Free Hard Target by Tibby Armstrong Page A

later, wrapped in darkness, stars winking overhead, she awoke to the murmur of male voices.
    “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Günter’s question penetrated her sleep-hazed mind first.
    Alex held still.
    “Do I have a choice?” Simon had his back to her. The men sat in the kitchen area, the counter lighting outlining their shadowed forms.
    “If the museum catches you…”
    “I already called Ryan. It’s a black bag disavow mission, but they’re willing to work with me to deactivate the security system in that section.”
    He’d called Ryan without consulting her? How did he even have the agent’s number? Fuck. He’d hacked her cell.
    Simon unrolled a piece of paper and shone a penlight on it. “I need a closer look at the way the frame is fastened to the painting. You wanted something I’m not an expert at? This would be it.”
    Günter seemed to consider the paper, probably a blueprint of the gallery housing the Picasso.
    “I’d say if you found out who their phone people are…responded to a trouble call about ninety minutes before shift change…you could hide out in one of the wiring closets until closing time. It’d allow you to bring your tools. Disable the alarm and circumvent the camera feed so Alex could get the dummy frame inside.” Günter sighed. “You really should wake her. Let her work with you to figure this out.”
    “Are you on her side now?” Though Simon kept his voice to a whisper, agitation screamed from every syllable.
    Alex curled her fingers into the sheet, clutching the fabric tight.
    “I’m not on her side. I just don’t want to see you make the same mistakes I made.” Regret couldn’t have been more obvious if it’d been lit in neon above Günter’s head. “Look. I know I haven’t asked, but would you like to tell me exactly what happened? Between you and her?”
    “I’m still not sure what happened myself. I came out of the shower one evening to a posse of FBI agents in my apartment. They’d thoroughly trashed the place.” Simon tilted his kitchen stool on two legs and kept a grip with one hand on the table. “My boss was with them, holding my personal laptop.”
    Alex pictured Simon’s old third-floor walkup. A plethora of books and artwork scavenged from old books and magazines brightened the faded wallpaper and gloomy lighting. He’d made her tea and coffee in chipped china cups. She’d cherished the worn china simply because he found them interesting enough to collect for her at the Sunday flea markets they enjoyed. He wanted something feminine to make her feel at home when she came over, he’d said.
    “Alex had gone out for a bit. To the store for some things we needed for dinner. She was gone way too long. I’d just given her the key to my place the week before…” Simon peered into the bottom of his beer bottle before draining the dregs. “I didn’t see her again until my trial.”
    “Did you try to contact her?” Günter asked.
    “No.” He turned his head toward where Alex lay shrouded in darkness. “What would’ve been the point?”
    Alex fought a stab of pain at the remembrance. The weeks she’d waited for a letter, an explanation, or even a simple invitation to visit him. But it’d never come. Then, she’d tried to see him. It’d been hard enough walking through the doors of the Metropolitan Correctional Center, but sitting in the exposed lobby when she heard from a guard Simon never wanted to see her again? That had been humiliation and heartbreak rolled into one.
    “Don’t you think maybe someone else could’ve planted those files on your laptop? Even remotely?” Gun broke into Alex’s ugly memories, washing them away.
    “I suppose, but she had my laptop password and my key.”
    Günter paused, beer bottle halfway to his lips. “How’d that come about? She must’ve nicked it. But you knew?”
    “My password?” Simon laughed, a warm sound. “Yeah. We both got paranoid about one another pretty quick. I hacked into