Czytaj książkę: «Under The Gun»
“I would still be down there in that car if you hadn’t saved my life.”
“Don’t mention it.” Then Will forced a smile into his voice. “Just act on it. You’re going to be my eyes until we get those missiles where they need to be.” What he wouldn’t give to see her face now. He caressed it instead, feeling a warm wetness on her cheeks that he knew was not river water.
Should he tease her out of this display of emotion or what? That was what he would have done before.
Now he just held her, glorying in the fact that she was alive to cry, to laugh. To kiss.
He found her mouth with his, at first just a light pressure. The he tasted her, encouraging her to open herself to him just a little. Then more fully.
He would never have admitted it before today, but he had wanted to kiss her this way since the day they’d first met.
Under the Gun
Lyn Stone
LYN STONE
loves creating pictures with words. Paints, too. Her love affair with writing and art began in the third grade, when she won a schoolwide prize for her colorful poster for Book Week. She spent the prize money on books, one of which was Little Women.
She rewrote the ending so that Jo marries her childhood sweetheart. That’s because Lyn had a childhood sweetheart herself and wanted to marry him when she grew up. She did. And now she is living her “happily ever after” in north Alabama with the same guy. She and Allen have traveled the world, have two children, four grandchildren and experienced some wild adventures along the way.
Whether writing romantic historicals or contemporary fiction, Lyn insists on including elements of humor, mystery and danger. Perhaps because that other book she purchased all those years ago was a Nancy Drew mystery.
This is for Allen. Thanks for all the resources, suggestions and everything else you provide.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Prologue
MISSION: Olympus
Glenfield, N.J., Nov. 12
“Hey, Holly,” Will Griffin said into his collar mike as he winked at his brother. “The gig’s a wrap. This was the right location, after all. Send the recovery teams over here and sweep up. Matt’s calling in his crew.”
“Roger that, Will,” she answered, her heavy sigh audible in his ear. “Big relief. See you in fifteen.”
He cut contact and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath of night air. It stank of cordite mixed with the breeze from a nearby cabbage field.
“That girl’s got a bad crush on you, bro,” Matt teased. “When are you planning to give her a break?”
Will laughed, adrenaline pumping through his system. “Can’t play where I work. Rule number one.”
“Aw, man! You better leave her team then and come on back to work with me. Keep wasting time and you’ll be too old to do anything about it.” He chuckled. “We look enough alike. Think she’d go for me?”
“You lay off Holly.”
“Strike the word off and it’s a deal,” Matt quipped.
Will ignored that and deliberately changed the subject. “Wonder why this guy Odin didn’t show tonight. He’s supposed to be a Cauc and all these guys are foreigners.” He glanced at the bodies.
Matt shrugged. “No reason to get his hands dirty doing grunt work, I guess.”
Odin was the code name for a mysterious man who supposedly was outfitting a group of terrorists with weapons, in this case a cache of easily transportable missiles and also a crate of submachine guns confiscated off the streets by the local police.
Will looked at the little prop plane he had just exited after checking out the shipment. Surface-to-air Stinger missiles stolen from nearby Picatinny Arsenal filled the passenger section, where the seats had been removed.
Three of the gang lay dead on the runway, another was propped unconscious, cuffed hand and foot, against one of the wheels. There were two more near the delivery truck. They wouldn’t be transporting any more SAMs or anything else unless the devil put them to work.
Will checked the nifty little MP5K Heckler and Koch submachine gun slung from the strap over his shoulder. “Barrel’s still hot as a firecracker,” he muttered as he reloaded.
Matt put down his weapon on the tarmac and started ripping off his Kevlar vest. “I’m sweating like a mule in harness. I hate wearing these damn things.”
They were covered head to toe in black. It might be November, but even at 11:00 p.m. it was muggy as hell and felt like the moon was giving off heat. Will yanked his knit mask off and wiped his brow with it.
A movement near the hangar caught his eye. “Down!” he warned Matt just as the figure popped off three rounds. He saw the fire, heard the reports and the thunk as one shot pierced the metal fuselage of the plane. Nine-millimeter handgun, he guessed, whipping up his automatic to sweep the area.
