by Cindy Dees
“Confirmed kill?”
“Yeah.”
“About thirteen hundred yards. But I mostly do short-range work.”
“Who’s the most famous person you’ve taken out?”
She looked over at him askance. “You keep score of such things?”
He grinned. “I’ve never been out on a date with a sniper. I’m not exactly sure how to engage in small talk with you.”
“Well, what do you talk about with the other women you date?”
“Ahh, darlin’. We don’t usually get around to doing much talking.”
If he’d had his night-vision goggles on at that moment, her face would have lit up bright white with embarrassed heat. And it obviously amused him. The cad.
He asked, “Don’t you ever feel like blowing off steam after a mission? A little hot, meaningless sex for the hell of it?”
Sex? Her? Not so much. It was too overwhelming. Too personal. Okay, fine. Too emotional. She replied dryly, “I go to the dojo and get in a hard workout if I need to burn off adrenaline. But usually I go someplace peaceful and green to meditate for a while.”
He tsked. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on. Adrenaline-pumped sex is incredible. You should try it sometime.”
She just shook her head. She could not believe she was out on a stakeout and having this conversation.
He continued, “When I come off a tough mission, I want to do something mindless and physical to remind myself that I’m still alive. I don’t know any guy who doesn’t want sex right after he came off a rough op. Maybe it’s a guy-girl difference.” He paused, then added, “Do all the Medusas meditate after missions?”
Kat suppressed a startled sound of laughter. “Not hardly. They go out and party. Or nowadays, they go home to their guys. I’m the only bachelor left in the bunch.”
“Why do you meditate instead of partying?”
“After I make a kill, I usually feel a need to re-center myself.”
Sounding mildly alarmed, he asked, “You don’t take kills personally, do you?”
“Not at all. If I didn’t do it, someone else would. I’m just the tool that carries out a decision made way above my pay grade.”
“What about when a mission goes to hell and you end up unexpectedly having to shoot your way out? Or hasn’t that happened to the Medusas?”
She answered wryly, “It’s happened more than once. Then it’s even simpler. In that scenario, it’s kill or be killed. You pull the trigger and you don’t think twice. I never look back from those kills.”
“I’ve got to say, I never thought a woman could take such a broad view of killing. I always assumed women wouldn’t get it.”
“You think we’re all wilting lilies who wring our hands over squishing a bug and have to ask a man to do it for us?”
He laughed under his breath. “Are you kidding? I’ve read my history. Some of the most violent soldiers in history have been women. Did you ever hear what Russian women did to German prisoners of war in World War II? It’s no wonder the Germans always saved one bullet for themselves.”
Kat was familiar with the Russian women’s practice of tying enemy soldiers to trees and whipping them until their innards wrapped around the trunk. Although after what the Nazis had done to the Soviet Union, she couldn’t blame the women for their rage.
She murmured, “Surely you talk with women a little bit about something besides killing when you’re out on a date with one. You know, normal stuff.”
She hoped she didn’t sound like she was fishing to find out what normal was. Even if that was exactly what she was doing. Jeff countered with, “What did you talk about on dates with boys when you were in high school or college?”
“I didn’t date in high school. Hidoshi-san didn’t pass away until I was seventeen. When I came to the States to go to college, I was so busy trying to bring my English up to speed and keep my grades up and adjust to the culture shock that I didn’t have much time for a social life.” And the few relationships she’d had with college boys had left her unimpressed with dating in general. The guys she’d gone out with didn’t have a fraction of her focus or drive, and she’d found them…frivolous.
“Why didn’t Hidoshi-san let you date?”
“Oh, he’d have let me date. But I was too busy training to spare the time for such silliness.”
“Wow. You must have been one mega-serious teenager.” He grinned over at her self-deprecatingly. “The same could not have been said about me. My high school teachers always harped at me about applying myself more. About all I applied myself to back then were sports and girls. And not necessarily in that order.”
