Adrenaline was a wonder drug at stopping agony dead in its tracks.
“Get to cover!” he bellowed, rolling to a crouch and shoving his pistol around the side of the sofa.
He squeezed off round after round, laying down cover fire to give Grace time to crawl away. He had no doubt the assassin would aim for her at his first opening, and it was up to Hunter to make sure the bastard never got that chance.
“Clear!” She cried out barely two seconds later.
Peeking around the edge of the couch, he saw three things in an instant. One, the glass in the sliding door had shattered and fallen from the frame. It lay all over the ground in shards that glittered in the starlight and the lamplight shining out into the backyard. Two, there was a dark sedan parked nearby, and it was only the cover of night that’d kept him from seeing it before. And three, Orpheus was nowhere to be found.
Grace’s breathless voice came from somewhere near the fireplace. “I…I think he’s trying for his c-car.”
“You okay?”
“Still alive.”
He grunted his approval. “Stay that way, will you?”
“That’s the plan.”
Squinting against the darkness outside, he saw the driver’s side door on the sedan slip open.
“I got you, you sorry sonofabitch.” He sighted down his barrel and waited for Orpheus to poke his balding blond head above the doorframe.
Unfortunately, the assassin remained in a crouch. Which meant Hunter had to go for the next best thing.
Aiming at the center of the open door, he plugged it with two rounds.
Thunk! Thunk!The shots buried themselves deep, but he never heard an accompanying yowl of agony or grunt of pain. Which meant the metal was enough to stop the bullets.
Fuck!
Lowering his aim, he focused hard on the ground beneath the open door, wished he had a larger target and more light to work with, and then reminded himself when it came to shitting in one hand and wishing in the other, the hand with shit was always going to fill up faster.
He took his shot.
“Fuck!”This time he cursed out loud when his bullet ranged too low and hit the dirt an inch from his intended target.
An immediate adjustment andthattime his aim was true. He heard Orpheus yip in pain. And then, when he immediately squeezed off another round, he heard the sound no operator ever wanted to hear.
The dreadedclickof an empty magazine.
He was up and running around the couch just as the Russian wrenched the car door shut and cranked over the engine. By the time his feet hit the rug in the middle of the room, the assassin had laid on the gas and was spinning his tires in the wet grass.
“Weapon!” he bellowed to Grace, who was tucked into the corner between the brick hearth and an armchair.
“No.” Her hand was pressed to the wound on her head. “He…he took it.”
Her words barely registered because he’d gotten close enough to see how much blood stained her shirt. How pale the skin over her face had grown. How her gaze, so bright and sure just moments earlier, looked unfocused.
His desperation to stop Orpheus was instantly eclipsed by his concern for her. A second later, he was down on his knees, gently tugging at her wrist. “Let me see.”
She didn’t comply. Instead, her fuzzy gaze focused on his fresh wound and the blood that leaked over his elbow and forearm. “You’re hit!” she gasped.
“No.” He lifted his shirtsleeve and tilted his shoulder forward so she could see the shallow groove the bullet had left behind. “Just a graze.”
Hot tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so s-sorry, Hunter.” She hiccupped on a sob. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I’m so s-sorry I—”
“Grace.” He gently tugged on her wrist again. “Let me see your head.”
