Special Agent Justin Russo, at your service.”
Ortega snorted. “Has SPIN lost its mind, sending an FBI agent on an international op? And is that a Red Cross on that chopper? You used a nonmilitary carrier for this mission?”
“We pulled it together pretty fast,” Russo explained, giving Miranda a dazzling smile. “S-3 knew I was vacationing in Lyons, so she recruited me. Luckily, I’m friends with a girl who works for the Red Cross in Geneva. The rest just fell into place.”
“You just happened to know a girl in Geneva? Big surprise. You never change, Russo.”
“Right back at you, Ortega,” the agent said with a chuckle. “I just wanted to report that we’ve rounded up all your strays. Found Benito Carerra shot through the heart with an arrow. And this time,” he reported with a sly grin, “he’s actually dead. I’m guessing there’s a story there, huh?”
Ortega looked at Miranda, who murmured, “Lucky shot.”
“You did it?” Russo whistled. “Maybe you can give Ortega here some lessons. He aims a little high, right?” Before Ortega could answer, the agent insisted, “That’s all I wanted to say. Things are under control, so you two can get back to debriefing each other.”
Ortega glared. But Miranda insisted warmly, “You got here just in time. Thanks, Agent Russo. We really appreciate it.”
“If I’d known how good-looking you were, I’d have been here sooner,” he assured her. “Let us know what you need. I’ll be over there, wrapping up.”
Miranda waited until the handsome agent was out of earshot, then she teased Ortega. “You weren’t very nice to him, considering he saved our lives.”
“He didn’t save our lives. Jonathan did. Plus, that guy aggravates the hell out of me. Always has.”
“I noticed,” she said with a laugh. “He seems nice enough.”
“He thinks he’s James Bond. Running around with women, breaking rules, making flashy entrances like he did just now. It’s all a big joke to him. Kristie’s got a soft spot where he’s concerned, but to me, he’s a menace.”
“Well, I like him.”
“Big surprise. Women always like him. That’s how he gets away with as much as he does. If I were his boss…” He caught himself and laughed. “I almost was. That would have been a nightmare for him. I guess he’s the only one who really benefited from that mess. Speaking of which…” He reached for her again.
“Can we check on Jonathan first? Then-” She slipped her hands behind his head and pulled it forward, gently kissing his lips. “Then you’ll have my undivided attention. I need to talk to you, too,” she admitted.
“Okay. I want to see your handiwork on Carerra anyway.”
She hesitated, then said, “It was such a weird sensation. Even though it was too dark to see him, and he was so far away, I swear I could hear him breathing. I knew just where he was. It was like all of my senses were sharpened. Because of the Night Arrow potion,” she added warily.
“Right,” Ortega drawled. “It was the Night Arrow. Not the hallucinogen in Jonathan’s fear drug.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “Good point. I forgot about that.” Then she laughed and insisted, “I like my explanation better.”
He laughed, too, then took her by the arm and they strolled over to the helicopter, where Carerra’s body was on display, the arrow still imbedded in his chest. Ortega stopped to admire it, while Miranda walked over to Angelina, who was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. “Hi.”
The widow looked up, her bloodshot eyes vacant.
“We had to sedate her pretty heavily,” a medic whispered. “But she’ll be fine.”
Miranda sighed, knowing that Angelina wouldn’t be “fine” at all. She’d be charged with conspiracy. And she’d be all alone, a nightmare in itself for a woman accustomed to depending on men. Touching her arm, Miranda told her, “I’ll make sure they know what you did. In your own way, you tried to help.”
Angelina nodded, then pulled the blanket high so that it covered her face.
Miranda sighed, then asked the attendant, “How’s Mr. Kell doing? Did you sedate him, too?”
“We made him as comfortable as we could,” the medic murmured. “There was only so much we could do. He lost a lot of blood.”
A chill flashed up her spine. “What are you talking about? What blood?”
Not waiting for an answer, she strode over to the stretchers that were being readied for loading onto the chopper. On the first lay Victor Chen, sound asleep, his face bruised and swollen but his color otherwise good.
Then she saw Kell, his eyes closed, his face pale, an intravenous tube in his arm.
“Oh, my God. Jonathan?” She knelt beside him and took his hand in her own. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his breathing labored.
She noted a streak of blood on the otherwise pure white sheet covering him, and she steeled herself before taking a peek underneath, where bandages were already seeping, unable to completely stem the flow from two wounds, one under his arm, the other below his throat. To her shock she realized that a single bullet must have gone through him, wreaking havoc with lungs and arteries.
She jumped up and shouted, “Ortega!” Then she knelt again and patted Kell’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Jonathan. It’s going to be okay.”
“I didn’t even feel it,” Kell murmured. “I still don’t. So don’t be upset. Just remember that because of you, I had the best day of my life today.”
“Shh…don’t talk like that. You’ll be fine.”
“You mean, I’ll be my old self?” He shook his head. “I can’t go back to that. Being miserable…terrified…” His eyelids fluttered as he insisted, “Not again. Not after this. I’m finally free of fear…”
“Jonathan?” Miranda sighed, her heart aching for him. He was dipping in and out of consciousness, and she told herself he needed his rest to get strong again, so she held his hand but didn’t wake him. Instead, she looked up at Ortega, who was towering over them, his expression stricken.
“I just heard,” he told her hoarsely. “They said he’s not in any pain. But he’s not going to make it, Miranda.”
“Don’t say that!” She sandwiched Kell’s face gently between her palms and whispered, “You’re going to be fine, sweetie.”
Kell’s eyes opened, glazed but shining.
“He’s pretty tough,” the medic said. “Most guys would have gone down in a heap.”
“Hear that?” Kell gave Ortega a sheepish smile. “I’m tough.”
“I knew that from the jungle,” Ortega told him, his voice choked. “You’ve survived worse than this, buddy. Just hang in there.”
“The best day of my life,” Kell repeated as he gazed up at Miranda. “For once, I wasn’t afraid.”
“Oh, Jonathan…”
“Back at the house, when Gresley punched you, I wanted to kill him. But I couldn’t. I was shaking. Scared. Useless.”
“It’s okay. When it counted, you saved me. You shot him, Jonathan. I’m alive because of you.”
“Remember me that way,” he begged her. “Saving you. Loving you. Protecting…strong…love you…”
Tears began to stream down her Miranda’s cheeks.
“Be happy for me,” Kell told her. “I’ll never be afraid again. Be happy…”
“Jonathan?” Miranda bit her lip. “Oh, no.”
Ortega knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. After a long, silent moment, he closed Kell’s eyelids, murmuring, “So long, buddy. You did great. You saved the woman you loved. That’s every guy’s dream, and you lived it.”
When Miranda sobbed Kell’s name, Ortega cradled her against himself, then helped her to her feet. “It’s true, you know. He went out a hero. Something he could never have dreamed possible. Then you came along, and made it possible.”
“It was his power pill, not me.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You made his last hour a perfect one.” Ortega brushed a tear from her cheek. “Come on. Let’s get you into the chopper. We can have our talk later.”
“No.” She stepped back and gave him a shaky smile. “I don’t want to waste another minute. Isn’t that what Jonathan just taught us?”
He nodded. Then with a last mournful look at Kell’s lifeless form, he took Miranda by the hand and led her away
