so real that the edges of the clouds lit up with answering current. Power surged. There was no mistaking the sudden anxiety in the environment. It shimmered on the night breeze, a sudden alarm the other members in the sniper's unit couldn't control.
Ken shouldered his rifle and double-timed it. He knew the location of the body, and judging by the way the sniper had free-fallen, he'd been unconscious going down. That didn't mean he'd stay unconscious. Just like the others, he was a supersoldier, enhanced physically as well as psychically. And that meant containing him as quickly as possible.
Ken planned every move as he ran, trusting Jack to keep the enemy off of him. Two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously. A bullet zinged off to Ken's right, shaving the bark from a tree close to where he veered. The shooter had anticipated him leaping over a fallen trunk and on to another one to gain the far hill. Jack had no doubt been more successful with his bullet, because no one else shot at Ken despite the itch between his shoulder blades.
Ken scrambled through loose dirt and leaves, uncaring of leaving a trail. Speed was of the essence. Jack fired twice more.
Ken slowed as he closed in on his prey. If the man was still alive, as Ken believed him to be, he could very well be armed and ready for trouble. There was a buzzing in Ken's head, the pressure that accompanied telepathic communication. Someone not from their own team was trying to talk, but Kadan was a strong shield and he was successfully jamming all psychic interaction. Few enhanced soldiers could do what Kadan could, and it was probably a shock to the assassination team. But it also was clear that the other team was enhanced not only physically, but psychically as well-which meant they were GhostWalkers.
It had to be Whitney coming after the senator. Did that mean they'd had a falling out? Ken proceeded with more stealth, careful to move with the wind, to avoid when he could stepping on branches. The sniper would know he was coming, but he'd hesitate to shoot, afraid of hitting one of his own. He was calling for help though, the buzzing frantic and continuous in Ken's head. There were no words-Kadan saw to that-but everyone open to extrasensory interaction would know the sniper was alive and seeking help. Ken had to close down all psychic contact immediately before the combined efforts of the other team overpowered him.
He pushed aside foliage and saw the sniper lying just below him, facing away. The first bullet had taken him in the chest, and he was wearing at least one. possibly two vests, making his chest appear barrel-like beneath his reflective clothing. The body armor had saved his life, but the second bullet had sliced through his leg. Blood splattered the leaves and grass in huge black splotches. Sometimes Ken thought he would never see blood as red again. In the jungle his blood had appeared black, pooling around him like a river. He slung his rifle around his neck and drew his gun, careful now as he approached the sniper.
The man's weapon should have been tangled in the bushes, but the sniper had held on. and that told Ken that the man wasn't unconscious. He wasn't moving and he didn't have the gun in a firing position, although it was in his hand, finger on the trigger.
Ken came up on the sniper out of the his line of vision, making certain the wounded man would have to turn at an awkward angle. And it just wasn't going to happen with that leg the way it was. The man was utterly silent, coiled like a rattler, waiting for friend or foe to explode into action.
Ken moved fast, snagging the rifle and flinging it a distance away before the sniper was aware he was on top of him. The sniper didn't fight for the gun; instead, his free hand moved like lightning, a smooth draw of a hold-out pistol from the bloody boot, the hand sliding just as fast, finger on the trigger, up toward his own head.
Ken's heart nearly stopped. He reacted without thought, kicking hard, driving the toe of his boot into the hand, sending the gun flying and hearing the satisfying crack of bones.
Still the sniper made no sound, but his other hand went for a hidden knife. Just as smooth. Just as fast. The sniper was going to kill himself to avoid capture. What kind of fanatics were they dealing with? The sniper used his broken hand, not even flinching as he drew the knife, but this time he screamed when Ken stomped on the hand, pinning the knife to the ground. The scream was high-pitched and sent chills down Ken's spine.
He crouched beside the wounded man and stared into the large, heavily lashed eyes. Eyes he recognized. Eyes he'd seen staring back at him with laughter and affection. His belly muscles clenched, and he swore softly under his breath as he jerked the cap off the man's head. He wasn't looking at a man, and damn it all, he knew
That small millisecond of recognition was enough for her. She slammed her elbow into his throat, going for a death blow, trying to drive through his trachea and crush his airway. She was definitely physically enhanced. She had the speed and the strength in spite of her injuries, but Ken slipped the blow and pulled out his med kit, then leaned his weight into her, pinned her down, and prepared the needle. Using his teeth, he pulled off the cap and slammed it home, injecting her fast, praying she wasn't allergic and he could do a fast medical on her and make a run for it.
Jack came up behind him, taking a position facing away from them, making a sweep with his rifle to keep back any of the sniper's squad that might slip through their team's net.
'Hurry up,' Jack growled. 'Knock him out and stop being so gentle about it.'
'It's Man, Jack,' Ken whispered, needing to say it aloud.
'What?' Jack jerked around, staring at the sniper as the eyes fluttered closed. 'Are you certain?'
Ken pulled the woman's belt loose and buckled it around her leg. 'Either that or your wife is playing sniper for the other team. It has to be Man. She looks exactly like Briony.'
Jack backed up until he had a good look at the woman's face. There was dirt and scratches and blood, but the sight of her lying pale, platinum and gold hair spilling around her face, nearly stopped his heart. 'Is she going to make it?'
'I'm trying. She's lost some blood. We've got to get out of here. Jack. Kadan and the others aren't going to be able to hold them for long. Who's our medic?'
'Nico is the closest. He's with the helicopter, about an hour out.'
'Tell him to rendezvous at the point. We'll hump it out of here and hope she doesn't bleed out while we make a run for it.' Ken reached over the top of the woman to grab her arm. He inhaled as he did so. He'd been holding his breath without realizing it. afraid to take in her scent. Whitney had done a lot of experimenting, everything from genetic enhancement to pheromones. Ken wanted no part of that. He already had enough to contend with.
Mari was small and shapely beneath the vests, camouflage clothing, and regulation boots. The moment Ken drew her scent into his lungs, he knew he was in trouble. It mattered little that they were surrounded by the enemy, or that she smelled of sweat and blood; her natural scent acted like a powerful drug, an aphrodisiac, and he found his body reacting in spite of the dangerous situation. He clenched his teeth and brought her up to his shoulders, then moved quickly through the heavy brush toward the rendezvous point with the helicopter.
Jack retrieved her weapon, slinging it around his neck and falling in behind his brother, forcing his attention on keeping them alive, and not worrying about what might happen to his wife's sister.
Kadan and the rest of the team would get the senator and his wife to safety, utilizing the vehicles. Kadan had already arranged for another helicopter pickup at an opposite location. Ken and Jack were fairly certain the assassination team was going to be charging after them and their prisoner, or at least dividing. In any case. Kadan needed to question the senator's wife. At the very least they needed to take a much closer look at her.
Ken ran. feeling with every step he took the weight of the knowledge that he was the one who had shot the woman. If she died, he would never be able to face Briony, Jack's wife. He loved Briony. She accepted him with his ugly face and body, never flinching away or averting her eyes. But more than her acceptance, she'd changed Jack's
