Rory (In the Company of Snipers Book 6)

by Irish Winters

  “What happened?” Rory asked, surprised he didn’t know this story. But then, he worked with a group of covert operators who weren’t prone to gossip or chat. Kind of like him. Go figure.

  “Abby and her mother Sara were killed in an automobile accident.” Ember leaned back into her chair. “It happened before I started working for Alex. He was a lot meaner than he is now.”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s mean,” Rory corrected. “Intense maybe, bullheaded, stubborn, and a little rude sometimes, but never mean.”

  “Whatever. Trust me. He was mean when he started the business and mad all the time. It didn’t matter if things went right or wrong, nothing made him happy. He yelled a lot. Kicked things. I think he was in over his head with the administrative side of The TEAM, but he was too proud to admit it. Plus, he’s a Marine. He didn’t want to be stuck in an office all day long. He didn’t believe in himself back then. He never expected his idea would really take off and be as successful as it is.”

  “That’s when his wife and daughter died?”

  “No. That happened while he was still in the Corps. He’s like you. He gave up his career for family reasons, only I think with him, it was more medical than family. He could’ve stayed in the Corps, but losing Sara and Abby took everything out of him. He wasn’t a whole guy again until Kelsey came along.”

  “She’s a sweetheart,” Rory commented. “They make a good match.”

  “She loves him. That’s for sure.”

  Rory set his fork on his plate, tired of chasing the food he wasn’t going to eat. “Why are you telling me all this good gossip? Where are you going with this?”

  “Because I think Nima gave Alex a message from Abby when she hugged him and said Daddy. Whatever she said or did, I think it helped him accept Abby’s death a little bit more.”

  It made sense. Alex did bolt out the back door as soon as Nima said that one word. Daddy. It would certainly rip his heart out of his chest if he’d lost his child.

  “A father never stops being a father.”

  “You’re wishing you were home with Tyler right now, huh?”

  “Of course. I miss him. He’s not happy right now. It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not.” She pointed her fork at him. “It’s life. It’s not like you’ve deserted him like what’s-her-name did. The op will be over soon. You two guys will go to a baseball game and eat popcorn and burp and fart like fathers and sons are supposed to do when they hang out together. Just you wait. You’ll see.”

  He shook his head, not able to stop the smile from lifting one corner of his mouth. There she was again, doing that mothering thing. He changed the subject. “Want to know what my ex looked like?”

  She blinked at the quick shift in conversation. “Sure. I guess.”

  He dragged up the mental picture of Ellie, the one he kept filed away with other stuff he wanted to, but couldn’t, forget. “She was blonde with green eyes. About your height. Same fair complexion. A few freckles. A lot like you.”

  Rory swallowed hard. He pushed his plate away and waited for the fallout. There. It was finally out in the open, the foolish other reason he’d never let himself get too close to Ember. She looked like her.

  “Excuse me? That’s why you wouldn’t tell me before? Because she kinda looked like me? Well, that’s just plain stupid.” She pushed her plate back, too, and crossed her arms over her very lovely breasts. “Eye color doesn’t make us who we are. Was she smart like me? Did she know how to dance? Did she know how to jump on slow-moving trains like I do? Well, did she?”

  He chuckled. He’d built his force field for all the wrong reasons. She still sat there with her green eyes full of mischief.

  “No,” he said softly. “She wasn’t anything like you.” Not really.

  “Course not. How could she be? I’m a covert agent. I’ve single-handedly fought off assassins and murderers, and I’ve—” Ember sucked in a deep breath. “Is that what happened? Is that why you stopped being friendly toward me at work? Just because I looked like your crazy ex?” She rolled those gorgeous emeralds, daring him to deny it.

  Dang. She had him dead to right. Chagrin hit him in the face like a lip-puckering, sour lemon meringue pie. He’d judged Ember before he’d given her a chance, and why? Pride again. Stupid male pride.

  “Well?” Ember’s toes tapped the leg of the kitchen table. She did have a tough edge when she wanted. Her top lip lifted just enough to shoot an arc of sexy defiance straight through him. Her brow arched next. She wasn’t going to let go of this.

