Under the Gun
Page 1
“I would still be down there in that car if you hadn’t saved my life.”
“Don’t mention it.” Then Will forced a smile into his voice. “Just act on it. You’re going to be my eyes until we get those missiles where they need to be.” What he wouldn’t give to see her face now. He caressed it instead, feeling a warm wetness on her cheeks that he knew was not river water.
Should he tease her out of this display of emotion or what? That was what he would have done before.
Now he just held her, glorying in the fact that she was alive to cry, to laugh. To kiss.
He found her mouth with his, at first just a light pressure. The he tasted her, encouraging her to open herself to him just a little. Then more fully.
He would never have admitted it before today, but he had wanted to kiss her this way since the day they’d first met.
Under the Gun
LYN STONE
Books by Lyn Stone
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Beauty and the Badge #952
Live-In Lover #1055
A Royal Murder #1172
In Harm’s Way #1193
*Down to the Wire #1281
*Against the Wall #1295
*Under the Gun #1330
Harlequin Historicals
The Wicked Truth #358
The Arrangement #389
The Wilder Wedding #413
The Knight’s Bride #445
Bride of Trouville #467
One Christmas Night #487
“Ian’s Gift”
My Lady’s Choice #511
The Highland Wife #551
The Quest #588
Marrying Mischief #601
Gifts of the Season #631
“Christmas Charade”
The Scot #643
Harlequin Books
The Wedding Chase
“Word of a Gentleman”
LYN STONE
loves creating pictures with words. Paints, too. Her love affair with writing and art began in the third grade, when she won a schoolwide prize for her colorful poster for Book Week. She spent the prize money on books, one of which was Little Women.
She rewrote the ending so that Jo marries her childhood sweetheart. That’s because Lyn had a childhood sweetheart herself and wanted to marry him when she grew up. She did. And now she is living her “happily ever after” in north Alabama with the same guy. She and Allen have traveled the world, have two children, four grandchildren and experienced some wild adventures along the way.
Whether writing romantic historicals or contemporary fiction, Lyn insists on including elements of humor, mystery and danger. Perhaps because that other book she purchased all those years ago was a Nancy Drew mystery.
This is for Allen. Thanks for all the resources, suggestions and everything else you provide.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Prologue
MISSION: Olympus
Glenfield, N.J., Nov. 12
“Hey, Holly,” Will Griffin said into his collar mike as he winked at his brother. “The gig’s a wrap. This was the right location, after all. Send the recovery teams over here and sweep up. Matt’s calling in his crew.”
“Roger that, Will,” she answered, her heavy sigh audible in his ear. “Big relief. See you in fifteen.”
He cut contact and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath of night air. It stank of cordite mixed with the breeze from a nearby cabbage field.
“That girl’s got a bad crush on you, bro,” Matt teased. “When are you planning to give her a break?”
Will laughed, adrenaline pumping through his system. “Can’t play where I work. Rule number one.”
“Aw, man! You better leave her team then and come on back to work with me. Keep wasting time and you’ll be too old to do anything about it.” He chuckled. “We look enough alike. Think she’d go for me?”
“You lay off Holly.”
“Strike the word off and it’s a deal,” Matt quipped.
Will ignored that and deliberately changed the subject. “Wonder why this guy Odin didn’t show tonight. He’s supposed to be a Cauc and all these guys are foreigners.” He glanced at the bodies.
Matt shrugged. “No reason to get his hands dirty doing grunt work, I guess.”
Odin was the code name for a mysterious man who supposedly was outfitting a group of terrorists with weapons, in this case a cache of easily transportable missiles and also a crate of submachine guns confiscated off the streets by the local police.
Will looked at the little prop plane he had just exited after checking out the shipment. Surface-to-air Stinger missiles stolen from nearby Picatinny Arsenal filled the passenger section, where the seats had been removed.
Three of the gang lay dead on the runway, another was propped unconscious, cuffed hand and foot, against one of the wheels. There were two more near the delivery truck. They wouldn’t be transporting any more SAMs or anything else unless the devil put them to work.
Will checked the nifty little MP5K Heckler and Koch submachine gun slung from the strap over his shoulder. “Barrel’s still hot as a firecracker,” he muttered as he reloaded.
Matt put down his weapon on the tarmac and started ripping off his Kevlar vest. “I’m sweating like a mule in harness. I hate wearing these damn things.”
They were covered head to toe in black. It might be November, but even at 11:00 p.m. it was muggy as hell and felt like the moon was giving off heat. Will yanked his knit mask off and wiped his brow with it.
A movement near the hangar caught his eye. “Down!” he warned Matt just as the figure popped off three rounds. He saw the fire, heard the reports and the thunk as one shot pierced the metal fuselage of the plane. Nine-millimeter handgun, he guessed, whipping up his automatic to sweep the area.
Rapid fire erupted. “God, this is it!” Matt cried, and threw himself in front of Will, crashing into him, knocking him flat. Will’s weapon spat rounds to one side, striking the aircraft.
