The Medusa Game

by Cindy Dees

  Maybe that meant they didn’t know she was here.

  Karen swore as she hit one of the tangos for the second time and still he didn’t go down. Desperation did that to a man.

  Isabella had heard stories of soldiers taking a dozen bullets and continuing to fight. By rolling flat on her stomach, she was able to wedge herself all the way under the car at her back. Using her hands and toes, she slid completely under the vehicle, her MP-5 held awkwardly in front of her.

  “They’re coming at you, Adder,” Vanessa reported. “Take cover, for God’s sake.”

  “I’m there,” Adder murmured as a pair of feet ran around the front end of the van and stopped by the driver’s side. She dared not transmit any more or he’d hear her. And she wasn’t exactly in the best position to defend herself here.

  A second pair of feet came from behind her. One of the pairs of feet moved to about where the van’s door should be. Crap. If the doors were wired, all that guy would have to do was open it to send them all sky-high.

  A barrage of gunfire slammed into the side of the van, high. That sounded like an MP-5 on automatic fire. And the Medusas would aim for the top of the vehicle to avoid hitting the hostage inside. For the love of God, Emma, stay down in there.

  Then a third pair of feet ran up to the others. The three owners of the feet crouched and she could make out knees and rear ends. They were reloading their weapons. They stood up in unison and gunfire erupted. The distinctive popping noise was punctuated by brass casings striking the ground as one of the guys emptied a revolver and reloaded fast.

  Kat transmitted, frustrated, “They have to be wearing body armor. I’ve hit all of them in the chest and they’re not going down!”

  And then Vanessa shouted, “Get out of there, Adder! They’re going to open the door!”

  She rolled, scraping the hell out of her shoulder on the undercarriage of the car. She popped out, lying on her back, her MP-5 extended beyond her head. Frantically, she looked back and up, sighting her targets, and pulled the trigger.

  In slow motion, they raised their weapons toward her, the expressions on their faces infinitely surprised.

  She held her trigger down, pointing her weapon at their heads and unleashing a barrage of lead at a range of approximately ten feet. The guy by the door dropped. One of the others staggered backward, a hand over his bloody face. The third one spun and fell across the hood of a car. Slowly, he slid off the sloping surface and collapsed to the ground.

  Isabella leaped to her feet, MP-5 in front of her. A single shot rang out.

  Kat announced in satisfaction, “That one got him between the eyes. Target down.”

  Something came in fast from behind her. She spun and dropped into a firing crouch. Holt, who was reaching for the back door handle.

  “No!” She dived forward, knocking the man away from the latch. Into the struggling scientist’s ear she ground out, “There’s a bomb in there. It’s booby-trapped. We’ll have to bring in the bomb squad to get her out.”

  Holt subsided beneath her, sobbing and swearing.

  She stood up and helped the man to his feet for the second time. Another person moved toward her quickly, but this time she recognized the long stride and fluid grace of Dexter Thorpe. He kept right on coming until his arms were around her, holding her against him like he’d crush the life out of her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m standing, aren’t I?” she replied. “Do you know if Anya’s okay?”

  “She and her coach both made it out. I found them around the other side of the building when I went looking for you.”

  Her arms tightened around his lean waist. He’d been worried enough about her to come looking for her, had he?

  Dex muttered against her temple, “Don’t get in any shootouts again, okay?”

  “Sorry. It’s in the job description. We get to blow shit up and shoot at stuff.”

  He laughed reluctantly. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. Don’t get into any shootouts in front of me where I’m helpless to do anything.”

  “You saw it go down?” she asked, surprised.

  “I couldn’t see a lot, running as fast as I was, but I saw enough. Nice move coming out from under that car like that. You must have shocked the hell out of them.”

  She shrugged within the vice of his grip. “They looked surprised, yes.”

  Finally, he let go of her, although he kept one arm looped around her shoulder.

  “Uh, Dex. Isn’t this a PDA?” Public displays of affection were a big-time no-no among uniformed military members while on duty.

  “We’re not in uniform.”

  “Same difference,” she replied. “My team is eyeing you like you’ve grown horns and a third eye.”

  He grinned. “Too bad. Life’s too short to hold back on some things. When I saw them start shooting at the van with you right beside it, I swear your life flashed before my eyes.”

  “My life?”

  He amended, “Well, our future life. I saw everything we weren’t going to get to do together if those bastards killed you.”

  “Oh yeah?” She looked up at him with interest. “Like what?”

  He scowled down at her. “I’ll tell you later. When we’re alone. Somewhere private where we can do something about some of those things.”

  She smiled up at him, letting her feelings all hang out. He was right. Life was too short. So what if her teammates did tease her from now till eternity about the way he’d come charging in after her or about the way she’d made goo-goo eyes at him?

  Aleesha had moved in front of the van and was peering through the window using a high-powered flashlight. To Holt, Dex said, “If you’ll step away with us, we need to let the experts do their thing.”

  The scientist nodded reluctantly. They moved back, threading between cars.

