Page 7 of Witness Security Breach

Charlie’s primary weapon left her grasp and went skittering across the floor as she hit the hardwood flat on her back. Landed right on top of her CAR-15 and secondary firearm that was lodged against her spinal column.

Agony exploded through her lumbar and skull. Scorching pain spasmed in every nerve along her spine. She gasped for air and swallowed the scream rising in her throat.

Through watering eyes, she spied the hit man’s injury.

Charlie had shot the thick, wide bruiser in the side.

Dark red blood seeped between his gloved fingers where he applied pressure to the wound.

She fought through the haze of pain and kicked him in the gut, using both feet and all her might.

He doubled over, pressing harder to his injured side. His face stretched wide in a grimace. The tattoo on his neck of an alligator’s head with a skull in its open mouth looked like it was melting.

This guy was big, skilled enough to get close without her knowing, had a high tolerance for pain since he was still standing, and was armed.

The gun locked in his hand was the biggest immediate threat.

Charlie threw a boot heel to his groin, redirecting his focus away from aiming and putting a bullet in her head. Another precise kick to his knee, over and over, until she heard the sharp, cracking noise of the kneecap shattering. A howl of anguish tore from his lips.

A well-aimed kick was a woman’s ultimate defense.

She didn’t stop there and rammed the heel of her foot up into his face, crushing his nose.

He stumbled backward, his arms windmilling in a hopeless struggle for balance that he’d never regain. Blood gushed from his nostrils.

Seizing the momentary advantage, she rolled onto her side, pulled her backup Glock 27 subcompact from the holster at the small of her back, aimed center mass and blew a hole in her attacker.

The force of the bullet wasn’t enough to knock the big guy down. He stood motionless, hovering in animated death for an instant, and then tipped forward face-first.

Charlie rolled out of the way.

He hit the floor with a nauseating thud. She looked at his face, stared in his vacant eyes.

She’d killed a man. He’d been trying to kill her and a witness. Extensive training had fortified her for this, but nothing truly prepared her for the stark reality.

Next thing she knew, Torres came in hot through the front, making a beeline for Potter.

Aiden hustled inside through the back door, coming to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through her. He proffered a hand.

Charlie accepted the assistance up and onto her feet, shaking off the vestiges of pain. She took in Aiden’s mussed black hair and his deep brown eyes. He looked uncharacteristically weary, and his softer brown complexion that spoke of his Native American heritage was pallid. A nick marred his cheek, but there was a nastier gash on his arm.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening. “You’re hurt.”

The deep cut was below the sleeve of his tight black T-shirt. Blood ran in rivulets down his muscular arm and dripped from his fingers.

This was the first time he’d ever been injured on the job in six years and she’d borne witness during the past four that they’d been partners. Not so much as a scratch.

An impressive SOG record that made him a figure of near-mythic proportion in their elite ranks.

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding, bandage it.” She hated the sound of fear that leaked into her voice. Pushing hair behind her ear, she summoned her composure. “You might need stitches.”

“It has to wait,” Aiden said. “I’ll bandage it in the car and worry about stitches after we get to the SSPC.”

Always self-sacrificing. Always a pillar of strength. Always so darn hard to resist.

Aiden crouched next to the dead body and reached for something she’d completely missed. A black nylon belt bag on the dead man’s waist.

“What about the sniper?” Charlie asked.