This is it. His brother’s words rang repeatedly, like thunder in his head, fading slowly to a whisper and then to absolute silence. Matt was hit.
Will tried but couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. Not apathy, exactly, just resignation. Warm blood oozed across his eyelids.
Matt lay across his chest, heart against heart. Same beat. It felt familiar. Like back in the womb maybe, when they’d been crowded together waiting to be born.
Me first again. The cocky words were Matt’s and only in Will’s mind, their connection a twin thing long accepted. Will desperately wanted to argue, but something distracted him. Someone was approaching. No sound. No sight. He just sensed it somehow.
He wished it were Holly and the team, but he knew better. There would be no goodbyes. Matt was right. This was it.
Chapter 1
Saint Clare’s Hospital, Dover, N.J.—November 18
Holly Amberson felt a pain in her chest, an ache of fear and frustration. It was a mere echo of what Will must be experiencing if he had any lucid thoughts at all.
She wished they would airlift him to Bethesda. Newton had been the nearest hospital and their trauma unit excellent, but Will obviously needed more expertise.
“Six days now,” she whispered to Jack Mercier, who had just arrived for his turn at Will’s bedside. “Other than reflexive responses, nothing.”
Jack tightly con
trolled his expression, but fury mixed with desperation shone in his eyes despite that. “Will’s going to come out of this soon, Holly. There’s plenty of brain activity.”
She nodded and released a sigh. “And some rapid eye movement awhile ago. Dreaming, I guess.”
At least he was breathing well on his own, and so far the doctors hadn’t ordered a feeding tube. However, another day or so without his regaining consciousness and they would.
Jack nudged Holly’s arm with the back of his hand. “Go home and grab a nap. You’ve got a case in progress and you can’t run it with no sleep. Go on back to the motel.”
It was standard procedure to have someone on duty whenever a government agent who dealt with special access compartmental classified information underwent medical treatment that required anesthesia, or lost temporary control of his faculties due to illness or injury. Any agent with the appropriate security clearance could be detailed to perform the task, but members of the Sextant team elected to take turns at sentinel duty with one of their own.
The Sextant team, based in McLean, Virgina, was made up of agents that the Director of Homeland Security had recruited from various government organizations expressly for the purpose of preventing or terminating terrorist activities. Holly had been with the FBI. After enlistment in the Marines, Will had worked for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, along with his twin. Jack Mercier, a National Security Agency alumnus, headed up the team.
Three other agents added to the Sextant pool, also drawing on their former resources.
Joe Corda came directly from the Drug Enforcement Agency and had spent three years before that as an Army Ranger. Clay Senate, CIA veteran, remained something of an enigma. Holly reminded herself that she needed to spend a little more time around Clay so she could figure him out. As a natural loner, he seemed to have the hardest time adjusting to teamwork. Eric Vinland, boy genius and resident psychic, hailed from Navy Intelligence.
She called them her Crayola Kids. Three Caucs, a Hispanic, a Native American and her. They had won her heart even before showing such diligence in helping her look after Will.
There was another, much more personal and compelling reason for stationing someone here than simply following intel regulations. There was a chance Will might be able to identify the shooter.
Whoever had delivered the bullet would be a fool not to finish the job, given half a chance. Whatever it took, the team did not intend to let that happen. No one else could be trusted to guard Will as assiduously as they would.
“My report’s up-to-date,” Holly declared. “Eric’s taking over for me. I can stay.”
“No,” Jack insisted. “Go on, Holly. Get some rest. That’s an order.”
This was the hardest time of all, leaving. More difficult than staying and watching him, praying for any sign of movement. And that was pure hell.
“The feds come by again today?” Jack asked.
“Yes. And the Military Intel rep and also that ATF guy, Collins, both checked in again by phone. I keep telling them they’ll be notified if—when—he comes around. Thank God Will and Matt stopped that plane from taking off. I just hope he’ll be able to tell us something significant when he wakes up.”
Bullets had riddled the small aircraft, and six of the perps loading it had been shot. But the vehicle that had delivered the stolen cache of weapons to the secluded airstrip and, according to the inventory, three of the shoulder-fire Stinger missiles and launchers were still missing.
“Those things are too damn portable, could take out anything in the air up to five miles away. God only knows where they plan to use them.”
“Everybody’s on this, Holly.”
“All right.” She reached out and laid a palm on Will’s shoulder. Just a touch.
They each did that whenever they left him. For luck. Or maybe because they might not get the chance to connect with him again if he didn’t make it through to their next watch.
Tonight Holly’s hand lingered a little longer than usual.
Businesslike, hardheaded, tough-as-nails Holly, who rarely showed any emotion at all, felt as if she was about to cry. Wouldn’t that just tear it? Working as the lone female agent on a team of six, she really needed to prove she could bear up under anything without giving way to tears.
Would Will be amused if he ever found out she had such a soft spot?
