Blindingly fast, she gave a vicious yank. The figure beneath her went limp and thudded to the floor. A second, bigger figure jumped on her from behind, a knife glinting dully in the gloom.
Jeff’s weapon swung up to his shoulder. Time ceased, and his mind went to some strange place it had never gone before. A state of suspended animation descended upon him. He became one with the gun, and with the lead slug resting in its depths. He took the shot almost without conscious thought. It was as if his mind directed the bullet’s path, guiding its flight unerringly a hair past Kat’s temple and into the left eye of her attacker. The guy’s head snapped back, and Kat whipped around in his grasp, striking him an open-handed blow that leveled him long before Jeff’s bullet dropped him.
As he ran forward toward her, a single thought crossed his mind. He’d never seen another human being move as fast as she just had.
“You okay?” he bit out as they sank to the ground, back-to-back as their attackers had just been.
“Yeah. You?” She panted.
“Fine.”
The gunfire in the room was winding down. One more burst of gunfire, he recognized the sound of an MP-7- standard issue for the Medusas-and then it went quiet. The silence was intense after all the shots in an enclosed space, and his ears rang fiercely.
“Report!” he called.
One by one, the Medusas reported in. Misty’s voice sounded strained, as if she were injured.
“Mamba,” he called.
“I’m on it,” the medic replied, already running toward the last sound of Misty’s voice.
He stood up cautiously. “Clear the space by standard quadrants. We’ll meet at the fireplace.”
Kat stood up behind him and it was all he could do not to spin around and snatch her into his arms, to run his hands over her to assure himself that she wasn’t hurt. But now was not the time. Not yet.
He methodically checked his portion of the room, verifying that the two hostiles he and Kat had taken out were, indeed, dead. A few minutes later, the team converged by the fireplace, Mamba holding Misty’s left arm and still binding a splint into place. For her part, Misty’s face was drawn in pain.
“What have you got, Mamba?”
“Bullet in the upper arm, lodged near the bone. Gonna have to dig it out. Bleeding under control. She’s ambulatory but not combat capable.”
He nodded briskly. It was weird to let a woman suffer with a gunshot wound like this, but if he’d ever doubted it before, he didn’t now. These women were soldiers of the first caliber, every bit as good as his own men. They’d worked like a well-oiled machine, in spite of the close confines, the lack of radios and determined resistance by the hostiles.
Kat looked up from the body she’d just searched. “Russian. What do you want to bet our frisky oil minister sent them to get his movie back.”
Jeff nodded. “That movie’s gonna cost India a big oil contract or a whole lot of egg on that Russian minister’s face. The State Department’s gonna kiss your feet when you give that disk to them.”
Kat made a face. “That’s okay. I’ll settle for a decent foot massage. No kissing required.”
He grinned and spoke off frequency. “It all depends on who’s doing the kissing and how. You’re gonna like what I do to your toes.”
Kat’s eyes popped wide open, clearly imagining the possibilities.
The static in his ear stopped abruptly. Hallelujah. In the chaos of battle he hadn’t noticed it, but it had really been starting to get on his nerves the last minute or two.
“Say status,” Jennifer Blackfoot ordered.
She sounded tense. Which was saying something for her.
He replied, “All hostiles down. One friendly injury. We’ll need medevac to a hospital, but it’s not life- threatening.”
“Well done, Maverick, ladies.”
He started. That had been General Wittenauer’s voice. He’d had no idea the Old Man had been monitoring this op.
“Let’s move out,” Jeff ordered.
They headed for the back of the house. Bravo 51 was being directed to move in and pick up Misty and Mamba and fly them back to the H.O.T. Watch cave. Aleesha would remove Misty’s bullet in their operating room, where there wouldn’t be any awkward questions asked about how Misty’d been shot.
The helicopter lifted off, and the Medusas hiked off through the trees to recover the surveillance gear they’d abandoned when he’d ordered them to rush the house. Kat hung back with him, since she’d carried all her gear with her when she broke in to the mansion.
She gazed up at him in the starlight beseechingly. She did not speak, but then, she didn’t have to. Her eyes said everything. She was hurt. Missed him. Wanted to talk to him. Wanted him to understand that this was who she was.
“I-”
A dark shape hurtled out of the trees and barreled into Kat just as a gunshot rang out.
Jeff dived for Kat and the prone figure on top of her. Before he could do a thing to help her, Kat had moved like lightning, slipping the grip of her captor and reversing their positions.
Another shot rang out, and a foot-long divet of grass flew up a scant inch beyond Kat’s head. Jeff jumped to his feet, grabbing the attacker by one arm as Kat took him by the other. The three of them sprinted across the lawn, zigzagging for cover.
A French-accented voice panted. “One shooteur. In the woods that way. I show you.”
“Ahh. We meet again,” Kat answered warmly.
The Ghost? Jeff’s jaw dropped as he ran. The guy had literally run right into his grasp? Exultation shot through him.
They dived into a stand of fig trees and the shooter paused for the moment.
“This way!” The Ghost took off crawling on his hands and knees, with Kat in tow.
“You’re not going to follow him, are you?” Jeff demanded in a whisper.
“Of course I am.”
“You’ve already walked into one trap tonight. Are you going to dive into another one?” Jeff challenged.
“He just saved my life. He’s not a killer.” And with that, Kat turned away and rose to a crouch, running after the thief.
Jeff closed his eyes for a moment in sheer exasperation and then gave chase. The pair had paused at the edge of the fig grove. He drew close in time to hear Kat murmur, “Can you point him out from here?
“I t’ink not.”
“Use this,” she said. Jeff gaped as she pulled out her spotter’s scope and passed it to the Frenchman.
“Ahh. There ’e is.”
Kat glanced over her shoulder. “Give me your gun, Jeff.”
“I’ll take the shot-”
She cut him off. “I’m a trained sniper. You’re not. I’ll take the shot.”
Shaking his head, he peeled his MP-7 off his shoulder and handed it over. “It’s sighted true. I make corrections manually.”
“Perfect.” Kat sounded distant, already completely focused on the shot to come. She transmitted over her radio. “Does anybody have the current winds at this location?”
She stretched out on the ground, settling into a prone position, the rifle coming up to her cheek.
Jeff recognized Carter Beigneaux’s voice from H.O.T. Watch Ops. “Five knots, variable from heading one hundred to one hundred and thirty.”
“Thanks,” Kat muttered.
“What’s going on?” Jennifer demanded.
Jeff answered, “A stray shooter.”
“You need telemetry?” Jennifer blurted in alarm.
“No. Cobra’s got it handled. Stand by.”
And something deep in his gut really did believe she had the situation under control. He was still and silent