  He swallowed his pride. “It’s like this. My private investigator called and said Ellie was still in New York, so I thought, why not? Maybe I could get through to her. Maybe there was something I could say to make her change her mind. Only when I caught up with her, she looked right through me like I wasn’t even there. She needed to score. I wanted my wife back, Tyler’s mother, only....” He gulped. Pride didn’t go down easy. “When I got back into the office, you’d dyed your hair green. Just like hers. You looked exactly like her and I... I....”

  What else could he say? Ember was the polar opposite of Ellie. Any fool with half a brain could see that. He interlocked his fingers, wishing he hadn’t been so tough on her. So self-righteous.

  “I get it. You couldn’t take a chance on someone who looked like your ex,” Ember said gently. “It’s called displaced anger, Rory. You’ve been mad at me because I looked like someone I’m not. It’s okay. I get it. I still like you.”

  She couldn’t have said anything better. Or kinder. Or more forgiving. And he had to make her his. Heat cascaded up from his groin, flooding his body with desire for this elegant woman. He wanted her right then and there. On the table. Bent over the table, or flat on the floor.

  A look shifted over her face, a very tender look. And right on its heels, a beautiful shade of crimson flared up from her shirt collar and blossomed over her face. Energy arced between them. Red hot energy. She had to be thinking the same thing he was.

  “There’s chocolate mousse in the refrigerator. Anyone interested?” he asked, more to get his mind off the demanding muscle standing damned near at attention beneath his zipper than the need for dessert. Instantly, his horny male brain kicked in with—Hmm. The things you could do to her with chocolate mousse.

  Nima’s eyes lit up at the word ‘chocolate.’ Ember still glowed red, but he lifted slowly out of his chair, hoping she didn’t catch the adjustment he quickly made. The candle flickered. He blew it out when he brought the plates of mousse back to the table, focused on the detailed after-action report he’d have to write instead of the way Ember’s lips worked around every mouthful of dessert. Darn. Women and chocolate. She made every forkful look like heaven the way she rolled it around her tongue before she swallowed. And why did she have to lick those lips—those soft luscious lips that begged to be kissed and kissed hard?

  He tore his eyes off the delightful dessert of her body. Like a foolish teenage boy, he swallowed a spoonful of the mousse wrong. He choked, spitting the dessert into his hand so he didn’t launch it all over the table. Not cool, Dennison.

  “Are you okay?” She outright flirted, her head cocked to the side and blonde hair rippling over her shoulder in one soft wave, the ends of it curled and cupping her breast. Yeah. She knew exactly what that fork in her mouth was doing to him. One more come hither spark in her eye like the last and he was a goner.

  Good heck, just kill me now. He turned his head and choked to the side. At last he could breathe without coughing.

  Finally, the dessert plates were clean and the darned mousse was back in the refrigerator where it belonged. Ember cleared the few dishes while he wiped the chocolate off Nima’s happy face. Even she was different tonight, playful and almost sassy. She chomped on the washcloth when he wiped her mouth and wouldn’t let it go. She growled, twisting the cloth back and forth, giggling the whole time. In a rowdy mood, she dived headfirst off the kitchen counter and into his arms. He swung her hi
gh over his head and caught her in an upside down position that only made her giggle harder.

  “You are a silly rascal,” he exclaimed, turning her upside right.

  Ember smiled from loading the dishwasher. “That’s the most she’s laughed all week.”

  Rory winced. Everything they were doing combined to make a happy family. Only the child was different. There should’ve been two. He could almost hear his son’s infectious giggle within Nima’s, as if he were there, also.

  Their frivolity was interrupted by a breaking news bulletin from the television in the other room. A local reporter was on site in China Town, downtown D.C., where two monks had just immolated themselves to protest the ongoing Chinese occupation of Tibet.

  Rory’s ears perked up. “Ember. Are you seeing this?”

  She was already watching. “Wow. Those are the same guys who came to see Nima this morning.”

  “But where’s the other one? The young guy? Where’s the guy who asked to touch her?”

  “Let’s find out.” Ember dialed the office on the new cell phone Alex had given them. “Hey, Mother. Are you catching the news report on—” She cocked her head. “Wow. Yes, I’ll tell him. Of course, I tell him everything. He’s agent in charge, isn’t he? I have to go.”