What if he never came out of the coma? she couldn’t help thinking. How could she show up at the office every day and face all those reminders of him?
On every mission, she would be thinking about what he could have added, how great it would be just to pick up her cellphone and punch number three, hear his gruff answer, tease him, make him laugh in spite of himself. God, what she would give to hear his laugh again.
Unable to stop herself even though she knew Jack was watching, Holly brushed back the thick, dark wave of hair that half covered Will’s brow. Damage from the bullet, and the surgery to remove it, was healing well.
His hair was too long, she thought, wondering if she should trim it for him tomorrow. It felt damp. Fine beads of sweat dotted his skin.
“It’s hot in here,” she said, more or less to herself.
Suddenly Will’s hand lifted off the bed and struck the side rail with a thunk.
“He moved! Jack, he moved on purpose, I think! Not just a reflex!” she cried. “Will?” Holly leaned over the rail and clutched his shoulder, her fingers buried in the soft folds of his wrinkled hospital gown. “Will, can you hear me?”
Silence dropped like a curtain as Will Griffin opened his eyes and squinted at Holly.
He mouthed the words, “He’s coming.” She watched his throat work, his dry lips move. “Now. Armed,” he whispered forcefully, staring past them, his bloodshot eyes widening, then blinking fiercely.
Was he seeing something they couldn’t?
Holly swung around, drew her weapon and planted herself solidly between Will and any threat just as the door opened. Her peripheral vision showed Jack crouched, his SIG-Sauer automatic a deadly finger pointed in the same direction.
The nurse entering the room dropped the IV bags she was holding and crumpled to the floor. The man directly behind her turned and ran.
“Stay with Will!” Jack snapped. He stumbled, then leaped over the fallen nurse and jerked open the door, which had swung almost shut again.
Holly reached through the rail with her free hand and grasped Will’s. He squeezed her fingers slightly. She bit back a sob of relief, adrenaline rushing through her veins.
A few minutes later, Jack returned to the doorway. “He got away. Without a team to search every room on this floor, every supply closet, every stairwell and elevator, we’ll never find him! Call security and shut this place down.”
He shouted along the hall to the nurses’ station, “Get a doctor in here! Stat!”
Holly grabbed the phone on the table by the bed and snapped orders to hospital security. She watched Jack crouch beside the nurse who had fainted. Then Holly glanced down at Will.
He seemed to be watching Jack, too, head turned to the side. He blinked hard several times as if to focus better.
She clutched his hand tighter. “The guy split, Will, but we’ll get him. Give me a name, hon. That’s all we need. Who was he?”
“Dunno,” he said with great effort. “Ask…Matt.”
Holly winced. Matt hadn’t made it.
“Hey, Holly,” Mercier said. “Look at this.”
“Just a minute, Jack.”
Will wouldn’t know yet that the bullet that had lodged in his head had first traveled straight through Matt. The perp nearly got a two-fer. But Will was going to make it.
He was conscious now, understandably weak but obviously lucid. The bullet hadn’t destroyed much tissue, his doctors said. Its velocity had slowed considerably, burrowing through his brother’s body.
Will had to make it. The loss of one Griffin was more than their friends could stand. Though Matt had remained with the ATF af
ter Will was recruited to join Sextant, that had worked to everyone’s advantage. Each operative on the new team kept their close contacts from former jobs within other agencies. One didn’t get much closer than a twin.
There were several voices behind her now, but Holly didn’t worry. Jack was taking care of business. Will was going to need her when he learned what had happened to Matt. She had to decide whether she should tell him straight out.
Instead of giving Will the bad news about his brother, she said, “Don’t try to talk anymore, Will. Just stay with us.”
She realized she and Jack hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t questioned for a minute the urgency Will had projected. They had just responded to the warning and whipped out their pistols. Thank God they had.
Nobody had ever doubted Matt Griffin’s extraordinary powers of telepathy. But Will hadn’t shared his brother’s gift. Not before today, anyway.
Holly linked her fingers with his. His grip was so weak. She hoped against hope that was caused by inactivity and not permanent damage to any response mechanisms. He needed to be strong, much stronger than he was now, when told about Matt’s death.
Even as she watched, Will’s lips firmed, his expression one of intense pain.
Will knew about his brother. Maybe he had read her face, or perhaps remembered the actual shooting. Holly briefly considering lying to him, assuring him Matt was all right, but she couldn’t do it. Didn’t think it would do any good, anyway. “I’m so sorry, Will.”
His grip tightened perceptibly, as if he were trying to wring a vow out of her.
“Don’t you worry,” she assured him. “We’ll get that son of a bitch. But you’ve got to help us. Stay awake if you can. The doctor’s on his way. You pull through this, Griffin, you hear me? That’s an order.”
She heard a small crowd murmuring behind her and turned to see why no one had disturbed her conversation with Will yet. They should be working over him like bees by now, ensuring that he didn’t lapse back into the coma. Adjusting machines, checking his vitals. Something.