by J. D. Tyler
CHAPTER NINE
The drill broke through. Kelsey reached back to tap Reed’s arm. The wide-angle lens showed four men wandering the roof. Two of them carried RPG launchers and had AK-47s slung over their shoulders. Two others carried their AKs at the ready.
The Feds had said there were six. Where were the other two?
Reed hadn’t moved. She glanced over at him. His face had set in stony lines, and a hard light blazed in his eyes.
Softly, she asked, “Okay?”
He gave her a curt nod. “They figured out we’re running around.”
“Ultimatum?” she asked, her heart dropping.
“Yeah. But I hear some argument about it, and some confusion and even gunfire, so there’s hope.”
The look between them held, and the dark wells of pain in his eyes wrenched her heart. Then he closed the distance with a single step and looked down at the screen.
“Four roaming,” she whispered. “Two I can’t see.”
Reed plucked the snake scope from her bag and knelt to look under the door. A moment later, he raised his head. Pointing straight ahead, he held up two fingers.
He leaned close and murmured, “We’re definitely going to have to wing it.”
Ignoring the whiff of his breath against her cheek, Kelsey swallowed hard and nodded.
He fished in his vest and came up with a cell phone. Grinning, he turned it for her to see. He had bars! Either the jamming didn’t extend up here or the FBI geeks had broken it.
He typed a quick text, Moving on roof now, and sent it.
Kelsey reached for the push bar on the door, but he bumped her aside. When he looked at her, she nodded.
He pushed open the door and dashed out firing. Also firing, Kelsey plunged through behind him, swinging toward the men between the stairwell and the rooftop lobby.
As they plunged through the door, the enemy opened fire.
She sighted on one and fired twice, then shifted to his comrade. The first man went down, but the second one dodged.
As she scrambled behind the ventilation cowling, bullets whizzed over her head.
Reed’s Glock barked from behind the stairwell shed. One guy down where he’d been headed.
So. Two down, four to go.
Then Reed crouched beside her. “They’re behind the elevator,” he said. “We’re going to have go out in the open to get them.”
Kelsey nodded. Exchanging shots from cover, like on some of the old westerns her dad liked, would not clear this roof.
“It’s why we get paid the medium bucks,” she replied.
Reed laughed. “Cover me,” he said, and ran to his left.
Kelsey set her AK to full auto and raked the rooftop ahead of him as he sighted and fired. Glass shattered. Someone screamed. Two more guys went down.
A bullet spanged off the roof by Reed and slammed into the ventilation cowling. Another creased his arm. Scrambling to get clear, firing back, he stumbled.
Kelsey’s heart surged into her throat. Still firing, she lunged toward him.
A round slammed into her. Pain flashed through her chest as she went down. The world went black.
* * * * *
Everything in Greg froze. “Kelsey!”
She wasn’t moving.
With a roar, he stepped in front of her, but the last HT was out of sight. Bastard must be hiding behind the rooftop lobby again.
Greg stood braced, his field of vision wide, and waited. His arm burned like a mother, but he could use it.
But Kelsey hadn’t moved.
He wasn’t going to leave her exposed, and he couldn’t move her without compromising his ability to fire.
“G-man?” Her voice came faintly from behind him, barely audible over the wind. The rush of relief made him gasp.
“Honey, can you get back to cover?”
The delay before she answered clawed at his throat.
“I’m good,” she wheezed.
The scraping noise behind him must be her dragging herself toward the ventilation housing.
A shadow moved to the right of the wrecked lobby. Greg fired. The man crumpled.
Behind him, Kelsey fired, punctuating it with a wheezy Shit.
Then there was silence, other than the brisk whine of the wind. Where three guys had been lying down before, now there were two. One must’ve been playing possum, which explained how there’d come to be one over by the elevator.
Greg turned his head. “Kelsey?”
“We…gotta clear.”
“But you—”
“Vest,” she wheezed. “Stopped it.”
Keeping the lobby in sight, he backed up to stand beside her. She dragged herself up on the cowling. “Let’s go…G-man.”
Overhead, the chukka-chukka of helicopter blades split the night. They had to move.
And Fee was running out of time.
Kelsey followed him, holding the Glock ready, while he kicked away weapons and checked for pulses. Rising from the side of the last HT, he smiled at her.
“We’re officially clear, Ninja Babe.” He fished his phone out of the vest.
“Too sore now, but…you’ll…pay for that.”
“Beats G-Man.” His head lifted. “We’re on the roof, and it’s secure. You’re clear to land.”
Three helicopters dropped out of the night, offloading one by one before swinging away. Because of weight concerns, only the last helo landed. SWAT officers pulled bodies aside to clear work space.
“You have to hurry, Reynolds,” Greg told the commander. “They figured out Ms. Wilson and I are running around. Ordered us to surrender. The people in the Renaissance ballroom are running out of time.”
* * * * *
Kelsey’s breath caught at the reminder. She wrapped her hand around his arm.
“We’re in communication with them,” the linebacker type he’d been talking to replied. “They know the building is surrounded and have agreed not to hurt anyone else. At least for a while. Our man on the inside got word to us a little while ago. He also warned us these HTs think they’re going to blend with their hostages and walk out.”
