by Misty Evans
At his silence, Shelby’s blank gaze rose to his face. “That’s not it, is it? It wasn’t about my skills or training. You just didn’t want me there.”
So yeah, she might not remember that night in detail, and couldn’t see his face to check for lies, but it wasn’t hard to guess that he hadn’t wanted his wife in the middle of a skirmish in enemy territory. “A safer bet was for you and Calisto to stay back at the safe house and let us bring Quan to you.”
“Which is kind of a moot point now,” Sabrina interjected. “Quan was shot and killed, right?”
Colton nodded, seeing the whole scene play out as if it had happened the day before. Did Shelby remember her part in all of it? “When we flew in, we had two helos. We made it into the compound, secured Connor and started the extraction. We got Connor into the first Pave along with several members of my team and Dr. Edmonton, the physician who accompanied us to work on Connor.”
He bit off a piece of bagel but it tasted like cardboard as he chewed. He tossed the rest onto his plate. “Snowman, one of my squad, was with me, Shelby, and Calisto in the second Pave. One of Quan’s men materialized from the compound as Shelby and Calisto were preparing to load Quan inside. They were in the middle of cuffing him and putting a bag over his face when the gunman emerged. Snowman returned fire but Calisto was hit and fell into Quan. Quan grabbed Calisto’s gun, and started shooting.” Shelby was paying rapt attention. “Lt. Moore, our STS pilot, jumped out to help neutralize Quan and the shooter filled him with bullets while Quan fired wildly at all of us.”
“So you killed him,” Shelby said. “Snowman picked off the gunman, I helped Calisto into the helo, you saved Moore, and we took off.”
Colton rubbed his head. The pressure inside it was a thing of beauty.
Sabrina sat forward, her eyes wide. “Who flew the helicopter?”
“I did,” Colton said.
Her eyes grew even larger. “You’re a pilot and a sniper? Plus you sing Bruce Springsteen songs and rescue dogs. A real renaissance man.”
“Colton received his wings at age seventeen,” Shelby said. “He’s been piloting small engine aircraft for nearly half his life.”
“It wasn’t my specialty in the Teams,” he admitted, “just a skill I dusted off to get us out of enemy territory before we all ended up dead.”
“But I seem to remember there was another man, a terrorist?” Shelby asked, her forehead pinching. “Your mission was rescuing Connor. Ours was Quan, but there was something else. Someone else in the other Pave.”
Connor shot Colton a look. They both were under orders to never tell anything about that man. “Not to my knowledge,” Colton lied. His phone rang and he jumped up, happy for the distraction. “I’ve got to take this.”
It was Rory. “I’ve got some interesting trivia on your shoe.”
Colton headed into the kitchen, hoping like hell Shelby didn’t decide she needed to know what had happened to the second ‘terrorist.’ “My shoe?”
“The print you sent. Took me forever to figure out what type it’s from because that outline doesn’t match anything in my database.”
The man had a shoe print database? “What about it?”
“It’s a hybrid dress/casual shoe made only by a small-time designer in Paris. They’re special order and pretty expensive. Not many of them around.”
Men in Oklahoma didn’t wear expensive designer shoes from Paris. Especially not those in Good Hope. “Can you trace it to the designer and find out who bought them?”
“If I had the actual shoe, yeah. I don’t even have a full print.”
“Right.” Snipers and serial killers weren’t known for their taste in expensive Parisian footwear. “It probably doesn’t belong to our killer anyway. An investor maybe looking to revive the subdivision or a visitor took a stroll and left it behind.”
“One more thing, that ghost file I found on your mission?”
“Drop it, Rory. It’s not important.”
“Hey, no skin off my nose, kid, but I thought you might like to know that Beatrice just activated Zeb to pay you a visit.”
Ah, shit. Not the old spymaster.
“I wanted to come myself once I saw the mention of that extra passenger you brought back on your mission to rescue Irish, but you know Beatrice. She won’t let me out of her sight. So heads up. Zeb’s on your trail.”