Rapid fire erupted. “God, this is it!” Matt cried, and threw himself in front of Will, crashing into him, knocking him flat. Will’s weapon spat rounds to one side, striking the aircraft.
This is it. His brother’s words rang repeatedly, like thunder in his head, fading slowly to a whisper and then to absolute silence. Matt was hit.
Will tried but couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. Not apathy, exactly, just resignation. Warm blood oozed across his eyelids.
Matt lay across his chest, heart against heart. Same beat. It felt familiar. Like back in the womb maybe, when they’d been crowded together waiting to be born.
Me first again. The cocky words were Matt’s and only in Will’s mind, their connection a twin thing long accepted. Will desperately wanted to argue, but something distracted him. Someone was approaching. No sound. No sight. He just sensed it somehow.
He wished it were Holly and the team, but he knew better. There would be no goodbyes. Matt was right. This was it.
Chapter 1
Saint Clare’s Hospital, Dover, N.J.—November 18
Holly Amberson felt a pain in her chest, an ache of fear and frustration. It was a mere echo of what Will must be experiencing if he had any lucid thoughts at all.
She wished they would airlift him to Bethesda. Newton had been the nearest hospital and their trauma unit excellent, but Will obviously needed more expertise.
“Six days now,” she whispered to Jack Mercier, who had just arrived for his turn at Will’s bedside. “Other than reflexive responses, nothing.”
Jack tightly controlled his expression, but fury mixed with desperation shone in his eyes despite that. “Will’s going to come out of this soon, Holly. There’s plenty of brain activity.”
She nodded and released a sigh. “And some rapid eye movement awhile ago. Dreaming, I guess.”
At least he was breathing well on his own, and so far the doctors hadn’t ordered a feeding tube. However, another day or so without his regaining consciousness and they would.
Jack nudged Holly’s arm with the back of his hand. “Go home and grab a nap. You’ve got a case in progress and you can’t run it with no sleep. Go on back to the motel.”
It was standard procedure to have someone on duty whenever a government agent who dealt with special access compartmental classified information underwent medical treatment that required anesthesia, or lost temporary control of his faculties due to illness or injury. Any agent with the appropriate security clearance could be detailed to perform the task, but members of the Sextant team elected to take turns at sentinel duty with one of their own.
The Sextant team, based in McLean, Virgina, was made up of agents that the Director of Homeland Security had recruited from various government organizations expressly for the purpose of preventing or terminating terrorist activities. Holly had been with the FBI. After enlistment in the Marines, Will had worked for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, along with his twin. Jack Mercier, a National Security Agency alumnus, headed up the team.
Three other agents added to the Sextant pool, also drawing on their former resources.
Joe Corda came directly from the Drug Enforcement Agency and had spent three years before that as an Army Ranger. Clay Senate, CIA veteran, remained something of an enigma. Holly reminded herself that she needed to spend a little more time around Clay so she could figure him out. As a natural loner, he seemed to have the hardest time adjusting to teamwork. Eric Vinland, boy genius and resident psychic, hailed from Navy Intelligence.
She called them her Crayola Kids. Three Caucs, a Hispanic, a Native American and her. They had won her heart even before showing such diligence in helping her look after Will.
There was another, much more personal and compelling reason for stationing someone here than simply following intel regulations. There was a chance Will might be able to identify the shooter.
Whoever had delivered the bullet would be a fool not to finish the job, given half a chance. Whatever it took, the team did not intend to let that happen. No one else could be trusted to guard Will as assiduously as they would.
“My report’s up-to-date,” Holly declared. “Eric’s taking over for me. I can stay.”
“No,” Jack insisted. “Go on, Holly. Get some rest. That’s an order.”
This was the hardest time of all, leaving. More difficult than staying and watching him, praying for any sign of movement. And that was pure hell.
“The feds come by again today?” Jack asked.
“Yes. And the Military Intel rep and also that ATF guy, Collins, both checked in again by phone. I keep telling them they’ll be notified if—when—he comes around. Thank God Will and Matt stopped that plane from taking off. I just hope he’ll be able to tell us something significant when he wakes up.”