The big guy grinned. “We’ll be cuffing everybody until we sort out who’s who.”
“My cousin’s in there,” Reed said.
A medic cut his sleeve and yanked it down. Reed tried to bat him away, but the man ignored him.
“We’ll get the bastards,” Reynolds promised.
“I want in.” There was steel in G-man’s voice. With a nod at Kelsey, he added, “But she took a hit to the chest and isn’t breathing right.”
“Yeah, and you’re bleeding.” Reynolds eyed Kelsey. “Neither of you is part of this team, and you’re both less than a hundred percent. You’re not going in with us.”
Scowling, Reed opened his mouth. Reynolds raised a hand in a stop gesture.
“Don’t make trouble when you’re not supposed to be on active duty in the first place.”
“Come on,” the medic said, “let’s get you both tended to.” He led them to the chopper that had landed.
With swift, quiet precision, the strike team moved down the stairs.
The closed doors blocked the wind, but the coppery smell of blood was stronger in the enclosed space. Kelsey’s stomach revolted. Gritting her teeth, she forced it down.
“You always turn green around dead bodies?” Reed asked, eying her as the medic helped her remove the vest.
“I hope not.” She accepted a bottle of water from the medic and gulped it down.
“You hope—?” Reed’s eyes narrowed. “Was this your first kill?”
“And my last bloody, borrowed vest, I hope.” She leaned back against the seat while the medic opened her shirt and checked her.
When he pressed her side, she gasped.
“Uh-huh. Cracked rib,” he said. “I don’t think it’s broken, but there are X-rays in your future, ma’am. Meanwhile, I can wrap it for you.”
Kelsey nodded at Reed. “Maybe you should make him sto
p bleeding first.”
“He already has,” the medic said. “Cooperate, and we’ll be done faster.”
In the end, he wrapped Kelsey’s ribs and bandaged Reed’s arm. With that done, he handed his fellow agent a bottle of water from his kit and rejoined the others guarding the roof.
Kelsey sighed. Her op was ruined. There’d be no chance to snatch Dorton Keyes with the FBI swarming all over the building.
Damn.
But she’d done a good job tonight, done something that mattered. That would have to be enough for now.
Reed’s hazel eyes studied her as he took her hand. “You really okay?”
“Best I can tell, yeah.” Better with her hand enveloped in his big, warm one.
“Good,” he said. The gleam in his eyes tugged at her heart.
Buying time, she drank more water. The pain in her chest now had nothing to do with being shot and everything to do with dread of being shot down.
But there were just the two of them here. With extensive, and likely separate, debriefing after this, there wasn’t going to be a better time. Kelsey steeled herself.
“There are things I want to tell you.” He said nothing, just watched her, so she continued. “About my job.”
“Ready when you are.”
With his gaze still on her face, Reed raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. The contact shot up her arm and down into her breasts. Her nipples tightened.
Considering that she had a cracked rib, she was probably one freako puppy to be getting turned on. But he wasn’t acting as though he would be easily discouraged. That mattered even more.
“This is need-to-know.” When he nodded, she continued, wheezing a little. “I work for a secret multinational agency. We exist to, uh, bend the rules.”
She had to stop for breath. “I like you.”
Geez, Kelsey, what is this, middle school?
“I like you, too,” he said, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve heard rumors of organizations like that. Multiple nations sponsor you, but you don’t officially exist? That it?”
She couldn’t read him. Please don’t let him do an about-face on me. Kelsey nodded.
After a moment, he said, “If you’d put it to me cold about the agency when we first met, it might be different. But Kelsey, honey, after tonight, I care less about how you’re labeled than about what, who, you are.”
“And?” She held her breath.
He grinned. “I want a date where nobody’s shooting at us.”
Kelsey smiled. Joy roared through her and welled up into her throat. “I’d like that, too.”
“That’s my Ninja Babe.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed her.
His mouth was warm and soft, its pressure insistent. Kelsey opened for him. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue stroking hers, making her head spin, and the world faded out.
When it faded back in, someone was saying, “Hey. Come up for air already.”
Her G-man smiled and gave her one last, quick peck. Holding her hand, he looked up at the medic. “What, Anderson?”
“They’ve cleared the upper floors. If you want to go down to the ballroom, be there when they go in, Reynolds says okay.”
Her G-man almost lost it. His entire face quivered for a second before he forced it into calm. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Sure thing.” The medic squeezed Reed’s good shoulder before leaving them alone again.
“I’ll come with you,” Kelsey said. Even though the medic had taken the bloody vest away.
“Nuh-uh. You’re on the disabled list and don’t have a vest anymore. But you could walk me to the stairs.”
Holding hands, they strolled across the roof. The wind shrieked with icy vehemence. It whipped strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail into her face, but she barely noticed.
“So you’ll go out with me, Ninja Babe?”
She wrinkled her nose. “We’re gonna have to negotiate the name thing, G-man, but sure.”
“Let’s do it over dinner tomorrow night, or whatever meal it’s closest to when they let us go from debrief.”
