Iris Johansen - Final Target

She had known the chances were slim, but she'd had to try. "I mean it. I'll do anything. Think about it. There must be something you want done that no one else is willing to do. It's not often you get an offer like that."

"It's hard not thinking about it." His gaze narrowed on her face. "I can see I'm going to have to keep my eye on you. You're entirely too single-minded on this issue. You just might decide to make a call to Andreas."

Jesus, he was sharp. "If you've talked to Travis, you know that's not an option."

"I'm not so sure…" He shrugged. "Go back inside. I don't want to take the chance of anyone seeing you. People remember good-looking women. I have to check with my guys in the woods."

She smothered her despair as she watched him walk away. It had been a long shot, but she had been willing to try it. Okay, so it hadn't worked. She would just have to think of something else before Travis got back.

If he came back. The impression she had gotten was that Travis's "business" was not safe. His life had never been safe, and there was no reason to expect it to change now. It was possible he wouldn't come back. He could be killed or sent on the run. All her worry might be for nothing. He might abandon them if his life was on the line.

He wouldn't abandon them. As much as she resented and feared him, she knew he would keep his promise to Jessica. Christ, how she wished he wouldn't do it. The dominoes were falling faster, and she couldn't seem to stop them.

Stay away, Travis. Don't come back.

Please, don't come back.

"At last." Jan van der Beck gave Travis a bear hug. "It's about time you came and took over the reins. I'm too old for this."

Travis laughed as he returned the hug and then stepped back. "You weren't too old to chase after that pretty little Italian countess six months ago. Is she going with you on your cruise?"

"There's a possibility. She has a daughter, in case you're interested. I understand the woman even has a modicum of brains. Though I never understood why you make that a requisite. Stupidity is so much more relaxing." He started toward the playground a short distance away. "Where are the goods?"

"My jacket pocket." He fell into step with Jan. "You weren't followed?"

"Is the student questioning the teacher now? I'm never followed when I don't want to be." He glanced at Travis, whose gaze was scanning the surrounding trees. "You don't believe me. I'm insulted."

"Sorry. It's habit. I've had to be a bit cautious in the past several months."

"And now also, evidently. That fake mustache definitely does not suit you."

"I thought it wouldn't hurt. One of Galen's sources told him my picture was ordered to be circulated to every police officer in Amsterdam. Let's hope they haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Well, they won't expect you to be strolling in a place as public as this." He thought about it. "Maybe."

"Thanks for being so comforting. Is that the phone booth where we're supposed to leave the package for Karlstadt?"

Jan nodded. "The minute we're sure the money's in the waste can."

"Which waste can?"

"The red one by the front gate." He grinned. "The one being discreetly monitored by the bearded man by the cotton-candy stand. I told you Karlstadt would be anxious."

Travis glanced at the man Jan had indicated. Good-looking, blond hair, full face, beard. As he watched, the man casually folded his newspaper and strolled over to a bench by the gate. He frowned. "There's something familiar about him."

"How can you tell with that bush on his face? It's got to be as phony as your mustache."

"I don't know. It's just…something." He shrugged. "I may have run into him before if he's a hired gun."

"Possibly. Are you worried enough to walk away?"

Was he worried? He was always worried when an unexpected element appeared in a deal. Yet familiarity was not recognition…"I guess not."

"Good," Jan said. "I want the deal done. I don't think Karlstadt's man will try to stop us as long as he sees us make the exchange. And Karlstadt knows you're holding back half of the goods."

"Let's get it over with and get you on that cruise." He waited until the crowd around the playground entrance had dispersed before strolling toward the red waste can, keeping one eye on the man by the stand. "A department store shopping bag?"

"Right. De Bijenkorf's."

The shopping bag was jammed to one side of the can, the top stuffed with newspaper. So far, so good. While Jan blocked him from view, he retrieved it and moved quickly toward the phone booth. "Come on, Jan. I can practically see you walking up that gangplank now. You've got it ma-"

A popping sound.

Silencer.

Shit.

He dove for the ground as he reached for his gun. "Down, Jan."

"Too…late." Jan was falling. "My…leg. Run, Michael."

The blond man was sprinting toward them with a gun drawn.

Another shot.

The bullet whistled by Travis's ear as he rolled over in the grass. He got off a shot.

The blond man faltered, blood sprouting high on his shoulder. But he was almost on top of Jan. He grabbed Jan's shirt, jerking him to a kneeling position, then pressed the gun to Jan's temple. "Throw down the gun and pitch me the money, Travis."

"Screw you. Let him go, or you'll have a bullet in your brain before you can press the trigger."

"Do what I say and I won't kill him. I'm actually grateful to van der Beck. He's been very helpful. Give me the money and I'll let him live." His finger tightened on the trigger. "Even though you've caused me no end of trouble, I'll even let you live for a while. Your usefulness isn't at an end yet."

"You're lying. You won't do it. There are witnesses all over the place."

"I dislike witnesses, but I'll make an exception. Look at my face."

The cold son of a bitch would kill him. He threw him the shopping bag. "I'm putting down the gun. Now back away from him."

"Very wise." He glanced over his shoulder as he heard a commotion at the gate. Several security guards were racing toward them. He smiled. "Never mind. I'd love to stretch this out, but it seems we're about to be interrupted. Next time."

He shot Jan in the head.

"No!"

Agony twisted through Travis as he watched Jan's blood and brains splatter on the grass. " Jan!"

Dead.

And the man who had done it was streaking down the path toward the street.

Travis grabbed his gun, leapt to his feet, and raced after him. He could hear the shouts of the security guards behind him.

Another shot. This one not muffled by a silencer.

Who was shooting?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was catching the man running ahead of him and killing the son of a bitch.

Stinging pain.

Something warm and wet running down his side.

Keep running.

The man had reached the street and was ducking into a small Volvo.

Travis lifted his gun but couldn't get a clear shot as the Volvo pulled away from the curb.

Gone. Rage tore through him as he watched the car screech around the corner.

Shouts behind Travis. Another shot.

Get away. Find the son of a bitch later.

He ran across the street, down the alley, and then around the corner. His car was parked four blocks away. Reach it. Get back to the farmhouse.

Streaks of pain ripped through him. Murder. Jan's head exploding.

Don't think about it yet.

Get back to the farmhouse.

Jan…

"Get me a first aid kit, Melissa." Galen flung open the door and helped Travis into the kitchen. "The stupid ass got himself shot. I knew I should have gone with him."

"Shot?" Melissa felt her heart jerk. "Bad?"

"A bullet wound is never good." Galen lowered Travis gently into a chair. "It only grazed his ribs, but he's lost some blood."