Free Secure Target (Elite Operators) by Rebecca Crowley Page A

him.
    “You’re a good man, Bronnik,” she said earnestly, her voice barely above a whisper.
    His lips quirked into a boyish half smile. “I’m getting there.”
     
     
    As Bronnik held up her coat so she could slide her arms into the sleeves, Lacey realized that for all of their serious conversation, they hadn’t discussed the plan for that afternoon.
    “What do we do now?”
    “More of the same. Keep giving Hardy chances, hoping we spot him just before he takes one. Any other stores you’d like to visit elsewhere in town? I think we’ve wreaked enough havoc at the mall for one day.”
    The idea of dragging him through another series of women’s clothing departments made her cringe. “What kinds of stores do you like?”
    He looked doubtful as he held open the door for her to pass through. “Bookstores, I guess. When they aren’t crowded. Mostly I hate shopping altogether.”
    She ran through a mental list of Topeka’s retail offerings as they walked to the car, when he suddenly volunteered behind her, “Actually, I have an idea.”
    She turned with a smile, but when she saw the figure lurching toward them from the other side of the parking lot, it slid from her face. She felt an old, familiar shame wash over her before it settled in the pit of her stomach.
    Harlen Cross was the same age as Bronnik, but years of hard living and perpetual dishonesty made him look at least a decade older. His staggering approach let his sister know he’d already managed to get drunk by early afternoon, which she found mildly surprising considering he’d been unemployed for months.
    He probably had another one of his sterling women in his life, happy to fork out cash to fund his thirst in exchange for his dubious charms. She hoped he hadn’t already knocked her up.
    “There you are.” His slurred holler rang across the empty lot. “So this is the guy? The one you decided you’d just get engaged to without bothering to tell your family?”
    Tilly. Of course.
    “Bronnik, I’m so sorry,” she whispered as her older brother made his way over, his oversized, ragged coat slipping off of one shoulder, his hair thinning and matted.
    She just caught Bronnik’s flash of confusion at her words before Harlen was upon them. He squared up to the police operative—who was a good three inches taller—and poked his finger in his chest.
    “Thought you could steal her away without telling anyone, huh? Thought you could just take her hand in marriage without asking her brother’s permission?”
    Lacey froze, poised for disaster, but Bronnik smiled calmly, if a little bemusedly, and extended his hand. “You must be Harlen. I’m Bronnik Mason. It’s a pleasure.”
    Harlen focused, with difficulty, on Bronnik’s hand, and then turned to Lacey, the slight movement leaving him swaying gently. “I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Couldn’t get an American guy to date you, I guess. Or is this one of them immigration scams so he can come over here and take jobs away from honest, hard-working citizens?”
    “What, like you?” she retorted. She instantly regretted her outburst and held up her palms, eager to defuse the situation and send Harlen on his inebriated way, when her older brother roughly grabbed her wrist.
    “Where’s the ring? Why ain’t you got a goddamn ring?” He looked at Bronnik. “Now I don’t speak French or wherever it is that you’re from, but I hope you know enough English to understand when I say you can’t propose without a ring. Only a no-good, cheap son of a bitch would expect something for nothing.”
    When he turned back to Lacey, his tone was scathing. “And only a whore would say yes.”
    Her temper bubbled over, but as she opened her mouth to tell him where to go he pulled back his hand, and she flinched preemptively, squeezing her eyes shut.
    But the blow never came.
    When she opened her eyes Harlen was facedown on the snowy asphalt. Bronnik had both of her brother’s wrists pinned