Bullets had riddled the small aircraft, and six of the perps loading it had been shot. But the vehicle that had delivered the stolen cache of weapons to the secluded airstrip and, according to the inventory, three of the shoulder-fire Stinger missiles and launchers were still missing.
“Those things are too damn portable, could take out anything in the air up to five miles away. God only knows where they plan to use them.”
“Everybody’s on this, Holly.”
“All right.” She reached out and laid a palm on Will’s shoulder. Just a touch.
They each did that whenever they left him. For luck. Or maybe because they might not get the chance to connect with him again if he didn’t make it through to their next watch.
Tonight Holly’s hand lingered a little longer than usual.
Businesslike, hardheaded, tough-as-nails Holly, who rarely showed any emotion at all, felt as if she was about to cry. Wouldn’t that just tear it? Working as the lone female agent on a team of six, she really needed to prove she could bear up under anything without giving way to tears.
Would Will be amused if he ever found out she had such a soft spot?
What if he never came out of the coma? she couldn’t help thinking. How could she show up at the office every day and face all those reminders of him?
On every mission, she would be thinking about what he could have added, how great it would be just to pick up her cellphone and punch number three, hear his gruff answer, tease him, make him laugh in spite of himself. God, what she would give to hear his laugh again.
Unable to stop herself even though she knew Jack was watching, Holly brushed back the thick, dark wave of hair that half covered Will’s brow. Damage from the bullet, and the surgery to remove it, was healing well.
His hair was too long, she thought, wondering if she should trim it for him tomorrow. It felt damp. Fine beads of sweat dotted his skin.
“It’s hot in here,” she said, more or less to herself.
Suddenly Will’s hand lifted off the bed and struck the side rail with a thunk.
“He moved! Jack, he moved on purpose, I think! Not just a reflex!” she cried. “Will?” Holly leaned over the rail and clutched his shoulder, her fingers buried in the soft folds of his wrinkled hospital gown. “Will, can you hear me?”
Silence dropped like a curtain as Will Griffin opened his eyes and squinted at Holly.
He mouthed the words, “He’s coming.” She watched his throat work, his dry lips move. “Now. Armed,” he whispered forcefully, staring past them, his bloodshot eyes widening, then blinking fiercely.
Was he seeing something they couldn’t?
Holly swung around, drew her weapon and planted herself solidly between Will and any threat just as the door opened. Her peripheral vision showed Jack crouched, his SIG-Sauer automatic a deadly finger pointed in the same direction.
The nurse entering the room dropped the IV bags she was holding and crumpled to the floor. The man directly behind her turned and ran.
“Stay with Will!” Jack snapped. He stumbled, then leaped over the fallen nurse and jerked open the door, which had swung almost shut again.
Holly reached through the rail with her free hand and grasped Will’s. He squeezed her fingers slightly. She bit back a sob of relief, adrenaline rushing through her veins.
A few minutes later, Jack returned to the doorway. “He got away. Without a team to search every room on this floor, every supply closet, every stairwell and elevator, we’ll never find him! Call security and shut this place down.”
He shouted along the hall to the nurses’ station, “Get a doctor in here! Stat!”
Holly grabbed the phone on the table by the bed and snapped orders to hospital security. She watched Jack crouch beside the nurse who had fainted. Then Holly glanced down at Will.
He seemed to be watching Jack, too, head turned to the side. He blinked hard several times as if to focus better.
She clutched his hand tighter. “The guy split, Will, but we’ll get him. Give me a name, hon. That’s all we need. Who was he?”
“Dunno,” he said with great effort. “Ask…Matt.”
Holly winced. Matt hadn’t made it.
“Hey, Holly,” Mercier said. “Look at this.”
“Just a minute, Jack.”
Will wouldn’t know yet that the bullet that had lodged in his head had first traveled straight through Matt. The perp nearly got a two-fer. But Will was going to make it.
He was conscious now, understandably weak but obviously lucid. The bullet hadn’t destroyed much tissue, his doctors said. Its velocity had slowed considerably, burrowing through his brother’s body.
