Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Under the Gun

Under the Gun
Lyn Stone


After escaping the bullet that killed his twin, Special Agent Will Griffin awakened from a six-day coma seconds before the assassin struck again. Now he's on the run with the one woman who'll stop at nothing to keep him alive–Holly Amberson.Used to calling the shots, Holly isn't about to let anyone take down the man she's loved from afar for more years than she can remember. And it's not long before several close brushes force her and Will to succumb to their escalating passion. But once the danger has passed, can she make Will see that his life isn't worth living…unless she's a part of it?









“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







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




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.




Chapter 2


“Where are we?” Holly demanded as soon as Joe set the chopper down and switched off the power. They had been airborne for a little over an hour and a half. In the moonlight, the landscape looked like the backside of nowhere. Coming in, she’d seen a flat field surrounded by trees on three sides, with a driveway that led to a two-lane road.

Now she looked at the ramshackle two-story structure about fifty yards away. It seemed pretty spooky with that lone light shining out the back window.

“Cedar Top Farm, Virginia,” Jack announced. “Population six if you count the animals.”

Holly glared at him. “This won’t do, Jack. Will needs the best medical care he can get. We should fly him to another hospital.”

“He’ll be safer here. The house is a confiscated property, very recently acquired and outfitted. Not even on official books yet as a safe house, and I’ll see that it stays that way. As soon as Will’s able to stay awake long enough, you debrief him and contact me with what he knows. There’s a secure land line here.”

“But Will needs—”

“Time to recover, Holly. Solange has kept up-to-date on his condition throughout his ordeal. His doctors have said all along that once he regained consciousness, he’d probably improve very rapidly. Put that psychology degree of yours to work and help him.”

“What if he falls into a coma again?”

“Roanoke’s only fifteen miles away. We can get an ambulance out here in less than a quarter hour if he needs it,” Jack promised. “He’s come out of it, Holly. The main thing we can do for him now is keep him safe and give him time to completely heal, both from his physical trauma and his grief. Protect him from this immediate threat to his life. That’s your mission.”

“Aren’t you staying?” Holly asked Solange. Jack’s wife was a physician, a general practitioner, when he might need a neurologist. Still, she was better than no doctor at all.

She shrugged and shook her head. “You can do everything for him that I could. Keep an eye on his vitals, relieve any pain he has with this—Hydrocodone. It might be better for him than the morphine.” She handed Holly another pill bottle. “Make certain that he eats enough to regain his strength. Bland food at first. Encourage him to exercise as soon as he begins to feel restless.”

“He mentioned his sight. It’s fuzzy, he says. He should see a specialist.”

“Let me know if that doesn’t clear up. We’ll fly in someone we can trust,” Jack promised. “Meanwhile, make him as comfortable as you can.”

Holly nodded, accepting the fact that Mercier had already decided on this course of action—or inaction—and it would be useless to argue.

She stared at the big old Victorian with its peeling paint and tangled shrubbery. A house straight out of a nightmare. She imagined cobwebs, bats and dust, maybe some drug paraphernalia left by former inhabitants.

“We should get him inside.” Jack cast a look at Will, who lay motionless. “But I’ll go in first, check it out and alert the caretaker.”

“Caretaker?” Holly asked as she tucked the blanket tightly around Will to ward off the chill of the night. All he wore was the hospital gown. He looked so vulnerable, Holly wished she could take him in her arms and hold him.

Jack was still speaking, Holly realized. She forced herself to focus.

“Our man here is retired Naval Intelligence. He’s been contracted to set the place up with a security system and outfit it as a safe house for DEA, so it’s sort of in transition right now. I asked for something off the records and appropriated the place through the highest channels, without offering any details about why we wanted it.”

With that pronouncement, he climbed out and went straight to the back door of the house.

Joe had taken off his headset and turned around. “Hey, Will, ol’ buddy?” he said softly, his Southern accent more pronounced than usual.

“He’s out, but he should be coming around soon,” Solange said, shining a penlight into Will’s eyes as she lifted his eyelids. She looked up at Holly. “You have some medical training, yes?”

“Worked as a paramedic for a couple of summers during college.” Holly shook her head. “But this…I don’t know, Solange. It’s out of my league.”

“Call me if you need anything or have any questions,” she said, handing Holly a card from her doctor’s bag. “My cellphone number. Or call Jack and he’ll find me immediately.”

Holly nodded, still wondering if they weren’t trusting her entirely too much with Will’s recovery. She was so afraid for him.

Jack had returned to the chopper, bringing their host with him.

“Donald Grayson,” he said by way of introduction. “This is Agent Holly Amberson.”

“Mr. Grayson,” she acknowledged.

“Call me Doc.”

“Thank God. You’re a doctor.”

“Nope. Got that tag when I was a medic. First job after I joined up at age eighteen. Even after I went to spook school, it just stuck.”

Great, Holly thought. Anything he had learned would be dated by at least thirty years.

Jack interrupted. “The rest of you stay put on the chopper. We’re taking off in about ten. Okay, ready to transport?”

Holly helped roll Will far enough out of the chopper for Jack to get a grip on the upper half of his body while Grayson took his legs. Together they carried him the short distance to the house. Holly opened the door and stepped aside, cautioning them to be careful not to bump him around so much.



Will woke up with a start, his head nearly exploding. The dryness in his throat reduced his cry to a groaning curse and he struggled with whoever was holding him.

“Steady now. We’ll have you settled in a minute,” Mercier said.

Will vaguely recalled there’d been trouble in the hospital. “Put me down. I want…to stand.” He had to know if his legs worked. He had to know. “Please,” he grunted.

“Not a good idea,” he heard Holly say, but they stood him upright, bracing him so he wouldn’t fall.

With effort, he straightened his legs and felt his bare feet resting solidly on the floor. It was everything between his feet and his head that gave him problems. His bones seemed to have melted, his muscles reduced to mush. Tingling mush, as if they had all gone to sleep. Damn!

