Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

protected and there were obvious exits, four of them. It led into the back workroom, which provided even more cover as well as another exit.
    He winced a little as Judith moved in front of the bank of windows, the lights exposing her exact position to anyone watching. He had to push down the desire to call her to him on some pretext, just to get her out from in front of those windows. She wasn’t in danger—yet—but she would be if Ivanov was close by. The man had no regard for life. He was a pure sociopath, and he loved his job. He lived for the killing of others. Stefan had long ago come to the conclusion that the man killed for enjoyment, not for duty. He wouldn’t see Judith’s brightness or her innocence and if he did, it wouldn’t matter. It might only add to his pleasure of taking her life.
    Stefan sighed. Before setting up a meeting with Frank Warner, he had slipped into Sea Haven a couple of weeks earlier and spent time there setting up for his mission. He had already walked through the village numerous times, familiarizing himself with every street and alley, every conceivable hiding place and escape route. He’d driven the highway again and again, investigating the side roads that led away from the sea until he knew he could run them in the dark at high speeds. He’d set up several escape routes and already secured a storage facility where he kept money and passports in various names.
    Petr Ivanov would come, if he hadn’t already. Stefan knew he’d been set up. One didn’t use his talents to babysit an old girlfriend on the unlikely chance that a prisoner the secret branch of the government was breaking out of a prison would elude the very agents helping him escape. That made no sense. His being in Sea Haven wasn’t about Judith Henderson or Jean-Claude La Roux—it was about finding Lev Prakenskii and eliminating him. And his handler would know Ivanov would have to kill him too. They couldn’t leave Stefan alive.
    He rubbed his temples. Why had they decided to retire a couple of their best operatives? Was there a purge going on for a reason? Had some reporter uncovered the truth about the “orphanages” that had really been schools to train agents and assassins. In the new government, with the alliances that had been formed, it might not be in the best interests of the country to have those schools discovered.
    “Headache?” Judith asked sympathetically. “I’ve got aspirin in the medicine cabinet.”
    She’d been watching him just as closely as he’d been observing her.
    “I think I’ll call it a night if you don’t mind. Too much traveling and not enough sleep.” It would give him another excuse to see her again after the tractor ride.
    “Of course I don’t mind.” Judith was as agreeable as he knew she’d be. He was a master manipulator, trained in the best schools, every lesson a life or death one. He had survived and someone like Judith had no chance against him. He tasted bitterness in his mouth and kept his eyes averted as she locked up the safe.

4
     
    THE moment Stefan stepped outside the gallery into the coolness of the night, he knew he was in the biggest trouble of his life. Maybe in for the biggest fight for his life. It wasn’t the sniper who had him in the crosshairs, or the itch on the back of his neck that told him the assassin was definitely in the small village of Sea Haven. He was an operative, trained practically from birth to use people, surroundings, anything and everything as tools—yet instinctively, without thought, he put himself between Judith Henderson and a sniper’s bullet, instead of using her body to shield his.
    Everything in him froze. What the hell had he just done? What was wrong with him? His actions didn’t make sense. He stood, completely exposed, his body blanketing hers, the scent of her enveloping him. The wind tugged at her hair and strands blew back at him to slide temptingly over his skin. He was astounded at his actions, shocked, horrified even, but his feet wouldn’t move. One shift and he would be on the far side, placing her body between his and the water tower where he was certain Petr Ivanov lay up there with a rifle and scope. Petr was there—Stefan felt him. Felt the slick wash of menace that always alerted him, one of many psychic gifts. Still, he didn’t move. Where the hell was his ingrained sense of self-preservation? Years of survival training? All his expertise?
    Warning bells went off like miniature