She didn’t find that hard to believe. And yet, when the two of them had talked through possible plans for catching the Ghost, he was as focused as any operator she’d ever worked with. He seemed to subscribe to the theory of working hard and playing hard in about equal measure.
He asked, “Were you always so committed to your martial arts, even at a young age?”
“I started training when I could barely walk. I’ve done it hard-core my entire life. It’s who I am.”
“That’s a strong statement.”
“If you’re so determined to pursue a relationship with me, you need to believe me. My training runs bone deep. The physical aspects, the mental aspects, the ancient code of honor—all of it.”
“Why did you choose the martial arts as your framework for self-definition?”
She turned her head to stare at him.
He shrugged. “So, sue me. I was a psychology minor in college.”
Great. She’d fallen for an amateur shrink. She sure could pick ’em. His question was insightful, though. She finally murmured, “I had nothing else. No one else. Hidoshi-san loved me when no one else did. Becoming like him was the least I could do to show my gratitude.”
“No one else loved you? The absentee father, I understand. But what about siblings? Aunts and uncles?”
“Nada.”
He shifted the weight off one elbow and reached out to touch her cheek. Just the slightest graze of his fingertips against her skin. “Are you still completely alone?”
The loneliness aching within her radiated outward in a terrible tension that froze her facial muscles beneath his brief touch. Her entire being felt stiff as she answered, “I have the Medusas now. They’re my family.”
He nodded as if he knew the feeling well. And, given that he had a team of his own that he ran with, he probably did know the feeling. “But what about you? Isn’t there anyone in your life just for you?”
“Is all this psychoanalysis really necessary?” she asked lightly.
“You’re avoiding the question. Your grandfather has passed away, and you have no one else, do you?”
He was prodding painful places in her soul that she’d just as soon have him leave alone. She retreated into the emotionless cool she always did when people tried to get too close to her. Except this time, she felt like a coward for running away. Damn him! She’d been happy the way she was before she met him…or at least at peace with herself. Why did he have to go and tear away the veil of her lonely existence like that and show it to her for what it really was?
She answered in a tone that sounded stilted, even to her. “I don’t need anyone else, so your question is moot.”
He nodded sagely. “The lady has built her very own fortress of solitude. And here you were, doing so well at starting to crawl out of it. I’m a pushy jerk, aren’t I?”
Secretly relieved that he’d poked at her—given her an excuse to come out of her emotional cave, really—she rolled her eyes. “You got one part right. You are a jerk.” But she said it without any real heat.
He grinned over at her. “And you love me anyway.”
Stunned, she jerked her gaze back to the estate in front of her while she turned the concept over in her mind. Did she feel love for him? Was it possible? She’d loved Hidoshi. But that was different. She’d loved him as a child loves a
parent or grandparent.
But Jeff? Could she love a man like him? As an equal? A mate? She stared fixedly through her spotter’s scope, seeing a blurry morass of green and peach, vividly aware that he was studying her in the meantime.
“Dare I hope?” he breathed. “Are there really feelings for me lurking behind that inscrutable exterior of yours?”
She started to lower the fist-size telescope to glare over at him, but something caught her attention at the farthest edge of her vision, and she jerked the scope back up to her eye. “I’ve got movement,” she announced. “I do believe our Ghost is putting in an appearance.”
Jeff lurched, his attention swinging back to the mansion. “Say position,” he responded tersely, abruptly back in full mission mode.
“Eleven o’clock. North end of the upper terrace. Moving in low and fast toward the shed housing the main electrical boxes.”
They’d been right, then. The Ghost was simply going to knock out the alarm and make a speed run for the painting. Earlier, they’d discussed trying to nab the guy as soon as they spotted him or waiting until he’d stolen the painting and then catching him. Their concern was that if they grabbed him before the theft, the police wouldn’t have enough evidence to hold the guy. He’d slip away from them, this time for good.
“Good eye,” Jeff murmured. “He’s practically invisible.”
“I should think any respectable thief is invisible most of the time,” she murmured back absently, concentrating hard on not losing sight of the elusive figure. Likewise, any half-decent sniper ought to be able to follow a figure like him at this distance. And she was more than half decent.
