My reflexes and training asserted themselves. I flattened myself against the Jeep, presenting a smaller target, while simultaneously, I raised my own gun.
Something flickered in my peripheral vision. I ignored it.
The real threat was right here in front of me.
Jack
Staring at the man tucked into the shadows, I reacted instinctively, pushing myself fully into this world.
Fire licked my skin, the very flames of Hell itself. Searing pain shattered through me.
Sensation washed in behind it. The chill of the evening rain. The smell of wet earth.
Everything happened at once.
Chiara swung around, her head finally seeing the man and his threat.
The man sighted along the barrel of his gun.
Chiara raised her own weapon.
Car doors slammed shut, voices shouting in Italian.
No one would reach Chiara in time. She was too exposed, plastered against the side of the Jeep. A sitting duck for this unknown gunman.
“NO!” I shouted, throwing myself between him and her.
I drew the man’s attention at the last moment, his gun bucking upward, sending his aim wide.
Or . . . at least I thought it did.
Dimly, I registered thephewof his bullet. But there was another sound in there. Another sharp bark of gunfire. Something struck me, throwing me to my knees.
“JACK!” Chiara screamed. “No!”
Agony wracked me. I fought to hold myself in this world . . . but the pain was too intense. I was slipping away.
“Police! Halt!” An unknown voice shouted. A swirl of bodies rushed past me.
Suddenly, Chiara was before me. Her small hands touching me, pressing against my chest, easing me to the ground. The gravel was cold and unforgiving.
“Are you hurt?” I gasped, pushing her hands away, trying to see her.
“I’m fine, you big idiot.” She was crying. Sobbing. “You’re the one bleeding.”
I was bleeding? That wasn’t surprising.
“I SHOT YOU!” she screamed. “How could you let me do that? Why would you jump in front of my bullet like that? I was trying protect you from being hurt!”
Pain fogged my brain. The burning sensation tore through me. I couldn’t hold on much longer.
“Always s-said you’d be the death of me.” In true British fashion, I went for dark humor.
“Ishotyou,” she continued to sob as she fumbled with my shirt, trying to find the wound.
I struggled to focus on her, wanting to feel the warm softness of her skin one last time.
My body trembled violently, the cold seeping deep. Darkness clung to the edges of my vision. I needed to release my hold on this world.
