung to the glass, forming sheets of tears. It was excellent quality, courtesy of the Theoretical Physics Department of the University of Uppsala. It had been delivered within an hour of his speech. A case of vodka had arrived next, a token of appreciation from Fedor Yegdenovich and his friends at the University of Moscow. Several other institutions had wired flowers, but Hawk had refused to accept them. Somehow he didn't feel like celebrating. He'd had the hotel redirect the flowers to the local hospitals.

  He splashed another drink into his glass, thumped the bottle down on the side table and leaned back on the sofa. Even though it was in a different wing of the hotel, this suite was almost ide
ntical to the last one, including the uncomfortable antique furniture. Hawk was still waiting for the aquavit to do its job—how long would it take before this tapestry-covered rack would feel comfortable? It was an interesting problem. Had anyone thought to research it?

  How much alcohol did a healthy, thirty-five-year-old man weighing 198 pounds need to consume to deaden his synapses to the point where an antique sofa would feel like a hammock and it no longer hurt to think? Variables would include the rate of consumption, the stomach contents prior to consumption, the subject's fatigue level, the quality of the alcohol and, of course, the reason for it all.

  Yes, that would be the crucial factor. That was why Hawk still felt stone-cold sober.

  "It's as you anticipated." Sarah put down the telephone. "Interpol has just confirmed that the contract on your life has been lifted. They claim their source is reliable."

  He nodded.

  "I'm still waiting to hear back from Major Redinger. He's in transit and can't be reached until he arrives at his destination, but I've been in touch with my colleagues in Intelligence. Delta's informants agree with Interpol. The danger appears to be over. By publicizing your research, you eliminated the motive to kill you."

  Hawk touched the rim of his glass to his lips. The way to drink aquavit was with one quick swallow. Swift and neat. Without time for hesitation or second thoughts.

  Perhaps that was the best way to do anything. Like drinking. Or giving away a lifetime of work. Or knocking a man through a window to his death.

  "The police are continuing to investigate. They're trying to trace the assault gear Weltzer used, as he didn't usually operate that way. They're hoping that will lead back to the person who hired him." Sarah walked to the low bench where she'd left her suitcase, her bare feet whispering over the carpet. She had taken off her shoes sometime before midnight. She had discarded her suit jacket and her vest hours before that. Yet even barefoot and disheveled, she had a poise that fascinated him, that he couldn't get enough of.

  Hawk tipped back his head and tossed the aquavit down his throat.