Dead Aim by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online

been a steady climb upward in her chosen profession. She was now a freelance photojournalist and contributed principally to World Life .
    Her mother had died of emphysema three years after Alex left school, and her father was killed at the World Trade Center a few years later. She had been engaged once but never married.
    All cut and dried, Judd thought. It read like an obituary. Which it might turn out to be if Alex Graham wasn't very careful.
    Not his problem. He tossed the dossier back on the table. Let Galen get someone else for the job.
    But Galen hadn't said that when Judd was in trouble. He had stepped in and yanked him out from under the threat and kept him safe for months.
    Forget it. This was the last job he should get near. They could very well be waiting for him. He couldn't afford to be soft when it might put everything he valued in jeopardy. He picked up the photos and started to jam them back into the envelope. He wouldn't look at them. He wouldn't let Alex Graham become a real person to him. Judd wasn't Galen, and he wouldn't be a quixotic ass and pretend that he was anything but what life had made him. He would do what was best for himself and screw--
    Oh, shit.
    The photo of Alex Graham was faceup, staring at him.
    My God, what a remarkable face. She was not a beautiful woman, unless you considered strength beauty. Her short brown hair was clean and shining, pushed back and styled simply. Her high cheekbones were clean cut and her mouth wide and sensitive. Deep-set brown eyes sparkled with vitality and intensity. The snapshot had been taken somewhere in the mountains, and she was gazing out of the picture with a touch of defiance.
    Why?
    He glanced at the other photos. One was obviously a passport photo, but the other one was at a disaster site and she looked exhausted and heartsick. Yet her eyes . . . Defiance and wariness. What was behind those barriers she was putting up?
    It was just a face. Don't let curiosity influence cool judgment. Don't let her become a person to you. It was always a mistake to--
    Dammit, it was already too late.
    Okay, she was alive for him. Then bend the situation to suit yourself. He knew how to make himself invisible. He could do the job and no one, not even Alex Graham, would be aware he was around. He could still stay apart and in full control.
    His phone rang. "Hello."
    "Galen. Have you finished the painting?"
    "Yes. Is that why you're calling me at four in the morning?"
    "Not exactly. But I didn't want you to have any distractions getting in the way of the job."
    "I told you I wasn't--"
    "I thought you might have second thoughts."
    Judd stared down at the photograph of Alex Graham.
    "Judd?"
    "Maybe."
    Galen was silent for a moment. "How do I turn the maybe into a yes?"
    "You and Logan let me do anything I have to do. If I have to take the gloves off, I don't want anyone getting in my way. You see that I have a clear playing field."
    "He's not going to agree to get the sanction taken off you yet."
    "I'm not talking about the past, only the present."
    "What are you thinking about?"
    "You don't want to know. It might jar you out of that cozy little cocoon you're sharing with Elena. Just be ready to jump in case I need you."
    "Okay. I'll call Logan. If there's any problem, I'll let you know."
    "Tonight. If I'm going to do this, it's got to be right away. If this is a professional job, Graham is on borrowed time. I don't want to waste any planning on a dead woman."
    "She's not dead yet. If you don't hear from me in an hour, it's a go." He hung up.
    Jesus, he should have his head examined, Judd thought wearily. Why had he committed himself? Alex Graham meant nothing to him.
    Because he was tired and angry and sick of being a target? Because lately he'd been tempted to just stay and wait for Runne to find him?
    Judd leaned his head back on the couch, his gaze returning to the mocking face of the assassin in the painting. "Okay, so it's not the brightest decision I've ever made. . .