  Ember hung up on her chatty lead techie. “Mother is still trying to locate him, but these two guys were thrown out of a moving vehicle, Rory. A traffic cam caught the whole thing. It wasn’t a political protest. It’s murder.”

  He was on Nima in a heartbeat. “He touched Nima. Get her clothes off. Now!”

  In two seconds flat, the little girl stood wide-eyed and shivering in her underwear while Rory and Ember examined her hoody and pants.

  “Wait!” Ember pulled the top out of Rory’s hand. “Look.”

  A single cloth-covered button was stuck inside the interfacing of Nima’s purple hoody. Rory cut it out with his pocketknife and peeled the plastic cap off. Another transmitter.

  “Shit! We’re moving,” he roared. “Get her dressed!”

  “I should call Alex first—”

  “I said now!” Slinging his backpack across his shoulder, he snagged two sawed-offs from the gun safe while Ember hurriedly dressed the little girl. With his cell phone to his ear, he called Alex while he tapped the code to unlock the rear exit. “We’re moving. I’ll call you when—”

  “Stay put. Harley and I are on our way,” Alex shot back.

  “No, we’re made. That bastard bugged Nima this morning. He knows where we are.”

  “We’re only minutes away. So’s the FBI.”

  “Then cover us!” Rory hung up on his boss, barely cracking the back door to peer at the Cadillac. He’d truly hoped they wouldn’t need it to run again. Good God, how many times could they be lucky enough to stay ahead of these determined assassins?

  At least he hadn’t destroyed the tracking device. That might’ve have alerted the assassins he was on to them. Still, the assassins now knew where Nima was. Every second counted.

  Holding his pistol at the ready, he crept stealthily down the steps. Dr. Choden’s Cadillac looked the same, but nothing stirred. Not the wind. Not one leaf. Not good. The FBI should’ve been engaged with the assassins by now if they were coming. Unless they were already there....

  Shit! Are the FBI agents already dead? Training kicked in. He waved Ember to retreat to safety. “Go back. Get her inside and—”

  WHOOSH!

  The car lurched up from its four wheels in a pyroclastic belch of flying death. Something hard thudded against the back of his head. Ember leaned backward, twisting in slow motion to protect Nima as they fell onto the kitchen floor. Shrapnel from the obliterated Cadillac peppered the outside brick walls of the safe house with a voracious, Zip. Whip. Zip!

  He lost his balance. The asphalt jumped up to meet him, shifting beneath his boots even as he fell to his hands and knees. “Shut the door!” he cried.

  Too late. The world turned red. Then black. It bucked him like a horse. Off.

  Twenty

  Just like the vision.

  Nima shrieked. Ember screamed. Searing heat blew her backward into the kitchen. She choked. Fumes burned her lungs. All she saw through the open doorway was orange fire and black smoke. Ember buried Nima’s face against her chest and slammed the door shut, but just as quickly opened it again. She needed to see. He was there a second ago.

  “Rory!” This time she screamed in all-out panic. Choden’s car had turned into a burning wreck. Training kicked in and she dropped to the floor with Nima. Visibility still sucked, but she could breathe. Squinting, she strained to catch a glimpse of her partner.

  The smoke curled, seeming to point an eerie finger at her. It lifted. There he was, face down at the bottom of the steps, his forehead covered in blood. Grayish vapor lifted out of his clothes. His arm stretched out in front of him, his hand still clutching his SIG. But his eyes were wide open. He stared back at her, his face blank in death.

  Just like the vision.

  “No!” Terror choked her throat. “Rory! God, no!”

  Every piece of her heart screamed, Run to him. Save him! But Nima sobbed. Reality sucked the hope out of her. She couldn’t save him. The vision was right. He was already gone.

  Ember kicked the door shut, scrambling backward on her butt with Nima in her arms. The damned vision suffocated the life and hope right out of her. For a moment all she could do was sit against the gun safe, trying desperately to breathe, too scared to think what she should do next. Her training faltered. Rory! I can’t do this without you!

  Angry voices at the back of the house jolted her to action. The assassins were out there, still coming for Nima. Still planning to kill her.