“You’re on. Here’s my phone number, just in case.” She rattled it off.
“Got it.” He grinned again. “Fee told me to get your number. She’ll be so proud of me.”
“She’ll be okay. I know she will.”
“Thanks. I want the power of belief on this one.” He raised Kelsey’s hand to kiss it, generating quiet warmth deep inside her.
At the stairwell door, they paused. Kelsey stared out at the night. In the distance, the White House gleamed in its lights, ready to welcome its new family.
“We done good, Greg.”
“Yep.” He hesitated, also looking out over the city’s lights. “I was afraid I’d lost my edge, that I’d freeze when something important was on the line.”
“Looks like not.” Smiling, she squeezed his hand.
“Yep. And I noticed you said Greg. Now, see, that didn’t hurt. Maybe you’re trainable after all.”
“Don’t push your luck, G-man.”
He stroked her cheek with the knuckles of his free hand. “We’ll work it out. We have lots of time to see how we work when bullets aren’t flying.”
“Yeah.” Kelsey caught his wrist and brushed her lips over his knuckles, glorying in the heat that flared in his eyes. Then she released him and watched him walk down the stairs.
Lots of time, he’d said. She liked the sound of that.
PART FOUR
LETHAL TARGET
By
J.D. Tyler
CHAPTER ONE
Dalton McCoy started awake at the heavy metal riffs of Metallica’s Enter Sandman blaring next to his head.
“Shit.”
Fumbling, he reached for the nightstand and grabbed his iPhone, shutting off the offensive racket that served as his alarm. What seemed like a cool idea when he was wide awake during the day wasn’t so awesome at 6 a.m. with a head the size of the whiskey barrel he must’ve drained last night. That was absolutely the last time he tried to go up against the Bureau’s veteran drinkers at the Black Friar.
Right. He’d tell himself that—until the next time they goaded him into tagging along.
Forcing himself to sit up, he rubbed his eyes and tried to clear the fog in his pounding head. Only a nice, hot shower and a couple of aspirin were going to do that, though, so he stumbled out of bed and made his way into his large master bathroom. After downing two little white tablets with a glass of water, he turned on the shower, let the water get steamy, and stepped inside.
Bliss. For a few moments, he just stood under the hot spray and enjoyed it pounding over his muscles. But he couldn’t linger forever, and reluctantly began to lather his hair. Once the strands were rinsed, he soaped his body, giving some extra attention to his cock and balls. Despite a valiant attempt to rise and shine for a little shower fun, it was a no-go. Too much alcohol and too little sleep made Dalton a frustrated boy.
With a sigh he stepped out and toweled off, drying his hair as best he could. Glancing in the mirror, he noted it had grown well past regulation clean-cut, to his collar, the sun-streaked blond mass making him look more like a cowboy than a special agent in the FBI. They didn’t all walk around dressed like pinheads in suits, their appearance screaming Fed, however. Some of them were damned good at field work, getting answers from people who wouldn’t normally talk to a suit. And some were even better at undercover work.
Dalton was one of them. And if anything about him whispered agent he was as good as dead on any given day of the week. That simple fact gave him a bit more leeway than most of his colleagues. He made sure to push his luck to the limit, too. His unrepentant attitude also drove his SAC—Special Agent in Charge—Noah Beck, a bit insane.
He grinned a little at that. Had to keep the boss on his toes.
In the spirit of doing just that, he dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt that declared I
’m So Good I Scream My Own Name. He slipped a pair of brown boots on his feet and he was ready for action.
On the way out, he took five minutes to grab a cinnamon roll and shove his favorite travel mug under the Keurig coffee maker and fill it with the nice, dark French roast he preferred. None of that awful, tar-like shit they brewed at the office. I’m a coffee snob. Sue me.
Checking his phone on the way out the door, he noted the time. Six thirty-five. Plenty of time to stop by the hospital and check on his friend and fellow agent, Nick Roth.
As he climbed into his truck, Dalton couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to the case that had almost killed Nick nearly three weeks ago. Now there was a clusterfuck of damned near epic fucking proportions. Nobody could’ve predicted the outcome of that one, who the murderer calling himself “Samson” would turn out to be. The shock and betrayal the entire Dallas field office still felt would take years to overcome.
From Dalton’s home, situated on some acreage north of Dallas, the drive to Parkland Hospital took a good half an hour. Parkland was jokingly referred to by north Texans as the “Saturday Night Gun and Knife Club” for a good reason, being firmly planted right in the smelly armpit of downtown Dallas. But it also housed one of the best trauma units in the country.
Which was why Nick had been rushed there as fast as humanly possible on the horrible night Samson had almost ended his life.
An image of Nick lying bloody and broken on a dirty basement floor invaded his head and he resolutely pushed it out. His friend was alive and that’s what mattered.
A little over thirty minutes later, Dalton entered the lobby of the hospital and caught the elevator up to Nick’s floor. When he arrived he wasn’t too surprised to see that his friend’s room was empty of the usual influx of visitors. It was still early, and even Nick’s girlfriend, Lena, wasn’t there yet.