  “I make it a policy not to embrace armed women. How ’bout if I carry that thing for you?”

  Isabella grinned and relinquished the weapon so he wouldn’t let go of her. Dex held the MP-5 down at his side where the already panicky crowd in the area wouldn’t freak out about the weapon.

  Why she looked off to her left just then, she had no idea. But she did. Something about the way a man was walking purposefully toward them caught her eye. And that was why she saw him open his long coat and reach inside.

  To pull out a sawed-off shotgun.

  She dived across Dex, snatching the MP-5 out of his hands, rolling across the hood of the car in front of her, and firing her weapon all in one motion. She fell onto her feet in a crouch, MP-5 at the ready. The incoming man lay motionless on the ground. Dex grabbed the MP-5 back from her and took off running, approaching the downed man with extreme caution. She watched, her heart in her throat, as Dex flipped the guy with his foot. Then he straightened. Dex pointed at the center of his forehead and then down at the corpse.

  He leaned down and rummaged in the dead man’s pockets. He stood up, taking the shotgun as well. He strode back to her.

  Her knees started to shake. Great, knee-knocking shivers that made it nearly impossible for her to stand. She’d coolly killed three men at point-blank range, and now a fourth without a hint of a reaction. But watching Dex put himself even mildly in harm’s way had about done her in. Go figure.

  “Says here his name is Abdul al Abhoud,” Dex announced as he walked up to her.

  Holt looked at the driver’s license picture and said, “That’s the leader of the gang that took Emma. And he’s the one who talked to me on the phone.”

  Dex said quietly, “He’s not going to be talking to you ever again.” He glanced over at Isabella. “Nice shot.”

  It was a lucky shot, but hey. She was willing to take credit for it being intentional if it impressed Dex. And besides, maybe it wasn’t all luck. Sometime during the past year, it appeared she’d turned into a hell of a shooter.

  Over the next two hours, a bomb squad arrived and carefully gained access to the bomb inside the van using a nifty, remote-contro
lled robot. They were able to get the driver’s side door open, and then, after the robot threw a protective blanket over Emma Holt, a man entered the vehicle and manually finished disarming the device.

  Mrs. Holt was hungry, tired and traumatized as hell, but basically unhurt. She and her husband enjoyed a tearful reunion while everyone looked on. And Dex’s arm stole around Isabella’s shoulders again, this time in front of most of his own Delta team, who’d come over to offer assistance.

  Beau pounded his boss affectionately on the shoulder and threw Isabella an apologetic smile. “’Bout damn time you caught on there, Dex. I had to practically throw myself at her to get you to admit how you felt.”

  Slowly, the police and National Guard troops gained control of the situation around the ice-skating arena. Less than a dozen people were killed by the lethal gas. Although a number of spectators claimed to be suffering from respiratory distress as a result of exposure to the gas, the truth was that their own fear and breathing difficulties were the culprit. Had they actually ingested the gas, they, too, would have been dead.

  It was well after midnight when Dex finally ordered the OSG troops to go home. They were only adding clutter to the scene, and other agencies had the crisis in hand. Besides, news crews hovered in the area looking for interviews, which most of the OSG members could seriously do without.

  Isabella walked into the ops center conference room three days later for the final debrief of these Olympic Games. It seemed like only yesterday that Dex had demanded she bring him a cup of coffee. He wasn’t here yet. The room was mostly full, though, and all the seats were taken. She spotted the other Medusas in their usual place up front, standing along the side wall.

  The end of the Olympics had been anticlimactic after the excitement of the terrorist attack. The remaining six female figure skaters had quietly performed their long programs at a municipal skating rink in nearby Elizabethtown on Sunday afternoon, just hours before the closing ceremonies. The IOC had gone ahead with the closing celebration, albeit in a subdued fashion, and a short memorial was added in honor of the nine spectators and two cameramen who had died in the terrorist attack. Sara Dormonkova of the Ukraine overtook the German skater, Karis Neidermeier, to capture the gold medal, and the American, Ashley Caldwell, had captured the bronze.

  Anya finished fourth. Funny how sometimes the greatest triumphs weren’t marked by gold medals, or any kind of medal for that matter. Anya had done something much more important, much more courageous than win. She’d stepped out onto the ice and skated. And that was truly a triumph of historic proportions.

  A stir in the back of the conference room marked Dex’s entrance. Isabella didn’t need the flurry of greetings to know he was here, though. She could feel his presence as clearly as if he’d reached out and touched her. Their relationship was no secret to anyone in this room, but nonetheless, she schooled her face to a professional expression of polite disinterest as she glanced up at him.

  He was headed straight at her, and that glint in his eye did not bode well.

  He stopped in front of her. Held out his hand. A white object was grasped in his fist. He was offering it to her. She frowned. Looked down.

  And burst out laughing as she took the cup of coffee from him. “Do I dare drink this?” she asked drolly.

  “I swear. No spit and no snot. Nothing in there but coffee and a little sugar.”