“Here’s your bed, sir, right behind you. Go ahead and sit down,” said an unfamiliar voice filled with concern. It was deeper than Mercier’s, not as clipped and forceful, but with the same speech patterns. Will thought he should ask who the man was…tomorrow, maybe. He felt his mind slipping, seeking rest.

A softness caught him, pillowed his aching head. Someone lifted his legs and covered him with a blanket. No, a quilt, he realized as he closed his fingers around the puffy upper edge and felt the stitching.

He drifted back into boyhood. Cool summer nights. Grandmother tucking him in, brushing his hair off his forehead, tapping his nose with her finger. “Morning’s waiting on you,” he mumbled right along with her, smiling back.

Her soft laugh sounded younger. “So it is. Go back to sleep, Will.”



“What did he say?” Jack asked. They had settled Will in and Grayson had left them alone.

Holly busily adjusted the covers again, even though they didn’t need it. “He said ‘morning’s waiting,’ and he’s right about that. You’d better take off if you want to make McLean by sunrise.” She knew Jack needed to get back to the office, coordinate the team and locate Odin.

“We need to talk first. Come out in the hall.”

Holly followed him from the room. She could smell coffee brewing. Boy, could she use some of that. Exhaustion was setting in big time. She followed her nose down the hallway.

Jack held back, his hand on her arm. “You can explain the details to Grayson after we’re gone. Just so we’re clear, in addition to guarding Will, your orders are to find out if he can add anything to what we know about the op at the airfield, and report to me as soon as possible.”

She nodded.

“While he’s asleep, you can work up your detailed description and a sketch of the guy in the hospital and get that to us, too. Joe and Clay will have to take over the other cases we’ve got going, which fortunately are in early stages and not critical. Eric and I will be concentrating on this Odin character. However, if things start popping on this, we’ll all be on it.”

Holly faced him, hands on her hips. “You think it was Odin himself in the hospital?”

“I believe it was. I’m counting on his coming after me, thinking I got a glimpse of him, too. And I’ll be a whole lot easier to find than you and Will.”

She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

He grasped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Do your job, Holly. Let Eric and me do ours. With the SAMs missing and Matt’s death and Will’s being shot on a multiforce investigation like that, every agency will be solidly behind us all the way. They’ll pull out all the stops.”

She nodded. “Any communications gear other than the phone line in this firetrap?”

“Everything necessary and then some. I’ll be waiting on that sketch.”

“My artistic talent leaves a lot to be desired, but I think I can get a fair likeness.”

“We’ll try to match it with ID photos and get you some to compare. Don’t use your personal credit cards while you’re here. You have your cover ID with you?

“Always,” she told him.

“Good. You can use that. If Odin’s working from the inside, he could have resources to pick up an obvious paper trail.”

“You think he’s an agent who’s flipped?”

“Entirely possible. He found out where Will was.” Jack pulled out his wallet and handed her a stack of bills. “Mad money. That’s all I have on me, but I’ll wire more to Roanoke in Grayson’s name tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” she said as he turned to go. “See you, Jack.”

“Soon,” he replied.

None of them ever said goodbye. It seemed too final or something, as if they didn’t expect to meet again. Funny how they all adhered to that without ever having discussed it.

She followed him to the door and locked it, checked on Will and found him still sleeping peacefully, then went to find the kitchen and that coffee she had smelled.

Grayson offered her a mug as soon as she walked in. “Welcome to paradise,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Hungry?”

Holly nodded and he gestured to a plate of sandwiches on the table. She grabbed one and began to munch, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything other than a package of peanut butter crackers since breakfast.

“Got any soup for our patient?” she asked.

“Sure, but he looked like he was down for the count. Want to give me a rundown on what we’re dealing with?”

Between bites, Holly outlined what had gone down and why they were here. Then she added, “Chances are there’s nothing to worry about. I know you’ve had training, but I’d like to know if you have any field experience.”

Grayson smiled. “Yeah, I do. Anything happens, I’ve got your back.”

He looked capable, Holly thought, as she observed him more closely. She guessed he was around sixty, maybe even older, but seemed in pretty good shape. Not a large man, hardly taller than her own five-five, Grayson moved with the tensile grace of a man trained to strike.

His graying hair was buzzed short in the old military style, the line of it receding just above his temples. His broad features resembled carved mahogany. He wore a dark, close-fitting knit shirt and camouflage pants. His wide feet were bare and heavily callused.

“The way you were looking at that boy in there. He means something to you besides an assignment, right?”

Holly delayed her answer as she drained her mug of coffee and set it down. Then she looked the old soldier square in the eye. “Right. We’re on the same team. And we’re best friends. Got a problem with that?”

He shook his head. “Don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot now,” he said, holding up one hand as if warding off an argument. “I just hope you won’t let personal stuff cloud your judgment if worse comes to worst.”

She met his frowning gaze with one of challenge. “My professional and personal objectives are one and the same here—to keep that man alive at all costs. He’s very important to me, yes. But he’s also vital to the success of future missions.”

Grayson pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. You’ll keep your head.”

“I always keep my head,” she replied. But Holly felt a little angry with Grayson for planting the seed of doubt in her mind. Nonsense, of course. Hadn’t she remained perfectly detached when Will was threatened in the hospital? Hers had been a textbook response when the shooter appeared.



Will surfaced with a raging thirst. His skin felt like shrink-wrap. “Water,” he said, hating the croak that emerged.

A few seconds later, a cool cloth bathed his face. Crushed ice chilled his lips. He opened his mouth, dying to drink something. Anything.

He felt a straw and grabbed it with his lips. The delicious trickle of cold streamed down his parched throat and pooled in his stomach. He seemed aware of every cell in his body soaking it up.