Jeff breathed, “Let’s move in closer. Full stealth. We don’t want to spook this guy.”
She nodded, rising silently to a crouch and easing off through the imitation Balinese landscaping behind Jeff. She didn’t hear a sound as they slipped through the night. Jeff was every bit as good as she was at this silent sneaking thing—and she’d been trained by the best. Hidoshi had been one of the last great ninja masters.
Jeff hand-signaled her to go around the house and watch the front doors while he took the oceanside doors. She nodded and Jeff hand-signaled. “First one to spot him leaving calls for backup. Then we move in on him.”
She nodded and glided off into the dark, at one with the night. Adrenaline sang through her veins and her body was light and responsive. She was ready for whatever came. Moments like this, where she got to fully turn her skills loose, were rare. But in these moments she was profoundly grateful to Hidoshi, to whatever quirk of fate had led her to him, that she’d been granted the opportunity to do this. To be this.
Jeff found a carved tiki pole casting a deep shadow and had just taken up position behind it when every light in the mansion abruptly came on and a piercing noise split the night.
“Time hack,” he announced. He looked down at his watch. Three-twenty a.m. on the nose. He figured they had about sixty seconds to wait, and then one of them should spot the Ghost leaving with his prize. He scanned the ground-floor doors and windows on this side of the house, watching for the slightest movement anywhere in his field of vision.
Eighty-two seconds had passed since his time hack when two things happened simultaneously. He heard the first police sirens in the far distance, and Kat radioed, “I’ve got him. He’s coming out the front door now.”
“Go get him!” Jeff ordered as he took off sprinting around the house.
And then all hell broke loose.
No less than five heavily armed men burst out of the bushes in front of Jeff, forcing him to screech to a halt and drop to the ground. “Incoming!” he whispered urgently to Kat. “Five armed men heading your way. Might be cops. Hold your fire!”
The men charged forward away from his position—toward Kat and the Ghost. A spurt of panic broadsided him. Those guys were headed straight at Kat! He briefly considered standing up and shouting at the men to draw their attention and their fire away from her. But then his brain kicked back into gear. She was a trained Special Forces operative. She knew what to do when a bunch of guys ran in her general direction.
As the men moved away, Jeff ran lightly behind them, staying well out of their line of sight and possible line of fire. Who were these guys? If they were police, they were certainly acting weird. Cops would have shouted for the Ghost to halt, would have fired warning shots in the air. Searchlights would flare to life, rows of police cars would shine their headlights, and the Ghost would be well and truly caught.
But these guys were sprinting grimly, pistols at the ready, silent, coordinated, and for all the world moving like a team of commandos closing in for a kill.
He careened around the side of the house and spied the front door gaping wide open. One of the men was just leaving the front porch to rejoin his buddies. Jeff ducked behind a lush hibiscus as the guy raced past him. The guy was wearing a black knit cap and black greasepaint on his face. SWAT team maybe, but no regular cop dressed like that.
Jeff risked whispering to Kat, “Where are you?”
“Running,” she grunted.
As a powerful engine gunned nearby, the men dropped any attempt at stealth and took off running, yelling back and forth in what sounded like something Slavic.
“Cobra! Five targets straight at you!” Jeff called urgently. He swore violently as the team of armed men sprinted right at Kat. He was too far away to fling himself in front of her but, had he been beside her, he’d have done it in a heartbeat.
She veered off to the right, smartly separating herself from the Ghost as a target. The bad guys lurched and slowed momentarily in their surprise at spotting her. But now they had her in their sights and seemed determined to bag her, too. Three men peeled off after the Ghost; the other two went after her.
It was a no-brainer which group he was going after. No way was he leaving her alone to face down these guys on her own.
Neither he nor Kat was heavily armed. Without knowing how skilled—or unskilled—these guys were, he dared not take them on directly in any kind of a fight. Besides, for all he knew, these guys were law enforcement types.