He chuckled and hung up.
Colton sighed and tapped his phone against his leg. Of all the damn luck.
He should just come clean. All of it. Clear his conscience. Tell Shelby the truth that she was bound to remember eventually, and to fill her in on why Wyatt Evers had ended up dead.
He was heading back into the dining room to do just that when the east wall blew apart.
Chapter Fifteen
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THE EXPLOSION KNOCKED Shelby on her ass.
She went from sitting in a dining room chair to lying on the floor several feet away with a heavy weight on top of her and a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
Beep, beep, beep. The security system alarm was going full-blast, adding to the noise.
She coughed, sucking in dust when she tried to breathe through her mouth. Her weak leg was pinned down.
She blinked rapidly, coughing again, and raised her head. Light from a large hole in the wall illuminated the room. Dust and debris coated everything.
I can see!
And on the heels of that thought came another.
Bomb.
Someone had blown a hole in her house.
“Colton!” she yelled, her voice sounding distant and muted by the ringing in her ears and the droning alarm.
Through the haze hanging in the air, she saw red hair, a black jacket. “Sabrina…Connor…”
Neither moved.
Her vision blurred and a sudden wave of nausea swamped her. Part of the table had flown backward with her, collapsing on top of her and pinning her bad leg. It had also protected her from some of the flying debris.
Pain seared her lower leg when she tried to move it. She looked down to see a piece of glass sticking up from her calf, blood soaking the ripped edges of her pants.
Splintered wood and glass were everywhere. Reaching out, Shelby grabbed for her upended walker, stretching for all she was worth. It was just out of reach and she heaved herself forward.
A shadow fell across her face. She swiveled toward it. “Colton?”
A large, black-clad figure moved through the hole in the wall, stepping carefully through the debris. Shelby blinked again, trying to clear her blurry vision, the pain in her leg screaming when she tried to sit up.
Sabrina moaned and a chair leg fell off her as she shifted slightly in the rubble.
The man was tall, a ski mask covering his face, black racing gloves on his hands. He knelt beside Connor, removed one glove and checked for a pulse.
“Help,” Shelby said. “He needs help.”
The man replaced his glove. He withdrew something from his pocket.
The small, black gun didn’t register with Shelby for a second, then a fresh wave of nausea hit her as she watched him place the gun to Connor’s forehead.
“No!” Sabrina sat up and kicked out at the guy.
The man was quicker. He grabbed Sabrina’s ankle and shoved her aside. He turned the gun on her and…
Bam. Bam.
Shelby’s scream was lost in the concussion of the two shots to Sabrina’s chest.
Picking up a piece of two-by-four that had been ripped from the wall, Shelby aimed for the man’s head. The wood nicked his shoulder, but did nothing more than bring his attention to her.
One step and then another and he was standing directly over her.
She punched at his legs, tried to get her good leg around to kick him. He reached down, his eyes, dark in the shadows, boring into hers. A gloved hand slapped her face. Her head snapped to the side, a fresh wave of
pain exploding in her cheek.
She tasted blood. Turning to look at the man again, she spit at him. “Who are you?”
The gun pointed at her. He bent down, grabbed a chunk of her hair and brought the muzzle to her forehead. Using the gun, he pressed her head down to the floor.
She was going to die.
They were all going to.
Do something!
No way in hell was she going to lie there and let him shoot her.
The blare of the security system’s alarm stopped, but the echo continued in her ears. The muzzle of the gun bit into her skin and she tried to control her gasping breath.
“What do you want?” she yelled as she covertly felt around with both hands. A piece of glass, another splintered board, anything to hit him.
She couldn’t see his face behind the mask, but she saw the knitted material move as if he were smiling.
Those eyes. Something so familiar about them outlined by the mask.
Releasing her braid, he patted her face as if this wasn’t something he really wanted to do.
