Boom! Boom! Boom!
Agent Douglas fired three times in quick succession.
Crack!
The gunman fired once and his aim proved to be as precise as it had been when he’d taken out the garage door motor. Agent Douglas cried out as a hot slug found him. A puff of blood sprayed from his shoulder as the projectile blasted through his back.
It wasn’t like they showed it in the movies. Even the big rounds snipers used weren’t enough to send a body hurtling back through the air. Instead, Douglas simply fell backward, hitting the ground with a grunt before writhing in pain.
“Get Eliza to safety!” Agent O’Toole screamed, urgency lacing her voice as she bent her arm around the edge of the garage opening and began blindly spraying bullets.
It wasn’t much as far as cover-fire went, but it was all Fisher was going to get. With swift, decisive movements, he scrambled to a crouch, grabbed Eliza by the wrist, and hauled her in the direction of the kitchen.
“Keep your head down!” he bellowed as they half-ran/half-stumbled down the short hallway. As soon as they made it to the large pantry with its brick walls and solid oak door, he unceremoniously shoved her inside. “Stay here,” he instructed and impatiently wiped his forearm across his cheek to get rid of the blood he felt dripping from his chin.
Adrenaline had heightened his senses. He clocked the panic in Eliza’s wide, dark eyes. Heard the fear in her voice when she said, “Jesus, Fish! You’re hit!” And smelled the earthy scent coming from the basket of russet potatoes sitting beneath the shelf by the pantry door.
This was his element—the chaos, the danger. Instead of being overwhelmed by it, it focused him.
“I’m not,” he assured her and gave his face another restless swipe so she could see he was sporting a cut and not a hole. “Got nicked by flyin’ concrete and knocked a bit of bark off my face.”
“Thank god!” Her face crumbled with relief as she threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight he struggled to breathe. “When you threw yourself on top of me, all I could think about was Charlie and?—”
She couldn’t finish. Her words caught on a harsh sob.
He allowed himself the space of two heartbeats to enjoy the feel of her in his arms. To savor her warmth and softness and spring rain scent. Then he gently unhooked her arms from around his neck and stepped back. “I have to help the others.”
No more rounds had been exchanged. Which meant the shooter was watching. Waiting.
Tears stood in her eyes, but she nodded her understanding. He turned to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
When he swung back, it was to see her chin quivering. “I won’t be able to live with myself if any of you die trying to protect me.” The tears that’d been standing in her eyes overflowed and spilled down her cheeks before she finished on a whisper. “One is enough.” She immediately shook her head. “One is too much.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. So he simply leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her lips. Then he slammed the pantry door in her face and turned to sprint down the hallway.
“Britt!” he yelled after stopping at the corner. Britt had managed to grab Agent Douglas’s ankle. And even though the former Ranger wasn’t as big as some of the other Knights, the sonofabitch was strong. He was able to pull the moaning agent across the concrete floor until there was nothing left behind but a bloody trail. “How bad is it?” He darted across the expanse and took up a position against the brick wall beside Agent O’Toole, his sidearm out and at the ready.
“Through and through,” Britt gritted from between clenched teeth. He was down on his knees, applying pressure to Douglas’s shoulder. “But he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. He needs an ambulance.”
“Sam!” Fisher’s voice was firm and commanding as he called up to the second floor. “You still up there?”
“He’s already gone to get his rifle!” Hewitt called down. “We’ve got eyes on the shooter from here. Lone gunman. Roof of bagel shop.”
“I have to call in backup,” O’Toole whispered, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline.
“If I know Sam,” Fisher told her, “it’ll be too late by the time they get here. You’d be better served callin’ in the paramedics to help your partner.”
Her cell phone was in her hand, but she blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Sam was a Marine Raider.”
“I know. I read his file,” she said impatiently. “I readallyour files.”
“Did ya read the part where Sam has the most confirmed kills of any Marine sniper ever to walk the hallowed halls of Camp Pendelton? Once he’s on the roof, the shooter is as good as dead. We just need to hang on until then.”
His cut no longer openly wept. Blood now crusted on his face when he glanced down at Britt and Agent Douglas and grimaced.
The agent had been wearing a bulletproof vest. But the round had hit him beside the strap on his shoulder and had left behind a gaping hole.