Will had to make it. The loss of one Griffin was more than their friends could stand. Though Matt had remained with the ATF after Will was recruited to join Sextant, that had worked to everyone’s advantage. Each operative on the new team kept their close contacts from former jobs within other agencies. One didn’t get much closer than a twin.
There were several voices behind her now, but Holly didn’t worry. Jack was taking care of business. Will was going to need her when he learned what had happened to Matt. She had to decide whether she should tell him straight out.
Instead of giving Will the bad news about his brother, she said, “Don’t try to talk anymore, Will. Just stay with us.”
She realized she and Jack hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t questioned for a minute the urgency Will had projected. They had just responded to the warning and whipped out their pistols. Thank God they had.
Nobody had ever doubted Matt Griffin’s extraordinary powers of telepathy. But Will hadn’t shared his brother’s gift. Not before today, anyway.
Holly linked her fingers with his. His grip was so weak. She hoped against hope that was caused by inactivity and not permanent damage to any response mechanisms. He needed to be strong, much stronger than he was now, when told about Matt’s death.
Even as she watched, Will’s lips firmed, his expression one of intense pain.
Will knew about his brother. Maybe he had read her face, or perhaps remembered the actual shooting. Holly briefly considering lying to him, assuring him Matt was all right, but she couldn’t do it. Didn’t think it would do any good, anyway. “I’m so sorry, Will.”
His grip tightened perceptibly, as if he were trying to wring a vow out of her.
“Don’t you worry,” she assured him. “We’ll get that son of a bitch. But you’ve got to help us. Stay awake if you can. The doctor’s on his way. You pull through this, Griffin, you hear me? That’s an order.”
She heard a small crowd murmuring behind her and turned to see why no one had disturbed her conversation with Will yet. They should be working over him like bees by now, ensuring that he didn’t lapse back into the coma. Adjusting machines, checking his vitals. Something.
“Jack? What’s the matter?” she asked, still holding tightly to Will’s hand. She watched a doctor and two attendants trying to revive the nurse. “Was it a heart attack?” Holly knew better even as she asked.
Jack left the hubbub and stepped closer to the bed, shot Will a worried look, then frowned. Still he didn’t respond to her question. The noisy crew had called a code blue and were loading the woman onto a gurney they had wheeled in.
Only one nurse stayed behind. She began shooing Holly aside, ordering both her and Jack out of the room. Like hell, Holly thought, gritting her teeth, standing her ground gripping Will’s hand.
His fingers still clutched hers, stronger now. When he squeezed briefly, the feeling that shot through her promised more than any verbal assurance he might have given.
Something clicked between them in that second, a mental connection. She could clearly feel his determination to pull out of this, his fury and grief over Matt’s death, his gratitude for her friendship. His thoughts came through as clearly as if he shouted them out loud.
Despite her constant jabs at the guys about psychic connections, visions, premonitions and such, she was a believer, for sure. But she’d never imagined herself capable of reception. Or of Will being able to project.
A fluke, surely. Comforting and scary at the same time. Even as she thought that, Will relaxed his fingers.
Maybe she had imagined it. That must be it. Despite the fact that her mother was West Indian, Holly knew all her own powers came straight out of books and the excellent training she’d had, certainly not from any in-born woo-woo genes.
Reluctantly she let go of Will’s hand and moved away to let the nurse do whatever needed doing.
Holly took Jack’s arm and they went to stand in the doorway the others had just vacated. “Will’s back with us. He’ll stay.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead to ease the tingling feeling there.
“Thank God for that,” he said vehemently. But he kept his voice low, probably so Will wouldn’t hear. “The nurse is dead, Holly.”
“Dead? I didn’t even hear the pop. That must have been some silencer.”
“Didn’t use one. Judging by the projectile, I’m sure he was packing spring-loaded plastic. He would never have gotten past security downstairs with anything metal unless he had credentials and a good reason to carry.”
“It’s a good thing we do,” Holly whispered. “Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d been caught unarmed?”