“Easy now,” crooned a voice near his ear. Holly.

He reached out to the voice and his palm met her face. He slid his fingers over her cheek, touched her ear, threaded them through her hair.

Holly’s was clipped almost as short as his own, lying in little black satin wavelets close to her head. Neat, efficient and sexy as hell. He wasn’t supposed to think sexy, not about her, his muzzy brain reminded him.

“Where are we?” he demanded.

“At a safe house not far from Roanoke,” she explained, taking his hand in both of hers as she leaned close. “You remember what happened?”

He recalled bits and pieces. There had been trouble. “Some of it,” he admitted. “The hospital. A helicopter.”

“I’ll fill you in on the details later. Just so you know, Solange sedated you. You aren’t permanently addled.”

Addled didn’t begin to describe how he felt. Will turned his head from side to side, struggling to take in his surroundings, but the room was dark. Or he was blind. He remembered the blurriness he had experienced before. “It’s night,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What night?”

“Friday,” she told him. “Well, Saturday morning early. About four o’clock. Be daylight soon.”

“Holly?”

“Yes, Will?”

“I can’t see.” He forced the words from between clenched teeth. The thought scared the absolute hell out of him, but he was trained to conceal his emotions. He did so now. No point getting panicked, he told himself. It wouldn’t help and might even hurt.

“I know, you told me in the hospital, but your eyes will be fine. It’s temporary.” A hopeful lie. If she had any basis for it, Will knew she would have explained in detail.

Her voice held a note of desperation. Or maybe not her voice. That sounded calm enough, now that he thought about it, but he strongly sensed her overwhelming concern. It scared him more that she tried to conceal it than if she’d stated her worry openly.

He forced his lips to stretch into a semblance of a smile. “Thanks for sticking around.”

“Now where else would I be, you doofus?” He heard her sigh, a slight breath of sound. She patted his hand.

“Well, I guess you might have to be my eyes for a while. Sorry.”

She was talking, but Will stopped listening. All he could think about was getting out of bed and back on his feet. How he would manage that, feeling the way he did, he didn’t know how yet, but he would find a way.

There was something he needed to remember, something that haunted him, but his train of thought kept breaking. He hoped to God it was the medication causing the terrible sense of foreboding.



Morning arrived, just as his grandmother had promised when he fell asleep. That had been a dream, he realized now. Grandmother was gone, died when he was sixteen.

So his mind was refusing to function fully at the moment. At least he was aware that it wouldn’t, and things seemed to be coming back to him bit by bit.

Sunlight flooded the room, but the shape of objects in it remained nebulous as hell. Colors were fugitive, fragmented.

He rubbed his eyes. Blinking didn’t help, either. It was like looking at things through the patterned glass wall tiles that encircled his shower at home.

He fought panic. Before it took hold completely, he sensed he was no longer alone. Holly. She was back.

“Hey, you’re awake! Good morning. How’s the noggin?”

“A little confused,” he said.

“That’ll pass. Ready for breakfast? You must be starving.”

Her voice sounded too bright, too chipper. She should be ragging him the way she usually did, ordering him around and poking fun, trying her damnedest to make him laugh. That meant he must be even nearer death than he felt, and God knew that was near enough.

He could make out her shape standing just to the left of the foot of his bed. “You look good…in red.”

The silence lasted a beat too long. “Thanks.”

“You are wearing red, right?” he asked, the question tentative.

“Well, no, not right now. I’m wearing green, but I am holding a red robe. I brought it for you.”

“Oh.” He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat much more noticeable. “Thanks.”

He felt her settle on the bed beside him. Her arms slid around him and she rested her forehead lightly on his shoulder. “This trouble with your eyes will pass, Will. I know it. I promise….”

“You mentioned breakfast?” he said, gently pushing her away, unwilling to accept what felt too much like pity. That, he could do without.

She moved quickly. He heard her inhale a shaky breath. “Yeah. How about some broth? When you can tolerate that, maybe some Jell-O later. How’s that sound?”

He made a face. His appetite was nonexistent at the moment, but he knew he needed to eat to get his strength back. “How long was I out?”

“Six days,” she said, sounding reluctant to discuss it.

He coughed in disbelief. “Six?”

“You were in the hospital. In a coma,” she told him.

He remembered the tubes. It was coming back to him now. He shook his head, carefully, because it was pounding so hard he could scarcely think. “A coma?”

She touched his arm, wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. “You were shot, Will. In the head.”

He raised his hand and ran it over his hair, found and felt the tender scar just above his right temple. The memory came flooding back all at once. “Matt,” he whispered.

She was holding her breath. Then she expelled it. “I’m so sorry, Will. Matt didn’t make it.”

He had known already, before he asked, but he hadn’t wanted it to be real. “You told me before, didn’t you?” Why did the randomness of death still surprise him?

“Yes. You have to get well now so we can find that bastard who shot you both. We owe it to Matt. Are you with me?”

With monumental effort, he nodded. Either he was in shock or his subconscious had already accepted Matt’s death. He should feel grief-stricken, totally undone, after losing the person closest to him.

Instead, he felt very calm inside, exactly the way he always did immediately before a mission, when he had the objective firmly in place, all the plans worked out. It was as if Matt were in on it with him. He could almost feel the connection.

“Is he…buried?” he asked Holly.

“At Arlington. Full military honors. Marines turned out in force.”

That was good. Matt would like that. The Corps took care of its own, even after someone left it.

“We’ll go visit him soon,” Holly promised.

“When this is over. Not before,” Will said firmly. He could not do that until he had avenged the brother beneath that marker. “Our parents?”

“They were there. They visited you in the hospital, too.”

“But they’re gone again. Back to Italy,” he guessed. That sounded bitter. He sighed. At least they had come. Appearances must be kept up.

