Shoot to Thrill (32 page)

She thought with dismay about what Kick had told her. That he’d been sent here to kill a man. Apparently that was his job. Killing people. Or it had been when he’d worked for Zero Unit. She wondered how many people he’d killed in his life.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. But to be honest, she wasn’t sure if it was from pure revulsion or a perverse kind of attraction. Because it had to be perverse to be attracted to a man who could kill another human being. Didn’t it?

Or maybe her attraction was understandable, because of her past. Knowing a man could protect her, would not hesitate to kill to protect her, if need be . . . that was a mighty powerful thing. Was she a sicko for being relieved to know that about Kick? To be so drawn to him even though he was . . . or maybe just
because
he was . . . so downright dangerous?

She knew the answer even before she’d asked herself the question. She’d answered it the first moment she’d seen him across that crowded speed dating ballroom. She’d taken one look into his eyes and known she’d go anywhere he asked, do anything he wanted. Let him do anything he wished with her. To her.
Because
he was dangerous.

Even when things had gone so terribly wrong, when he’d turned out to be someone completely different from the man he said he was, when he’d kidnapped her at gunpoint, Jesus, she’d
still
been attracted to him. No, she’d been
more
attracted to him. Because of those eyes. Those flint-hard, seen-it-all, done-it-all eyes.

She’d known instinctively that he was the only man she’d ever met who could kill to protect her. Who
would
kill to protect her. She’d been an instant goner.

And wasn’t
that
an eye-opening self-realization.

Along with the next one. The realization that it didn’t matter what he’d done in the past, or what he was about to do. Nothing could make her change the way she felt about him. She’d love him anyway.

NINETEEN

IT
took Kick less than fifteen minutes to return.

Rainie almost wept with relief when she saw him run across the open ground between the nearest building and the fence. He was carrying something that made his gait uneven. Or maybe his leg was bothering him again. It had been getting quite a workout the past few days. She knew he’d been hurting. But he hadn’t complained, not once.

She met him at the fence and he pushed a big red jerry can into the opening.

“Got us a few more gallons of petrol. Figured we might need it.”

She grabbed the top handle of the square container and dragged it through, landing on her butt in the dirt because it was so darn heavy. No wonder he’d been limping.

“What’d you find out?” she asked as he crawled under, picked up the jerry can with one hand and helped her up with the other.

“First let’s get the hell out of here.”

His expression lay somewhere between murderous and . . . Okay, maybe just murderous. Fear lanced through her. This couldn’t be good news.

She ran to keep up with his long strides. “You okay?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“We just need to get out of here, all right?”

She shut up. And threw a nervous glance over her shoulder as she ran, half expecting armed “tangos” to be sprinting after them, guns blazing. But the place appeared as deserted as ever.

By the time they reached the Jeep and he threw the gas can in the back, she was out of breath and scared to death.

“Please,” she said as they jumped in and he started the engine with a roar. “Tell me.”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“Probably not, but I need to know.”

His eyes sought hers, bored holes into her gaze. “They’ve killed everyone. The Europeans
and
the Sudanese who worked there. Killed them all and stuffed them into a storage shed to rot.”

Her heart stalled. “Oh, dear God.”

“I was afraid it might be something like this.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

“I told you abu Bakr is one smart mother. My guess? It’s a diversion in the making. When he leaks a report on this to the press, it’ll draw the world’s attention away from Khartoum long enough to launch his real attack.”

She stared at Kick, appalled. “You mean this abu Bakr killed these innocent people just so the CIA or whoever will think
this
is his primary attack, let down their guard, and be unprepared for the embassy bombings? Like those sick first-responder traps?” Working in the ER, she was familiar with the horrifying phenomenon.

“Exactly.”

“You’re right. He is evil. We have to stop him.”

“I need to call STORM. Let them know what’s going on.”