  Just the way she liked it. Everyone in the room was grinning as Dex turned and made his way to the podium. Someone called out, “You gonna make an honest woman out of her, or are we gonna have to kick your ass, Thorpe?”

  Dex leaned against the podium and drawled, “I don’t think the good captain will need your help. If my ass needs kicking, she and the Medusas are perfectly capable of doing the job themselves.”

  My, my, my. The boy certainly had come a long way in two weeks. They all had.

  Dexter whipped through the debriefing. The federal prosecutor’s office had decided not to press charges against Harlan Holt for his role in the gas attack, as he’d been under duress and extreme coersion at the time. Emma Holt was fine. The terrorists had not harmed her. Manfred Schmidt had tendered his resignation from the International Olympic Committee. The Petrovichs were singing like birds and had been granted political asylum in the United States.

  Dex rattled off the names of a dozen men who’d been detailed to stay behind and help with the breakdown of the ops center’s electronic equipment.

  Then he adjourned the meeting.

  It was almost over. She had just one more job to do and she needed to hurry if she was going to make it. She stepped outside into the raw wind that was sending low, gray clouds scudding across the sky. It looked like snow was on the way.

  “Need a lift?”

  She turned at the sound of Dex’s voice. “I’d love one.”

  He held the door to the white, Olympic SUV for her. In another few days, this car would get regular license plates and enter a rental car fleet somewhere. She climbed inside, shivering until the heater finally conquered the frigid chill. The traffic wasn’t bad as they headed out to the airport, southeast of town.

  She rushed into the terminal, looking around. Had she missed them? Her heart jumped into her throat. But then a white minivan pulled up outside and Isabella saw Karen hop out of the driver’s side and head around to the back of the van. All the other Medusas climbed out, followed by Liz Cartwright and Anya.

  Isabella smiled. She’d always think of the skater as a little sister. She stepped outside and the two of them embraced. She pressed a business card into Anya’s hand. “That’s my cell phone number. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you call me. Okay?”

  Anya grinned. “Okay, ’Bella, my mother hen. I promise.”

  “On the back side of it is an address. Any mail you send there will find its way to Lazlo. It was the best I could do. He’s in protective custody for a while at a secret location.”

  Anya smiled her gratitude and hugged her again. Sometimes words weren’t necessary. Anya resumed her enthusiastic chatter as she and Liz checked in and headed for the gate. Boarding for their flight, first to Los Angeles and then on to Brisbane, was called. A pair of tall, fit-looking men stepped up to the women.

  Isabella made the introductions. “Anya, these gentlemen come from the Australian equivalent of the Secret Service. They’re going to act as your bodyguards for a while.”

  The happiness in Anya’s eyes dimmed for a moment. “I wish I didn’t have to live this way.”

  Isabella shrugged. “You could always put on the veil.”

  Anya glared. “I’m not going to hide or take the easy way out. I’ve come this far. I’m not going to back out now. Did you know a bunch of people want me to give speeches about being a modern Muslim woman?”

  Isabella grinned. “You’ll make a great spokesperson for your peers.”

  “You’re one of them,” Anya accused. “Why don’t you make some speeches?”

  Isabella grimaced. “My job’s all about staying out of the spotlight. And you’ll do just fine on your own. I’m proud to have you represent me.”

  The final boarding call came, and Anya flung herself at Isabella in one last hug.

  “Take care of yourself.” Isabella squeezed the words past her tight throat.

  She watched as the girl walked down the jetway, her bodyguards in exactly the right position to cover her from an attack. Anya was in good hands. That fatwa wouldn’t go away, but perhaps with time, it would fade into insignificance and the girl could resume a normal life. In the meantime, Anya planned to keep skating. Her theory was that the world would get used to her eventually and that something more important would come along to take the heat off of her. She was probably right.

  “Ready to go?” Dex murmured.

  “Go where?” she asked.

  “I took the liberty of asking your teammates to bring your gear to the airport.”

  Isabella glanced over his shoulder. Aw, crap. The Medusas w
ere all grinning like they had something evil up their sleeves. “What have you done?” she asked them direly.

  Vanessa shoved a ticket jacket into her hands. “Here are your baggage claim stubs. Your bags are already checked.”

  “Checked for where?” she demanded, looking back and forth between her team and Dex.

  “She’s all yours,” Vanessa murmured.

  Dex grinned and grabbed Isabella’s hand. “C’mon. We have a flight to catch.”

  “Where to?” she protested as he dragged her down the concourse toward another flight that had just started boarding.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  She smiled. Nope, it didn’t. She’d go anywhere with him.

  “Let’s go see what the future has to offer us,” he said softly. “Are you up for the challenge?”

  She laughed. “One thing you should know about me up front, Dexter G. Thorpe the Fourth. I never could turn down a dare.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Arm-in-arm, the two of them headed down the jet bridge together into whatever the future held.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5307-4

  THE MEDUSA GAME

  Copyright © 2006 by Cynthia Dees

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.