“You’re not alone, Will.” Her lips touched his cheek, just a breath of a kiss, a contract sealing her promise. “You’ll be okay. Not today, I know, but you will be okay.”

Maybe, maybe not. But the man who’d killed his brother would be dead one way or another. Sooner or later.

Hours passed in a fog of painful memories and uncontrollable gusts of anger. He forced down the broth Holly brought him and later the gelatin. He sipped what seemed like gallons of ice water. He fought nausea and won. His resolve grew.

A man came in, managed to get him to his feet and walk him to the bathroom and back. Will didn’t bother to ask his name. He didn’t care who it was.

He focused his whole being on getting back his strength. Unfortunately, that was the only thing he could focus on. That and the fuzzy rectangle of light that was the window.

Blind. Damn it! He held fast to Holly’s promise that it was not permanent. He needed to see to find this Odin. To exact revenge for Matt, to destroy a merciless killer. Will couldn’t say goodbye until he’d settled the score. It was all he could do now.

In his mind, he could clearly see his brother nod his approval, hear his voice. Live for both of us, bro. You know it’s what I’d do.

All right, Will thought, he would do that. Maybe this continued connection he was feeling was not real, but he chose to believe it was. It was too soon to let go completely.

From here on out, no self-pity or survivor’s guilt. No time wasted mourning what he couldn’t fix. No way would he let Matt down.



Later when he woke, Holly lay next to him, his head cradled on her breasts, her arms around him. This felt good. Right.

He wondered why she had set aside the kick-ass, swaggering attitude he knew so well, and let him see this soft side of her. Her guard was definitely down tonight.

He was sick of that guard of hers, anyway. And his, too.

They had met a couple of years earlier, at Quantico, when they’d attended a special course provided by the FBI for other agencies. She’d been with the Bureau then and Will with ATF. They had hit it off immediately.

Their paths crossed on a joint case a year later, renewing their friendship. He carefully avoided anything more than that. He had taken his cue from her both times, thinking she might be involved with someone else. He had been. Heard she was, too.

Now he and Holly worked together. She was the one who had recommended him for the Civilian Special Ops antiterrorist team when it was forming, and was responsible for his getting hired for Sextant.

He treated her like one of the guys because that’s what she demanded of all the men on the team.

Holly was everyone’s little buddy with a bossy mama complex. Every guy on the team would die for her in a heartbeat. She cared about them and showed it, baking them cookies, teaching them to cook, deviling them like a little sister. They adored her.

They respected her, too, he firmly reminded himself. Holly had earned that many times over. She was a damn good agent, one of the best he knew.

Not once had she ever betrayed any stronger feelings for him than the camaraderie they all shared. But now she was lying here holding him in her arms like a lover. How the hell was he supposed to ignore that?

Maybe he wouldn’t even try, at least not now when he needed this so badly. He snuggled closer, all but burying his face in her cleavage, drawing in her tantalizing scent, pressing his lips to her satiny skin just above the tickle of lace.

For a few minutes he thought of nothing but the firmness of her well-toned body, the strength in her small frame, the sweet breathiness of her sigh when his lips brushed the swell of her breast.

He fully expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Either she was a damn sound sleeper or their friendship was undergoing a monumental change.

Will valued that friendship the way it was. He envied Holly’s easy way with people, her passionate outbursts and her engaging laugh. How did she do it?

She got so involved. There wasn’t a trace of the ice-princess reserve of the women he went out with. A cautious maneuver on his part, those choices. Safety lay in choosing women like his mother. No danger of emotional entanglements there, that was for damn sure.

Matt had pointed that out and Will had never even bothered to deny it. Like to like, he would say. But Will had known since the first time he met Holly that wasn’t really so, at least not in his case. Opposites did attract, big time. He also knew he wouldn’t act on it.

His head ached. His bones felt like rubber and his muscles like the Jell-O he had eaten earlier. He couldn’t believe he was getting aroused, not when he was in this condition. She’d probably smack him if she woke up and realized it.

Not that he would ever do anything to insult her, like coming on to her. He doubted he could follow through at the moment even if she were coming on to him.

A guilty weariness assaulted him when he remembered how good a friend she had always been to him and how he was seriously taking advantage of that.

Could be that she thought she was merely providing what comfort she could, a distraction from his grief and worry. If so, that was working for the moment, and he would have to thank her for it later.

He luxuriated in the feel of her body warming his and the fact that she cared enough to do this.

Too bad he wasn’t up to discovering her motive. He put it on his mental list of things to do right after he avenged his brother’s death.

For now, the closeness and caring she offered were enough.




Chapter 3


Will feigned sleep when Holly left his bed so he wouldn’t do something crazy like ask her to stay. He suspected her compassion had limits he had come close to violating, and his injury was no excuse.

She returned in a little while and shook him gently. “I’m sorry, Will, but this can’t wait any longer. Time for your debriefing.”

It angered him that she had turned all professional after lavishing that very personal warmth on him last night. He knew it was an unreasonable response on his part, but he didn’t feel reasonable.

His answers were curt as he described all that he recalled from the operation at the airfield.

He remembered too damn little of what had happened that night, and would have given just about anything to forget what he did recall.

The interview proved very short and she left to make her report. He knew Jack and the others were waiting on it, such as it was.

Somehow, Will had to face this head-on. He had to do all he could to help catch the one who’d killed Matt. But what could he do lying here blind as a bat and mad as hell? He had to get up, get his mind and body in gear and quit hanging on to Holly at every opportunity.

She said he would get over this, that his sight would return. She’d better be correct. Right now he wasn’t ready to accept any other scenario. He could see a little, make out light and dark. That was something, wasn’t it? A good sign. He wasn’t totally blind.

Will bumped into a chair, causing a loud clatter when it tipped over on the hardwood floor. He stopped, swaying slightly until he regained his balance.

“What in the world do you think you’re trying to do?” Holly cried.

