Tempted by His Target by Jill Sorenson

feel of them.
    They took off, traversing a block of rooftops before skidding to a halt at the edge of the last building. There was another two-story within jumping distance, but its perimeter was lined with broken glass. Brown beer bottles stuck up from the black tar, jagged ends sparkling. The low-budget security measure was common throughout Mexico.
    And if the glass didn’t deter them, the snarling Doberman would. He bared his teeth, daring them to take the leap. A guard dog this size would deter any rooftop thief.
    Brandon pulled her backward, searching for an alternative.
    “There,” she said, pointing at a copper pipe.
    They raced over to take a better look. The skinny pipe ran along the side of the building, feeding a pair of rusted water tanks on the surface. There was no sign of their friends, who were probably still raiding the hotel room.
    Brandon swung down to the next window ledge, gripping the pipe with both hands. He tested its stability by putting most of his weight on it. When it held steady, he reached for her hand. She joined him on the ledge, her head spinning.
    He whipped off his belt, tying her right wrist to the metal pipe.
    “What will you use?” she asked.
    “I don’t need anything,” he said, beginning the descent.
    He was taking a shocking risk, but they didn’t have time to argue. While she watched him climb down, unsecured, her stomach was tied in knots. Aware that Carranza’s men could show up at any moment, her eyes darted across the rooftops, down the alley.
    Brandon dropped the last six feet, rubbing his palms on his shirt. The coast was still clear, so he gestured for her to hurry.
    She didn’t have his upper body strength at her disposal, but she wasn’t burdened by his heavier muscle mass, either. The pipe was smooth, almost slippery in her hands. If his belt didn’t hold, a fall from this height could break a leg, or a skull. She made her way down with painstaking care, her heart thundering in her chest. When she reached the end of the pipe, the muscles in her arms were quivering. Brandon unhitched her wrist and she let go, stumbling against him. He felt rock-solid and poised for action.
    She caught a flash of movement at the end of the alley as he released her. The bigger man from last night strode toward them, his weapon drawn.
    “Run,” Brandon said, pushing her in the opposite direction. As they fled, a round of bullets peppered the brick siding, ricocheting across the alley. Pieces of pulverized brick exploded through the air, whizzing past her ear. Isabel lowered her head, flying around the corner with Brandon right behind her.
    They faced another long, narrow street. Too long. A beat-up taxi idled about a hundred feet away, its doors open. They’d be dead before they reached it.
    Cursing, Brandon pulled a gun from his waistband and shoved her back against the side of the building, away from the bullets’ trajectory.
    While she gaped at him, frozen with terror, he returned fire. The sound of approaching footsteps was lost in the report. Or perhaps Carranza’s man had been forced to stop pursuing them and take cover.
    Isabel studied the weapon in Brandon’s hand, wondering where it came from. The acrid smell of gunshot residue stung her eyes and burned her nostrils. “Let’s move,” he said, pulling her toward the idling taxi. The driver dropped the suitcase he’d been about to load in the trunk and backed up slowly, his hands raised. Brandon kept his gaze on the cabby but spoke to Isabel. “Get in the driver’s seat.”
    She got behind the wheel, her mind reeling. He climbed into the backseat. “Go!”
    With a squeal of tires, they were off. Carranza’s man came tearing down the alley, shooting wild. Luckily, none of his bullets hit their target, and Brandon didn’t fire back. He was too busy holding on for dear life. Isabel took the corner so sharp he was thrown across the cab. As he righted himself, she swerved again, narrowly avoiding a head-on