He nodded. “The broken ampule was still in the back of her neck.” He patted his jacket pocket. “That’s what I wanted to show you earlier. They won’t guess cause of death until they do the autopsy. Probably not even then, if he used Nicopruss to kill her. It’s virtually undetectable. He obviously wasn’t expecting Will to have company in here, but you can bet our guy has more than one shot in his pocket.”
“Who the heck was he?” Holly asked, but they could both guess the answer to that. A hit man. A professional with the right tools.
“Would Odin risk hiring a pro to do this?” she asked. “It makes sense it’s Odin himself, Jack. No one has been able to identify him, and Will probably saw him that night.” According to the only survivor of the botched raid, Odin had been there in the thick of it, had planned to fly the plane out.
“Whether it’s him or not, we’re still dealing with a trained assassin.”
“I saw his face,” she told Jack.
He snapped to attention at that. “I was in a crouch to fire, and the nurse blocked my view. By the time she fell, he was gone. You made eye contact? He knows you saw him?”
Holly nodded again. They stared at each other then, he with concern, she with confirmation of what they both knew. They were definitely dealing with a professional killer, and Holly had just made his list. Will was already at the top of it. Even Jack was at risk. He hadn’t seen the man’s face, but how could the killer be certain of that?
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” Jack said.
“Correction,” she said with a shake of her head and a worried glance at Will, who was either sleeping peacefully or had lapsed back into his coma. “We’ve all got to get out of here. Now. We’re sitting ducks. This guy could have reinforcements stationed out there, just waiting for us to exit.”
Jack already had out his cellphone. He punched in a number and held the device to his ear. “Option three, Corda. Asap. And bring Solange,” he snapped, then disconnected. It spoke of how secure this escape was to be that Jack planned to involve his wife, Solange, who was a physician.
The team had worked out plans to cover all contingencies. Holly knew that the third option involved a helicopter on the roof of wing three, four floors up from where they were now.
He put the phone in his pocket. “I’ll get hospital security to help transport Will.” They would both need to provide cover in case the perp had gone upstairs instead of down. “You get him unhooked.”
Jack hurried out into the hallway while Holly returned to the bed. Will, eyes still closed, was already fumbling with the tape holding his IV in place. She took over and slid the shunt out of his vein, pressing the area with a tissue to halt the bleeding.
Ice? Had he said the word or had she imagined it? She snatched the top off the plastic pitcher on his bedside table and dipped her hand inside. Tepid water.
She punched the call button. “Get me some ice in here. Hurry!”
“In a moment, ma’am. We have an emer—”
“Don’t you make me come out there with my gun!” Holly shouted.
Will’s lips curved and his body shook slightly.
“You laughing at me, possum? Open those baby grays and look at me.”
“Can’t see,” he grumbled, trying to clear his throat.
“Course you can. You looked straight at me and Jack, too,” she argued. “You want sympathy, dude, you’re fresh out of luck.”
But one look at the pained expression on his face stole her breath. “What do you mean, you can’t see?”
“Fuzzy,” he said, exhaling a rattle of air. “Damn near blind.”
“You’ll be okay,” she assured him, pressing even harder on the tissue. “Now quit bleeding all over the place, will you? I need both hands.”
A nurse rushed in carrying another small disposable pitcher. “Here’s your ice. Wait! What are you doing? You can’t do that!” She attempted to stop Holly’s efforts to peel the machine sensors off Will’s body.
Holly grabbed her wrist and shook it. “Help me get him unhooked. And close your mouth, girl, you look like a fish. Do what I say.”
“But you can’t—”
Holly shot her a warning look. The nurse got busy.
“There. All done. You can go now.” Holly watched the nurse scurry out. “Little wimp,” she muttered.
Mercier came in, a gurney and security guard in tow. “Let’s move!” He quickly lowered the side rail of the bed and the guard brought the gurney alongside. In seconds, the two of them had Will loaded on it and were wheeling him down the hall.
Holly took point, on full alert for surprises at each room they passed on the way to the elevator. When it dinged and the door slid open, she crouched and swept the interior, even thought about putting two or three rounds through the roof in case someone was up top. Doubtful there had been time for that, she aimed her weapon at the overhead panel instead, prepared to riddle it.