Kick drove for a few miles, then pulled to a stop in the shelter of some low hills, and got out the SATCOM. She listened as he swiftly called in and described what he’d found. She felt sick to her stomach and tuned out the rest of the conversation. How could people
do
these things to other human beings?

When he put the radio away, she asked, “What can we do about this?”

“Nothing. Not yet.” His jaw worked. “It’s too late to save those refinery workers. So we let abu Bakr think his plan is working. Right up until I put a bullet between his eyes.”

She bit her lip to keep from wincing at the vehemence of his hatred. Not that it wasn’t justified. This abu Bakr was a true monster. She didn’t doubt that he deserved a death sentence. What she wasn’t sure about was her own government acting as judge and Kick playing executioner, with no jury involved. Even monsters deserved a fair trial.

Didn’t they?

Or were some crimes so heinous that the perpetrators gave up that right when caught in the act?

She didn’t get a chance to ponder it. Suddenly, a vehicle roared up right behind them, scaring her to death. It had bounced up out of nowhere.

“God
damn
it. Hang on!” Kick yelled, and jammed down the accelerator. It leapt forward.

Bang!

The Jeep spun crazily.

Rainie screamed while Kick swore a blue streak, struggling to keep the Jeep from rolling. “Down!” he yelled. “Keep your head down!”

Another shot exploded through the air, followed by an ear-shattering
pop!
The Jeep slammed to a stop, wrenching her against the seat belt.

“Get on the floor!” Kick ordered.

Terror ripped through her. She started to shake.
Please God, don’t let this be happening.

He whipped off his seat belt, positioned himself between the seats, and started shooting back.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
She slammed her hands over her ears.

Between shots she could see him shouting at her. But she was too terrified to understand his words. Her ears rang like church bells. Her heart thundered so hard she was sure it would burst into pieces.

All at once, men swarmed around the Jeep.

The world stopped turning. Fear literally paralyzed her where she sat.

Oh, God. She’d been so wrong before. She’d thought being kidnapped by hooded agents and forced onto a plane to some unknown country had been her worst nightmare. Or being left alone in a deserted cave. But, no. This was her worst nightmare. This!

Being attacked. In a car. To be slaughtered.

Just like her parents.

Repressed memories of that day blindsided her. Memories of raw-throated screams and the evil faces of drug-crazed strangers. Of her mother shoving her out of the car and telling her to run. Of her father’s chest exploding in a shower of crimson. Her mother’s face as it ran with his blood. The comforting neck she’d cried against so often, splitting hideously and blooming scarlet. Oh, God, so much blood. And she herself cowering in a doorway, not doing anything to help them. Unable to move for fear and horror.

Like now.

These men were going to kill her. She was going to die! And Kick along with her. Because she couldn’t move.

It barely registered when two of the assailants went flying backward, spurting blood.

So much blood. Blood everywhere!

“Rainie!”

Kick was yelling at her again. Something about a knife. She tried to hear. But couldn’t peel her hands from her ringing ears.
Help! Please help!

He leaped out of the Jeep and launched himself at one of the attackers. Where was his gun?

Suddenly, a big, ugly brute reached over her door and grabbed her.

She screamed. He raised his meaty fist. Kick shouted again. Urgently. Something . . . “—
knife
!”

The world tunneled down to a slow crawl as she watched the iron fist come slowly around to smash her face in.

And something inside her snapped.

No.

This was
not
going to happen.

This was
not
how she would die.
Not today, goddamn it.

Kick needed her. He couldn’t fight them alone. And she would not be a victim.

Never again!

At the last second, she dodged the fist. She dove for Kick’s long knife—
that’s
what he’d been yelling about!—hidden under the seat.
There!
She wrapped her fingers solidly around the metal handle. And brought it up.

All the pent-up rage of her whole life surfaced in one mass of adrenaline and fury.

She slashed the knife hard across the groping fist. Her assailant screamed in pain.