  “Not on my watch.” Grabbing an Uzi from the open safe and a spare backpack full of ammo and gear, she zeroed her soul on the job ahead. Snuggling Nima into her side, she prepared a solid strategy. Make them come to me.

  The weapon in her hand was the same model she’d used at the ambush. It seemed like forever ago, but it would work nicely. She knew it well. At twelve hundred rounds per minute, she could hold them off until help showed. Move it, Alex. I’m in trouble.

  Two sawed-offs bumped her hands when she reached for the ammo bag. Good. She could handle two at a time once the Uzi got too hot to handle. She’d done it before during weapons certification, just never in real life, never when her hands were shaking this much. Stuffing the pack with extra magazines and clips, she talked down the fear hammering in her chest. I can do this. Slow and easy. Steady. Focus. Make ’em wish they’d never been born.

  Glass shattered behind her as grappling hooks shot through the kitchen windows and anchored over the sills and countertops. These guys were tearing the house apart. If they were coming for Nima, they would pay dearly. In blood.

  Nima clutched her like a baby orangutan, still whining in fright. By now, she and Nima were in the living room on the floor next to the couch. “Are you hurt?” she asked as she smoothed a hurried hand across the baby’s grimy face.

  Two frightened eyes blinked back at her through ash and tears. There were no special words this time. No prophecy or wisdom beyond the ages, only a damned scared kid hanging on for dear life.

  “Just remember. Us girls stick together no matter what comes through that door.”

  Right on cue, the front door was jerked off its hinges and dragged into the street. Cold wind blew in. Scrambling down the hall and into the front bedroom, she pushed Nima beneath the bed.

  “Stay down. Cover your ears.” Ember heard the calm in her voice. It couldn’t be hers.

  She held her breath, planned her only line of defense and waited, craning to listen over the racket of heavy machinery clearing debris outside the house. No one had entered the home yet. Maybe the steel door needed to be towed out of the way?

  Sure enough. In seconds, heavy footsteps pounded through the house from front door to back. She cracked the bedroom door and watched the assassins search. Too soon those
same footsteps turned in her direction.

  She didn’t think twice. Squeezing the trigger of the lethal tool in her hand, she loosed a steady stream of death down the hallway. Men cursed. Hulking bodies dropped to the floor. Another hopped away on one foot. One man screamed something in Chinese or Tibetan. If nothing else, she’d made her intentions clear. She wouldn’t go easy.

  “Come to Mama Ember, suckers,” she hissed under her breath. “I’ll show you a freaking goddess of war.”

  Nima whimpered behind her. Another charge of black shapes stampeded down the hall. What the hell was wrong with these guys? Were they on drugs? Had to be to think she’d do anything different than before.

  Screaming in rage, she let her weapon do the talking. It spit round after round like death-seeking hornets, reducing her enemy to everything she hated about war. Death spewed from her hands, but this time she was glad of it. The smell of blood and body fluids emanating from the kill zone of the hallway only incited her more.

  Bring it on! I’ll kill every last one of you before I let you take her!

  A wrenching mechanical shriek interrupted her outburst. A metal chain blasted through the bedroom window behind her. Damn it to hell! Another grappling hook had found purchase on the edge of the window frame, pulling it to shreds.

  With one final spray of gunfire for good measure, she pulled Nima from beneath the bed, tucked her under her arm and charged into the bedroom across the hall, firing wildly down the hall at anyone dumb enough to still be there.

  Slamming the door shut, she shook with as much fear as rage. This small bedroom was where she’d make her last stand. Here she would die in the line of duty, shot down by cold-blooded killers out to murder a tiny girl who’d never hurt anyone in her whole life!

  Alex, get your dumb ass here right damned now!

  Her fingers fumbled the .9mm pistol out of her belt holster. If she could only stop her hands from shaking, she would survive. The Uzi was fast becoming too hot to handle, so she pulled both sawed-off shotguns out of her bag. Setting the pistol on the floor, she lined up a row of cartridges beside it and hunkered down to wait, as alone as she never expected to be. Ready to kill. Ready to die. Both felt the same somehow. It didn’t matter, them or her, as long as Nima lived.