But he was going to. She could see the determination in his hard gaze.
He cocked the gun, studying her reaction.
Really? He got off on watching his victims die?
It’s him.
The one she’d been hunting.
But a sniper liked distance from his prey. This—the man staring her in the eyes right now—was personal.
Revenge.
Rage like she’d never felt before ripped through her. A guttural yell left her throat and her body moved of its own accord, her bad leg kicking the man in the thigh.
At the same moment, she heard a deep, booming voice from across the room. “Get the fuck away from my wife!”
Colton!
Her kick sent the man backward, but he raised his gun.
Shelby reached for his ankle just as he fired at Colton, sending the bullet into the ceiling. The killer lost his balance and staggered sideways in the debris.
Pushing through the pain, fear ripping through her, Shelby scrambled to find another weapon. Her service revolver was in the safe upstairs. Her backup weapon in the kitchen.
Connor. He’d been armed. She needed to get to him, find his gun.
Sabrina’s chest was a mess of blood. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, blank.
Oh, shit, don’t die on me.
Colton would have to handle Ski Mask on his own.
Shelby pressed her hands against the two bullet wounds in Sabrina’s chest, searching for a heartbeat as she tried to stanch the bleeding. Behind her she heard Colton fighting their bomber.
She was shaking too much to feel the heartbeat, but she thought she saw the pulse in Sabrina’s neck jump. Maybe that was just wishful thinking. The security system would have already alerted the authorities, but medical services would be too late.
Shelby removed her shirt, leaving bloody handprints on it as she wadded it up to press it against Sabrina’s chest. Tears welled in her eyes.
Please Lord. Don’t let this woman die.
Don’t let Connor die.
This is all my fault.
Sirens echoed in the distance. The sounds of Colton and Ski Mask fighting fell away. She was cursing under her breath and praying for help when Colton suddenly appeared at her side.
His face was a mess, blood coming from a cut piercing his left eyebrow, more from beneath his ear and across his bottom lip. “Shelby, are you okay?”
The tears rolled down her cheeks. “Help her, Colton. I… I can’t.”
“Shelby? Can you see me?”
She nodded, glancing back. “Where’s that SOB? Tell me you killed him.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Connor stirred, holding his head as he sat up gingerly.
“He got away,” Colton said, his gaze falling on Sabrina, then darting to Connor.
Connor saw them, saw Sabrina. He cried out, shoving debris out of the way to crawl over to her on hands and knees.
“What happened? Oh God, tell me she’s alive.”
Shelby couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t really know. Her body shook with adrenaline and shock. Colton moved her off Sabrina and Connor took her place, holding the shirt over Sabrina’s wounds and talking to her, begging her not to die.
Colton took Shelby in his arms, examined the glass in her leg. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “I’m going to find him, Shelby. I’m going to find the bastard that did this. And then I’m going to kill him.”
Through the open side of the house, she saw a rush of police cars and an ambulance pulling up. Colton’s truck was in shambles, Connor’s too.
As cops and EMTs swarmed inside, Shelby heard a whine.
“Salisbury!” She whipped her head one way and then the other, searching for the scruffy dog.
Colton was speaking to someone on his phone. He tried to keep Shelby still while an EMT knelt beside them.
“Get the dog,” she told Colton. “Now.”
He turned her over to the EMT, barking orders at two of the cops and the person on the phone all at the same time as he picked his way through the glass and wood to the hallway. There he scooped up Salisbury and held the dog up for her to see.
Thank God.
The EMTs were working on Sabrina. “I’ve got a pulse,” one said, and Shelby felt Connor’s relief from across the room.
They were all still alive. Shelby bowed her head for a moment and let out a shaky thank you.
I’m going to find the bastard that did this. And then I’m going to kill him. Colton’s words circled her brain, the killer’s eyes taunting her behind her closed lids.
Shelby touched her hair. Not if I kill him first.
NOTHING LIKE A good car bomb to start the day off right.