He felt her arms lock around him before he could turn toward her. “I was headed for the bathroom. Do you mind?”

“Yes, I mind!” She shifted to brace her shoulder beneath his arm. “Hold on to me. Go slow. Turn right,” she commanded, grunting when he leaned heavily against her.

“Here you are.” She placed his hand on the edge of the sink. “You need help?”

“No. I’ve been doing this all by myself for several years now.” She was in a mood? Well, so was he. “You can leave now. I promise not to knock anything else over.”

She was still in the doorway. He could vaguely see her move, as if she were shifting from one foot to the other, watching him. “Well? Go!” he ordered.

She moved farther away, but the door still stood open. Light from the hallway outlined her just beyond it.

“Planning to aim it for me?” he snapped. “Are cheap thrills why you’re hanging around?”

She scoffed. “Thrills, huh? I’ve aimed bigger guns into better places, believe me.”

He staggered over and slammed the door in her sassy face. He felt like hell and she was acting mean as the devil. He knew his anger was unreasonable and inappropriate, but he didn’t care right now.

The hook latch on the door was simple enough, even for a blind man, Will thought. He fastened it and began feeling his way around the room.

Let her stand out there and fume if she wanted to. He wasn’t leaving here until he had showered and shaved, and felt at least halfway human again. Maybe steam from the bath would help, lubricate his eyes or something. Hell, he’d try anything.



The sound of banging woke him. A loud crash and rush of air warned him the door had given way. Not a sound he’d mistake, having busted down a few himself. Damn, he’d fallen asleep in the tub.

For a second, he considered covering up, but didn’t. He sat there calmly, arms resting on the lip of the enormous antique bathtub, up to his chest in hot, soapy water. Correction, barely warm, barely soapy water. How long had he slept?

“Why did you lock that door?” Holly demanded. She stood above him, probably had her arms crossed, those long red nails tapping against her sleeves.

He blinked up at her, wishing he could see her expression, even if it was furious. There would be that sparkle in her dark brown eyes. One thing about Holly, she looked damn good when she was mad. Her lips might be drawn down, but that accentuated her dimples even more than her smile did.

She would have those two tiny lines between her eyebrows, visible only when she frowned. Otherwise her skin would look smooth as cream with a subtle hint of mocha. And a blush of dusky pink always flared on her high cheekbones when her temper rose like this.

“God, I miss your face,” he said, without thinking how plaintive it would sound. He could have kicked himself.

She knelt quickly, her hands covering one of his. “Oh, Will. What am I gonna do with you?”

He rubbed his free hand over his face, dipped it in the water and swiped it again. “Get me a doctor.”

“The pain still that bad?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “No. The eyes are still that bad.”

How am I supposed to get Matt’s murderer if I can’t see to shoot straight?

“I’ll help you,” she said, as if he’d spoken out loud.

A ripple of unease crawled up his spine. How did she do that? She’d done it before. When?

“In the hospital…” She laid her cheek against the back of his hand.

He pulled his hand free and sat upright. “What?”

“In the hospital,” she repeated, “you saw something. You envisioned that guy coming down the hall and warned us. If you hadn’t, we’d all be dead now. You’ve never felt…seen anything like that before, have you?”

He was still too shaken to answer, still caught up in the notion that she might be reading his thoughts. As Matt used to do, answering unspoken questions.

What if Holly had the power to do that, too, and had simply elected not to tell anyone about it? Will didn’t even want to imagine what she might have picked out of his thoughts about her since they’d first met. No, couldn’t be. She would have said something about that, for sure.

As for the other thing she’d mentioned, his warning to them, he didn’t want to think about how he had done it. And he sure didn’t want to talk about it. Matt could have explained it, if only he were around to ask.

His death seemed unreal, impossible. But it was a fact.

If only Matt had experienced a premonition before they’d gone out that night. He’d had no warning something fatal was about to go down. Why was that? Why hadn’t he picked up something—anything—from the shooter before the event? This Odin must have been near enough that Matt could have done so, probably during the whole operation.

Maybe there’d been too many people converging all at once for Matt to have zeroed in on any particular one. After all, just about every man at the airport had been armed and ready to kill anybody who got in the way. And Matt’s ability wasn’t all that consistent. Not surefire.

He had been blessed—or cursed, as Will sometimes thought—with telepathy and occasionally prescience. Will had never before experienced either one, at least not with people other than his brother.

There was the twin deal, of course. He and Matt had always operated on the same wavelength, a fairly common occurrence between identical twins. Besides that, the best Will had ever managed was the tingling along the back of the neck when being watched, a keen wariness when expecting things to go wrong, the usual intuition many people had.

Life without his twin was just too unthinkable.

Will couldn’t decide whether he was now a half person or if he had absorbed Matt’s soul and become two. It was as if his brother were still here…even closer than before he had been killed.

“Going back to sleep? If you are, I’m draining this tub so you won’t drown,” Holly warned, dragging him back to the present. She leaned over the edge and put her hand in the water.

Matt grabbed her wrist, glad to note his reflexes were still working. “You leave the drain alone,” he warned. He moved her hand away and promptly turned her loose.

Her fingernail raked softly down the side of his face. “I see you shaved,” she said, her tone sardonic.

“How observant.”

“Hard not to notice. You have blood running down your neck.” Her nail tapped just below where he had nicked himself.

She stood, her figure wavering as he looked up at her. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the tub. You’re getting all pruny.”

Pruny, huh? Maybe his fingers and toes. Will sat right where he was, wondering how many soap bubbles were left in the tub to provide cover. Probably not many. Maybe none.

He was picking up signals from Holly that indicated she was taking full advantage of the view. He felt himself stir. No matter how cold the water, when a woman was looking at you naked, it had a predictable effect.

“Where’s that guy? The one who’s been helping me,” he demanded.

