Then a shot rang out, and Gresley’s skull literally exploded in front of her eyes. She turned toward the source, prepared to thank Ortega, but her savior was Jonathan Kell, looking like an incongruous version of Rambo with the bow and quiver slung over one slender shoulder, and the rifle held tightly in his hands-hands that were shaking so violently, she was afraid he’d shoot her next.
“Lower the rifle,” she murmured, and when he had done so, she ran to him and gave him a huge hug. “My hero! You saved me, Jonathan.”
His voice was so hushed it was almost nonexistent as he told her, “He was going to kill you.”
“Believe it!” She laughed and hugged him again. “Have you seen Ortega? Look! The plane’s landing. He’s going to need your cocktails now. Are they ready?”
Kell nodded.
She could see that the scientist was beginning to wear down, so she kissed his cheek and reminded him, “It’s almost over. We’ve gotten four out of ten that we know of, and you can bet Ortega has taken out at least one more.”
“There could be dozens more on the plane.”
“Or it could be empty except for the pilot. Go back and wait for Ortega. I’m going to scout around some more.”
“Wait, Miranda. Take this.” Kell handed her the bow and quiver. “Use the red arrow. It’s good luck.”
“The red one?”
“I put some of your Night Arrow potion on it. It turned red on contact. That’s a good omen, right?”
She nodded. “Go on now. Take the rifle. Try not to shoot yourself. Or Ortega,” she added with a teasing smile.
Surprised that no one had come to avenge Gresley, she darted quickly to the edge of the treeline and saw that all eyes were on Ortega and Tork squaring off at the other side of the strip. Two motionless bodies lay nearby-one in uniform, one in a suit. She could only assume the latter was Chen, killed by Ortega.
It seemed crazy that Carerra hadn’t simply taken a shot at Ortega by now, but the Brigadier was standing by the limousines, holding a knife to his wife’s throat, his rapt attention focused on the fight, and she realized he was just bloodthirsty enough to want to see his old nemesis torn limb from limb by a giant.
And it certainly looked like Tork was the man for the job. He was a full foot taller than Ortega, and Miranda guessed he had fifty pounds of muscle on him, at least. Not that Ortega was a lightweight himself, but compared to Tork, his broad shoulders and powerful build were dwarfed.
Miranda raised her pistol and steadied it with both hands, not willing to take a chance on the outcome despite her confidence in Ortega. But before she could fire a clean shot at Tork, the two men charged one another and began exchanging vicious blows. She didn’t dare shoot now, for fear of missing Tork and hitting the man she practically loved.
The plane was taxiing to a stop, but no one seemed to care. The battle between Tork and Ortega was the only game in town. Then the sound of a helicopter in the distance brought everyone back to their senses, and Carerra began dragging Angelina toward the plane, the knife still held to her throat.
Miranda shook her head, amazed that Carerra thought she’d refrain from shooting at them just because Angelina had intervened for her. As much as she had appreciated the wife’s gesture, she wasn’t going to let the husband get away. Plus, to be fair, Angelina had been more than comfortable with Miranda’s death. She had only drawn the line at molestation. Admirable, yes. But not quite admirable enough to earn herself a complete pass.
Apparently Jonathan Kell was having the same thought, because a fiery bottle suddenly sailed through the air, landing between Carerra and the plane, exploding into a wall of dancing flames.
Dropping the knife, Carerra sprinted into the darkness, with Angelina running after him, calling his name. Frustrated, Miranda took a quick glance toward Ortega, who was being pummeled, but was still fighting back.
In a minute, the chopper would land. She knew the smart thing to do would be run and help Ortega defeat Tork. The SPIN team would find Carerra soon enough.
Then the plane door slid open, stairs were unfolded onto the runway, and three uniformed men, armed with rifles and a rocket launcher, appeared in the doorway.
She groaned aloud. They were going to take down the chopper, which meant she had to kill them before they could set up. Carerra had known exactly what he was doing, getting out of the line of fire, hiding in the dark, waiting until his troops had succeeded before coming back, with or without Angelina in tow.
Forget Carerra, she told herself, but for reasons she couldn’t understand, she was fixated on him to the point where she could swear she heard the sound of his running feet pounding the strip, even though he had disappeared in the darkness. She could even hear his labored, frantic breathing! He was too far away for her to shoot at him with any degree of accuracy, but still she could hear him. Almost smell him!
And she knew she could hit him with an arrow. The red arrow-for luck, just like Jonathan had suggested. Pulling it from the quiver, she notched it, then aimed toward the sound of Carerra’s feet.
Then she gasped aloud, realizing that someway, somehow, she could now see him as well as hear him. Or at least, she could perceive him-the heat from him-as though she were wearing night vision goggles.
There was no time to analyze the phenomenon, so she embraced the infusion of confidence it gave her, then she released the string, and the arrow shot forward. In her mind, she could follow its progress easily as it cut through the night, and she knew the precise instant when it penetrated Carerra’s back and sliced through his evil heart.
She couldn’t pause to savor the victory. Instead, she began to run, closing the distance between herself and the new troops, who were just hitting the ground. Then another fiery bottle flew past her, landing on the wing of the airplane, exploding on impact, and the three armed men went sailing through the air as a spark-filled concussion blast assaulted them.
Jonathan!
Laughing out loud, Miranda looked over at Ortega, who was standing, his hands on his hips, staring at the conflagration. At his feet lay the lifeless body of Tork.
“Good riddance,” she murmured, aiming her pistol steadily as she began to walk toward the guards that had been stunned by the blast. Ortega did likewise, until the chopper touched down, and six men in black uniforms rushed onto the strip to take over.
Miranda scanned the edge of the woods for Kell, finally locating him. He was kneeling, clearly exhausted. Running to him, she pulled him into an embrace. “You were incredible, Jonathan. Just incredible.”
“I’m tired,” he confessed. “Is it over?”
“Yes. Thanks to you.” She hugged him again, then stood to greet one of the SPIN team, who approached cautiously, asking, “Are you okay, ma’am?”
“I’m fine. This man saved our lives. Can you get him a blanket and some water?”
“Sure.” The man leaned down and helped Jonathan to his feet. “Let’s go, buddy. We’ll get you squared away.”
Kell sent Miranda a dazed smile, then limped away, leaning heavily on the soldier.
Ortega walked over to where Miranda was standing and announced, “That freak of nature almost fucking killed me.” Then he grinned. “You okay?”
She nodded.
He motioned toward the helicopter, where Kell was being greeted by what appeared to be a team of medics. “How’s the man of the hour?”
“Exhausted, the poor baby,” she said with a fond smile. “Can you believe how great he was?”
“We couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Make sure you tell him that. It’ll mean so much, coming from his hero.”
“There’s something I want to tell you first.”
She bit her lip. “Right now?”
“Yeah, right now.” He stepped up to her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately.
“Agent Ortega?” a booming male voice demanded from a few yards away.
Miranda wriggled out of Ortega’s embrace in time to see him scowl and demand, “Russo? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you again, too,” the newcomer said, winking in Miranda’s direction. “Agent Cutler, I presume? I’m