If only it had done the job.
All three of them in one place—Bells, Shelby, McKenzie—and the only one he’d managed to kill was the one he didn’t care about. The redhead.
After watching Bells inspect his truck and seeing McKenzie arrive with the redhead in tow, it had been an easy decision to sneak back over and plant the C4 in the bed of Bells’ truck.
Not his usual modus operandi—he liked things neat and clean. But the bomb was more effective to take out three people inside a house all at once.
Luckily, he’d been a Boy Scout—he was always prepared. He’d found the C4 in his brother’s garage after his last mission. No idea where it had originated from and he didn’t really care. He’d hidden it away, anticipating he might use it some day.
Today had been the day.
Only it hadn’t taken out his three targets, and fucking Bells had interrupted him before he’d had a chance to pay them each back with a bullet to the brain.
Hate seethed through the man’s body from head to toe. He was going to have to up his game once more.
Chapter Sixteen
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AT THE HOSPITAL in Tulsa, Colton wouldn’t let Shelby out of his sight. Which wasn’t easy since the doctors kept insisting he get x-rays while they stitched up the cut on her leg.
Thank God she was alive. As he sat in the chair in the exam room and watched her watching him, he felt the dragon raise its head and laugh at him.
I shouldn’t have come back.
Someone was trying to kill him and Shelby was getting in the way.
Shelby eyed him from the gurney. “Stop it.”
A miracle she could see again.
A squat nurse with serious eyes stood next to him and handed Colton a gauze pad soaked in alcohol. He touched it to his eyebrow and the dragon welcomed the sting. “Stop what?”
Shelby flinched as the doctor finished the stitching and plastered a gauze bandage over her wound. She’d refused a numbing agent.
Such a Shelby move—refusing to show pain. “Blaming yourself for this,” she said.
Every cell in his body screamed for the sweet
release of a good bender. Or another few hours spent between Shelby’s legs.
Like that was ever going to happen again.
He’d brought this whole thing down on her. The worst thing he could do was stay.
But leaving? Out of the question. Not yet anyway. Not with this madman running around.
Bastard.
He’d been so close to taking the guy down. If he hadn’t knocked his head into the cabinets and went lights out for a few minutes, he could have killed the guy. The impact, though, had left him dizzy and he’d barely prevented the guy from killing them all.
Sabrina was in surgery; her prognosis was poor. Two slugs point blank to her chest. How did anyone live through that?
He had. Six bullets had carved through his upper body and left him on life support for weeks. He still had some tiny pieces of shrapnel floating around his spine. Somehow, he’d managed to claw his way back from death.
The Devil isn’t ready for you in hell yet, Jack Claiborne had told him.
For once, the old man was right.
So Colton had continued to create a personal hell on earth. I’m my own devil.
“It’s my fault, Shel.” He tossed the bloodied gauze pad in the trash, accepted a second one from the nurse. His head wound was wrapped because it wouldn’t stop bleeding. Stupid cut over his brow wouldn’t either, but it wasn’t as deep.
The metallic taste of blood on his tongue made him wish for a bottle of bourbon.
Local law enforcement had been over every inch of the driveway and side of the house in the past hour. Their conclusion? A car bomb.
He’d already figured that out.
“I saw those footprints outside. I checked every inch of my truck, the bushes, everything. I don’t know how I missed the explosives, but I did.”
Now Sabrina was going to die and Connor would follow suit, at least emotionally, and didn’t that suck the big one since Connor had just come out of his PTSD shell.
All because Colton had missed a fucking brick of C4.
Although the ten million pieces his truck was in and the hole in the side of the house suggested it was more than one.
“We’re done here, Ms. Claiborne,” the doctor said. “You shouldn’t have much of a scar—I’m known around here for small stitches.” He gave an egotistical smile as he patted Shelby on the shoulder. “We’ll call in a prescription for you, and you should follow up with your family physician in the next day or so.”