“Doc Grayson? He’s in the kitchen. He trained as a medic his first stint in the navy, but he’s not a real doctor. He’s just—”

“Yes, but he is a real guy, okay? Leave me a little dignity. You’ve already made one too many jokes about my gun.”

She laughed, the sound merry as Christmas morning. “You rascal! That dry sense of humor’s still working, huh? I’ll go get Doc.”

Will smiled in spite of himself, listening to her laughter trail down the hallway and out of earshot. It was all right, after all. She wasn’t reading his mind. If she had been just now, she wouldn’t be laughing.

He splashed water on his face to wash away the blood from the nick.

In a few minutes, someone else entered the room. “Doc…Grayson, is it?”

“That’s me,” said the quiet, gentle voice. Will sensed he was an older man.

“Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. That’s what I get paid for.”

He didn’t elaborate. Doc was a man of few words, his movements unhurried and methodical as he assisted Will out of the tub and helped him dress.

The sweats were new, judging by the slightly starchy feel of them. Will didn’t care where the clothes came from; anything was a damn sight better than a freaking hospital gown. He sat down on the john and pulled on the socks Grayson put in his hand.

“Here are your shoes.”

One at the time, Will put the stiff new runners on and tied them. This was like being a kid again, but not in a good way. “I’m stronger now.” He stood up and stretched. “I feel better,” he announced, adding a little starch to his voice. Just saying it almost made it so.

“Take it easy now,” Grayson advised. “Don’t want to get too feisty too soon.”

“No, really, I’m okay,” Will argued. “I can make it under my own steam if you’ll guide me around the furniture. The big stuff I can maneuver, but anything spindly sort of blends in.”

“Was the optic nerve damaged?” Grayson asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Will snapped, then was immediately sorry. “Look, I don’t even know if the bullet’s still in my head, okay? Let’s go ask Holly.” He started for the door and tripped on the scatter rug.

Grayson caught him. “You better slow down.”

“Or get a fast dog and a cane.”

“No use making light of it, son. We’d best get somebody who can see about your eyes.”

“My thoughts exactly. I told Holly to,” he said as Grayson led him out of the bathroom.

The hallway seemed miles longer than before. Will’s legs felt so wobbly, he had to accept support and lean heavily.

However, instead of walking him back to the bedroom on their left, Grayson guided him right, into the kitchen. No question, that’s what the room was. The scents of bacon frying and coffee perking permeated the place.

Sunlight through the window silhouetted Holly’s head and shoulders. “Brunch?” he asked, forcing a smile.

“You bet. You up to some real food now, kiddo?”

She’d never called him that before. It was a name she reserved for Eric Vinland, youngest of their team. It rankled, being called that, but Will knew it would be childish to make an issue of something that trivial. He decided to ignore it.

“Heaven must smell pretty much like this,” he commented, striving for congeniality, hoping he sounded at least halfway normal. “I don’t know if my stomach is ready for the menu, but my nose is having a field day.”

“Park him right there, Doc,” Holly said. “I’ve got some oatmeal with his name on it.”

“Oh, Lord. Go ahead and shoot me,” Will muttered as he took a chair, his feigned good humor fading fast.

“Somebody already took care of that,” she quipped. “Now we have to get you well so you can shoot him back, okay? Mind Mama and eat your porridge so you’ll be a big, strong boy.”

She set something in front of him and began fussing over it. Adding sugar, butter and cream, he supposed. Not that he was going to eat the stuff, no matter what she did to it.

As close as she was to him, her arm brushing his shoulder, her head next to his, Will caught the familiar subtle scent of her. It jarred memories of holding her close last night, early this morning.

His appetite for food might be nil, but another appetite definitely was increasing. He needed to fight it. Rather, he ought to keep fighting it as he had, off and on, for a couple of years now.

Talk about denial. How the hell had he buried something like that in his subconscious?

Getting as close to death as he had must have loosened his grip. Matt would laugh about this. Matt, the wild one, the compulsive rule breaker. Wouldn’t he just love this little twist of events?

Told you so! Told you so! The voice in his mind was childish, high-pitched, taunting. Matt’s.

Will smiled to himself.

Had he really gone around the bend? Probably he was just delirious from hunger. He rested his head on Holly’s arm as she stirred his oatmeal. “I dreamed about your omelettes. Nobody makes them the way you do.”

She made a rude sound he was used to. “You are not conning me into feeding you something else.”

She lifted his hand off the table, stuck a spoon into his palm and closed his fingers around the handle, then dragged his other hand to the bowl.

“Okay, hotshot. We know your nose is working. Let’s see if you can find your mouth.”



In less than three hours, Holly noted a huge difference in Will. He had been up and around most of the morning. She admired his dedicated efforts to regain his strength and deal with his temporary handicap.

There was no malingering, no slamming things around in anger. She seriously doubted she would have been able to handle herself as well if the situation were reversed. But Will was Will, practical and determined as ever.

Holly couldn’t help thinking how he was the antithesis of the men she had known growing up. Maybe that was the fascination he held for her. He didn’t have that in-your-face attitude—a trait she admitted to having a bit of herself. But even so, Will was anything but soft. That quiet intensity of his could project a much greater menace than any loud posturing or fist waving could ever do.

She had never heard him raise his voice in anger. That tightening of his strong, square jaw and slight narrowing of the eyes, combined with a calmly voiced promise of consequences, was enough to do the trick.

Another thing about Will was that he listened, really heard what a person had to say. And he usually spoke little, just enough to get his point across. The result was that he held everyone’s attention when he did speak.

That reserve of his always made her want to shake him up and see what would happen when he really got ruffled.

It was early afternoon when he appeared at the door to her room.

“Hey, Will, come on in.” She watched Grayson guide him over and place his hand on the back of the empty chair. “Have a seat. Jack pulled some photos he thought might match my little portrait of our perp. I’m waiting for them to download.”