“Take cover when you can,” he ordered Kat tersely as he darted out from behind a palm tree to follow the black-clad men chasing her.
He was maybe thirty feet behind the last assailant when he spied Kat’s lithe form ahead, slender and dark, sprinting through the trees. She dodged bushes and tree trunks with incredible agility, and the armed men fell back slightly. But then the lead guy raised his pistol.
“Incoming fire,” Jeff bit out frantically. He was too close to the hostiles to be talking on the radio, but he had no choice. If they heard him and turned to fire on him, so be it. Unfortunately, he was too far away to tackle the guy with the gun.
He expected Kat to dive for the ground, to reduce her target profile to practically nothing, maybe even for her to roll on her back and fire back at the shooter. But instead, she picked up speed and literally ran up the trunk of a tree, momentarily going horizontal about six feet off the ground. She sling-shotted back down to the ground with an extra dose of momentum, zipped across the shooter’s field of fire and took a running start at a medium-size palm tree. She ran the first eight feet or so up the trunk, then in one smooth move, slung a short rope around the tree, grabbed the free end as it whipped around the trunk, and used the rope and her feet to shimmy up the tree as fast as any chimp.
Jeff stared in disbelief. He’d never seen anything like it. Apparently, neither had the hostiles, for they both slowed to an incredulous jog, staring up into the treetops where she’d disappeared.
A moment later, a black shape hurtled out of a neighboring palm tree, swinging down and out on a long frond, landing lightly in the path well ahead of her pursuers. Then Kat was off and running again, this time with enough of a head start to duck into the deep shadows and vanish from sight.
Belatedly, the men took off running again. They slowed and peered into the area where she’d disappeared,
but after thirty seconds or so of fruitless searching, gave up and turned to run for the road, where their buddies were shouting. Sounded like the other team wanted these two to join them already.
Jeff was stunned. He’d seen enough cheesy martial arts movies in his youth to know Hollywood’s images of ninjas, but he’d never dreamed that any of the spectacular feats portrayed on film might actually be real. Had he not just seen that with his own eyes, he’d never have believed it possible.
A vehicle roared away, its sound disappearing into the night. Sounded like the Ghost was making his getaway on a motorcycle.
Kat panted into his earpiece. “Who are these guys?”
“No idea. They’re acting military. Say status,” he bit out.
“A van just pulled up. The men are getting in. I’m taking the car.”
Jeff swore and veered toward the main road. He was in time to see their compact sedan peel out from behind the shrubs where he’d hidden it and take off down the road at high speed. Across the street, the last black-clad man piled into an unmarked white van, and the vehicle gunned its engine. Its tires spit gravel, and the rear end fishtailed as it pulled out onto the road, accelerating hard.
“They’re giving chase,” he called. “White van. Rear license plate obscured. Blacked-out windshield. You shouldn’t have trouble spotting it. It’ll be the only thing on the road behind you doing a hundred miles per hour.”
“Thanks,” Kat retorted.
“What in the hell were you thinking, leaving by yourself?” he demanded over his radio as he took off running futilely down the road behind the fleeing vehicles. Christ. She was out there by herself now, caught between the Ghost and those commandos. And he wasn’t there to protect her. A cold fist of dread closed around his throat.
“I was thinking about not losing the Ghost,” she replied tartly. “I’ll let you know where he leads me. I just passed a moped rental place. It’s about a quarter mile from the mansion. Hot-wire one if you can’t wake up the owner. I might need backup.”
“Ya think?” he snapped.
He cursed her roundly as he ran for all he was worth. His mind churned as fast as his legs. Who were those guys? He’d lay odds they weren’t cops. D’Abeau knew they were staking out Shangri-La. The detective’s men wouldn’t have pulled weapons on him and Kat. Private mercenaries, then? Maybe hired by the homeowner to protect his art? But then why had they given chase to the Ghost and not stuck with the art collection? What private citizen bothered to or could afford to hire a half-dozen hard-core mercenaries, anyway? Such men did not come cheap.