Slow motion took on a whole new meaning as the elevator rose to the top floor. When they exited into the night air, they still had to wait for the chopper. Holly remained by Will’s side, as vigilant as she had ever been, while Mercier quickly swept the roof area.
He returned, declared it clear and dismissed the beefy guard who had come up with them. “Thanks, Charlie. I owe you for volunteering. I won’t forget it.”
“No problem. Safe trip,” the big man said with a toothy grin. “Ma’am. Take care.” He turned at the doorway to the roof. “I’ll just wait here till the chopper comes and you lift off. Ain’t nothin’ getting past me.” He stationed himself against the heavy metal door and crossed his arms.
Mercier had that effect, Holly knew. He inspired dedication. That’s why he was the boss. Apparently even incidental helpers weren’t immune to his charm.
Will groaned, drawing her attention.
“Damn it! I should have thought to get him some pain meds.” She slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead.
“Here you go,” Mercier said. He fished in his pocket and handed her a plastic pill bottle. “Morphine. I’ll have to shoulder him into the chopper.” There would be no room for the gurney or even a stretcher.
Holly opened the bottle, scooped out a capsule and held it to Will’s mouth. “Swallow this.”
“No,” he said, his voice sounding stronger. “Later.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Take the pill.” She poked it between his lips.
The instant she moved her fingers away, he popped it out. “No.”
Holly shook her head with frustration. “Those nurses don’t know how lucky they are to get rid of you now that you’re awake. Don’t make me hold your nose.”
His eyes closed, probably against the bright lights now descending. “Later,” he mouthed, his murmur drowned out by the whump whump of the chopper overhead.
She leaned over Will to shield him from the wash of the blades as the helicopter set down.
Mercier lifted Will to a sitting position, then did a shoulder carry to the open door of the helicopter. Joe Corda, fellow agent and man of many talents who was piloting, gave them a thumbs-up.
Dr. Solange Mercier, Jack’s wife, was crouched in the small bay waiting for the patient. She beckoned, and Holly hurriedly climbed in, helping to arrange Will while Jack scrambled aboard.
The instant he pulled the door shut, the slick Bell 206 Longranger rose and curved swiftly away from the tower, shifting the passengers sideways.
“Airborne. Safe,” Holly said, knowing no one could hear her over the noise.
Glass on the canopy cracked. “Ground fire!” Joe shouted.
God, this guy didn’t give up. Someone was firing at the helicopter—probably with a sniper rifle, given their distance from the ground. Joe zoomed out of range, zigzagging as sharply as the chopper would allow while Jack radioed local authorities below. At least the shooter wasn’t using one of those heat-seekers, Holly thought with relief, or they’d be done for.
Stay with me.
Holly jerked her gaze from the holes in the canopy to the patient. Had Will said that, told her to stay? How had she heard him over all this racket?
His eyes were still closed, his mouth pinched. He looked as if he might have returned to the sanctuary of silence that had sheltered him these past six days. But somehow Holly knew he hadn’t.
She placed her hand over both of his, now resting on his chest. She’d be right by his side for as long as he needed her, she vowed. This was the mission assigned to her, but that was incidental.
Immediately, it seemed she could feel his inner turmoil decrease, but it probably had nothing to do with her reassuring touch. Solange Mercier had raked away the gown from Will’s shoulder and injected him with something.
The chopper droned on, whisking them away from the bright city lights to the sparsely lit suburbs surrounding Dover, then out into the chasm of night to a destination known only to Mercier and Joe Corda.
Holly hadn’t even thought to ask Jack where they were going. Where would Will be safe?
The morphine or whatever Solange had administered had cut off Holly’s mental connection with Will, if indeed she had really had one. She hadn’t realized how strongly she had been feeling whatever it was until it suddenly ceased.
Or, more likely, it was only her imagination working overtime, stimulated by adrenaline that was now draining away.
She pressed her fingers to his wrist and felt the same slow, steady pulse that had blipped on the monitor for six straight days. Only now he had fallen asleep.
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