Grayson left them alone, and she shifted impatiently in the computer chair while she waited for the pictures to appear. Jack had formatted them for high resolution and that would take awhile.

“Well, is he there?” Will demanded, obviously as eager as she was to find out whether their shooter was in the array of possible subjects Jack had collected from various data banks. The chair beside hers squeaked as he scooted it closer. Their shoulders touched; his leg brushed hers.

Holly shifted a bit, breaking contact, though she could still feel his warmth next to her. “We’ll soon know.”

Jack needed more details than she had transmitted earlier after she had debriefed Will. She hoped he might have remembered something else since then.

“Describe who you saw that day,” she suggested as they waited.

He sighed. “Okay, one more time. The strike team was late. The plane was loaded. We either had to disable it or put the terrorists out of commission. We counted six guys, the number we’d been notified were involved in the transport. We shot up the plane first. A firefight ensued. We took them down. Firing ceased.”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

He swallowed hard. “Matt and I approached the plane, verified the missiles were inside, then I called you.”

He paused and looked as if he was gearing up to recount the rest.

Holly put a hand on his arm. “How long after the firing stopped were you and Matt hit?”

Will paused for a few seconds, his brow furrowed. “At least seven, maybe ten minutes. We had time to check for survivors and secure the wounded guy, look inside the plane, then call it in.”

“But you had a warning.”

“I saw a shadow move near the hangar. We weren’t wearing night vision equipment. You know how it screws you up if there’s a sudden flare. A flashlight can blind you and make you a target. Firing commenced. Matt threw himself at me and took us both to the ground. That’s all I remember.”

“Okay, now what did you see in the hospital? In your mind, you saw this guy coming down the hallway.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I knew where he was in relation to us, I guess. I felt his intent while he was psyching himself up for the kill. Matt always said that he could grasp things like that when a subject’s emotions ran high. It was just feelings, and…glimpses of what he was seeing, I think.”

Holly studied Will for a long minute. She was sort of surprised he was willingly describing his episode of extrasensory perception in as careful detail as he had the actual events at the airfield. “What were the visuals?”

Will shrugged. “The weapon. I got a fix on that, unless my mind’s playing tricks. Some kind of plastic deal, I think. Featherweight. Weird looking. He was really proud of it, as if he’d made it himself. Almost laughing at how simple it was to get it past the detectors.”

“Excellent, Will. That’s exactly what he had,” Holly said softly, encouraging him to continue. “Anything else? Try to remember.”

He turned inward, she could tell, concentrating hard. “Anger. Contained fury, though. He had to kill me.”

“He was afraid you’d glimpsed his face that night,” she guessed. “He had to get to you before you recovered and were able to do exactly what I’m about to do right now—match his face with an identity.”

“How would he know that I hadn’t already done that?” Will asked. “He’d have to have a contact at the hospital, or with somebody who was keeping close track of my condition.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s what Eric’s following up on.” She glanced at the monitor, where the first picture had materialized. “Here we go.”

“What did he look like?” Will asked.

“Average height. Bushy eyebrows. I’m pretty sure the hair and mustache were fake. His shoulders sloped, sort of like a no-neck athlete, you know?”

Will sat quietly beside her as she examined the five photos Jack had sent with his first message. “Not any one of these guys,” she reported with a puff of frustration.

She opened the next e-mail, with more files attached. “Rats. This could take forever.”

For a long while there was no sound other than the click of the keys and her own occasional hum of disappointment.

Then Will said, almost to himself, “If I could get something of his, something he touched… I don’t know if I can read him that way, but did he drop anything?”

Holly thought for a minute. “Shell casings at the airport? He would have touched those while loading. The dart from the nurse’s neck?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just a thought, something to try, but it’s pretty far-fetched. Tell Jack to send what he’s got, just in case. Eric’s probably tried everything already, since clairvoyance is his bag. Mine is… I don’t really know what mine is,” he admitted with a grunt. “If it’s anything at all.”

“It’s not like Joe’s snapshot images, is it?” She shook her head before he answered. “No, that’s pre-cognitive, and so are Clay’s visions, except that he has to seek them out, and then they’re too symbolic to mean much until after the fact. But yours seem to be real-time telepathy.”

“Added to remote viewing, apparently,” he added. “Like Matt’s.”

“Can you read me?” Holly asked. “Try it.”

He was silent for a while, then sighed. “No. Nothing. What are you thinking?”

“That we’ll ask Jack for the objects, anyway. It’s certainly worth a shot,” Holly said, and promptly fired off an e-mail to that effect.

She really should encourage Will to keep trying to get in touch with his newfound ability and explore it to the max. “If it’s not too painful for you, would you tell me about Matt and how you both dealt with his perceptions?”

“He had them and I didn’t. At least I never picked up on anything from other people. With Matt, I pretty much knew what he was thinking most of the time. We didn’t talk about it, it just was.”

“And you never even attempted to do what he did?”

Will shook his head. “Hell, no. He caught a lot of flack because of it when we were kids. He never denied it, though. It was part of him and he used it, just took it for granted most of the time.”

“Maybe you suppressed your ability early on because people gave him such a hard time about it,” Holly guessed. “That would be a natural reaction.”

“Spare me the pop psychology.”

“That’s my bag, in case you never noticed. People actually pay me for it.”

As usual, Will ignored her tone. “We were thoroughly analyzed by experts, believe me. Matt enjoyed confusing them. He really got into those so-called studies.”

“Matt was a show-off,” Holly said with a smile. “You were always the quiet one.”

“Were?”

She patted his arm and sighed. “Yep. You realize you’ve discussed more personal stuff with me in the last few hours than you have in all the time I’ve known you? And that’s a good thing, Will.”

“Forced proximity, I imagine. Nothing else to do.”