“
This is for my father, you goddamn asshole!
”

She sliced the blade up his arm and stabbed it deep into his shoulder.

“And
this
. Is for my
mother
!”

She brought the knife around again. His eyes bugged out. She gritted her teeth. Plunged it into his neck. And again. Severing the artery.

He spun away. Dropped to his knees. Then fell to the ground on his face. Dead.

“Jesus God,” Kick murmured behind her, breathing heavily.

She clutched the door with red-drenched, slippery fingers. Her breath came in ragged, staccato bursts. “Is he—”

“Yeah.” Kick put his hands tentatively on her shoulders. They were shaking. “He’s dead.”

“Are w-we s-safe?” she croaked, closing her eyes as they swamped with tears. Willing her breath to slow. Her heart to stop pounding like a jackhammer. They didn’t listen.

Kick’s fingers squeezed her, but he didn’t answer. After several moments she managed to turn. She searched his face. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with concern.

No, they
weren’t
safe.

“For now,” he said. His voice sounded far, far away. “You all right?”

She swallowed. Tested her insides.

A drowning mix of emotions swept through her in a whirl-pool. Abject horror at what she’d done . . . My God, she’d killed a man! But also . . . immeasurable relief.

She’d fought back.

Sweet God, she’d fought back.

And
won
.

“Yeah,” she said, eyes brimming over. “I’m all right.” And suddenly a huge weight lifted from her soul. For the first time in twenty years, she meant it. She
was
all right.

The fear was gone. Vanished. In its place . . . she wasn’t sure yet.

“I’m good,” she said, wiping her eyes with a shaky smile.

The concern didn’t leave his gaze, but he gave a curt nod. “Okay. Here’s what we do.” And she fell in love with him even more for giving her the respect the moment deserved. For not insisting she
wasn’t
all right. Even if they both knew she wasn’t.

“The Jeep’s tires are trashed,” he said. “So we’ll take their vehicle. Gather your stuff, okay?” His voice was calm, modulated, like he expected her to fall apart any second, despite the pretense that she wouldn’t.

Except, she really wouldn’t. Not ever again.

She slid out of the Jeep and went over to the body of the man she’d killed. She picked up his headcloth, which was fluttering next to him. And wiped his blood off her face and hands. Then she tossed the cloth back on the ground.

Stalled in midmotion as he grabbed the field pack, Kick watched her, the look in his eyes unreadable. He didn’t say a word.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, and gathered her stuff. “Really.”

Because amazingly, she’d never felt more okay in her life.

She approached the other vehicle. A newer model Toyota Land Cruiser, no doubt stolen from the refinery. Tossing her things in back, she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.

“Hey,” she said with a wobbly smile, already memorizing the controls so she’d know where they were when it was her turn to drive. “It’s got air-conditioning.”

“THERE
you are.”

Gina whirled, nearly fumbling the specimen slide she was trying to secure under the portable scanning electron microscope. “Gregg!”

“I waited at your place.”

She stared in disbelief. It was late. Almost midnight. She’d totally given up on hearing from him. Ever again. Last night had just been too mind-blowing—in an extremely scary way— to expect a repeat. Sex like that didn’t happen to her. Probably a good thing. She’d never get any work done.

Her latest and greatest lover moved toward her, all killer jawline and black T-shirt panther-man. “From now on let me know where you are.”

From now on? Obviously delusional.
He hadn’t even
called
her today, and—

She peered at his face. Good Lord, he was
serious
.

God
, she hated men like that. All cocky and arrogant and God’s gift. Like a woman had nothing better to do than to wait around until His Royal Dickhead deigned to make contact the morning after.

Oh, yeah,
now
she remembered.
That’s
why she only dated young, worshipful interns and residents. They knew how to show a woman she was appreciated, after a night of life-altering sex.

Report her movements to Rambo here, like a two-year-old to mommy? She didn’t
think
so.

“What makes you think I
want
you to know where I am?” she asked incredulously.