“No, it’s more than that. Different,” Holly argued. “You and I have been on secluded ops before with plenty of time and opportunity for conversation, and you hardly said anything at all about yourself.”

“Maybe you never let me get a word in,” he teased, then sobered a little. “I think I get what you’re trying to say. Maybe I’m even reading you a little right now. You’re worried I’m taking on Matt’s characteristics. Trying to be him now that he’s gone. I was his shadow for so long and now the substance of us is gone.”

“No, that’s wrong, Will. You’re obviously not reading my mind but projecting your own worry. Matt was not the substance. You were two separate and very valuable individuals. You might have looked identical, but you were so different from each other. Maybe you don’t see it that way, but I always have,” Holly assured him. “We chose you for the Sextant team. Just you.”

“Only because of the language thing.”

“No, not entirely. You do have a super background in Middle Eastern languages, but Matt had Russian.”

Will shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No! Don’t tell me. You subbed for him in class. Will, that was cheating!”

“No, we never switched. He…we thought about it, but that would have put him at a big disadvantage if he’d ever had to use it. I only…well, sort of tutored him.”

She sat up straight and stared at him in surprise. “You speak Russian? You never listed that!”

He shrugged again. “I never formally studied it. Not in class. I might have had to justify that if I’d put it on my résumé.”

“Yeah, and it would have made Matt’s list of creds look even slimmer than yours, right?”

She slid her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “Don’t ever sell yourself short, Will. You were never Matt’s shadow. You were his support. You were his anchor, his rudder.”

Will laughed. “His sail, too? If you knew how much both of us hated boats, you’d come up with another analogy.”

He rested his head against hers and patted the hand she had placed on his arm. “But I see what you’re saying and I appreciate the thought. Matt would have laughed his butt off at this whole conversation.”

“I bet he would. But you ought to listen to me.”

“I always listen to you,” he said softly. “It’s one of the great joys of my life, listening to you, even when you don’t make a lick of sense.”

They laughed together. Holly felt his steady warmth flow through her like a balm. It amazed her how they could be together this way with nothing sexual happening at all, and yet feel empowered with the energy of it.

“You should go back to work,” he said, lifting his head away from hers and disengaging. “I’m getting maudlin here. Must be the drugs.” But they both knew he hadn’t taken so much as an aspirin all day long.

He stood, catching his foot on the leg of the computer desk and cursing under his breath. She barely stopped herself from reaching out and giving him a hand. That fierce independence of his needed to assert itself, and she needed to help it do so more than he needed her in mom mode.

He recovered his balance and braced his hand on the edge of the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll make myself scarce for a while.”

“Going out to run a few laps?” she quipped to hide her disappointment.

“Sure, why not? Need me to pick up anything while I’m out? Be sure you describe it by feel.”

Holly groaned. “He made a joke! A blind joke, too! Red letter day in the life of Mr. Solemnity.”

“Point me to the door,” Will said with a disgusted shake of his head. “Now I’m all turned around.”

“Go to your two o’clock and straight ahead,” she suggested.

“Walk me into the wall and I’ll trade you in on a guide dog,” he warned.

“Two jokes in one day. That qualifies as a stand-up routine.”

“Get to work, Holly,” he ordered with a backward wave. “One of us needs to be earning our pay.”

“Slave driver.”

She clicked the keys, pretending to be busy as she watched him make his way to the open door.

He veered a tad off course and touched the wall, then slid his hands along it in both directions until he found the door frame.

Her fingers continued making noise on the keyboard. A tear leaked out and she quickly dashed it away.

What if his blindness became permanent? She wanted so much to hold him, to protect him, but he would never accept that. Not now. He would see any offer she made as pity.

The awful thing was, she did feel sorry for him and couldn’t deny that she did. She knew how she would hate it if he, or anyone else, ever felt that way about her.

Damn, she almost wished she were the one out there running down leads, and someone else had been assigned to watch Will’s back.

She didn’t really mean that, Holly admitted as soon as she thought it. She couldn’t be anywhere right now but exactly where she was. Even if Jack relieved her and ordered her to go, she couldn’t leave Will in anyone else’s care.

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, she turned to the computer and began scanning faces for the features of his would-be assassin.




Chapter 4


None of the photos looked remotely like the shooter in the hospital. Holly ran them through the shredder and called Jack with the bad news. There would be others, he promised. The search had hardly begun.

Time for a break. She went to the old wardrobe and thumbed through the generous stacks of clothing bought specifically for witnesses who might arrive here without luggage.

She doffed the sweats she had put on that morning, and found herself a tank top and shorts. Then she headed for the room with the exercise equipment, hoping to sweat off some of the tension.

The sound of sliding weight cables reached her before she got there. Grayson must be working out.

Uh-oh, not Grayson. That was so not him.

The sight of Will made her freeze in the doorway. He was wearing only a pair of knit running shorts, lying on his back, gripping the bar on the pulley, straining every muscle as he slowly drew it down to his chest.

A fine sheen of perspiration coated his entire body. Every bulge of muscle shone, even the finely sculpted thighs and calves.

She jerked her gaze to his face for her own peace of mind. His features gleamed, too. Sweat beaded and rivulets ran off his forehead, leading her eye down to the flexing muscles of his neck.

Her breath had stuck in her throat, but oxygen deprivation did absolutely nothing to dull her appreciation. Man, he was something else.

Nope, he wasn’t bad at all, she thought with a grin, noting the snake-and-anchor tattoo stretching over his biceps. She knew he had gotten it during his stint in the marines.

In belated rebellion to all that family money, he and his brother had struck out on their own the summer after their freshman year, served their three years and then returned to college, wiser, calmer and as totally independent as self-made men. Also determined to make a difference in their world. They certainly had done that.

She admired Will so much. His dedication. His courage. His incredible mind. And there was a whole lot more of him to appreciate in addition to those inner attributes.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lyn-stone/under-the-gun/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.