In Her Sights (9 page)

Jazz slid onto the last seat available in the back of the van next to Gabe, only to find him studying her with disconcerting intensity. The van’s motor roared to life and they sped to the outskirts of the city. Finally she couldn’t take the silence. “Out with it, Gabe. What do you want to know?”

“Heard you had a close call.”

“I got through it.”

“Like a pro.” He leaned toward her, his voice low so no one else could hear him. “I also know there’s a lot more than shots fired going on with you. I need to understand. About Jane. About you.”

A shudder skittered down her spine. He’d said
her
name. For twelve years Jane Sanford had been dead. Jazz had fought long and hard to bury the past, and now Luke had resurrected Jane.

She’d thought she’d escaped—but could she ever really be free? The girl from the wrong side of the tracks in T or C, the girl who’d walked the streets to put food in her belly, that girl no longer existed. Jazz Parker had emerged from the rubble. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone?

“Does it matter, Gabe? I’m still the person I was a week ago.”

He shook his head, and Jazz’s stomach rolled with nausea. She’d known this would happen. That’s why she’d changed her name. That’s why she’d never trusted anyone with the truth.

“You’re not the person I thought you were,” he said. “You haven’t been honest, and that changes things. Somehow, this,” he motioned between them, “feels…off.”

“Nothing in my past affects today. It shouldn’t matter that I changed my name.”

“I know you must’ve had a good reason, but I don’t get why you hid it from us. We’re supposed to be family, Jazz. The whole team. Families don’t hide secrets from each other. Not about important things.”

Family. She hadn’t thought he could surprise her, but his statement did more than that. He’d shocked her. She had no family. She couldn’t afford to care that much. Sure the team depended on her, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Her gaze slid from man to man. There were a few tentative nods, but mostly doubts. She could see them. After what Tower had said, how could the team not wonder? When they discovered the truth would they trust her to protect them? Had Tower destroyed everything already?

Old fears bubbled up inside her from a dark place, a dark time, when she’d let down the only family she had—her mother. Jasmine could feel the child’s, Jane’s, presence here in this van—Jane’s limitations, Jane’s insecurity, Jane’s failure.

Jazz couldn’t afford any qualms right now. Every instinct screamed to protect herself from her own weakness—from
Jane’s
weakness.
Jazz
had a hostage crisis to deal with. A small farmhouse and family waited, terrorized by a group of gang members. She had to be confident for their sake. She had to save them, like she hadn’t saved…No. She wouldn’t let the memories intrude. Not now.

“Gabe, this isn’t the place for this discussion.”

He leveled a knowing look at her. “Then after. Because we will talk, Jazz. We have to.”

Carl Redmond’s voice rose above the sound of the van’s speeding tires on the narrow road. “Sarge said these guys are Four Corners Hustlers. That’s not good.”

“You got that right,” Steve Paretti bit out. “The psychos think they’re hot stuff because they swing weapons around.”

“Kill someone and you’re a full-fledged member. Kill enough and you’re a bloody leader,” Carl muttered.

“I’ll bet these yahoos were watching the news about the governor’s daughter and decided to make headlines for themselves. I overheard Sarge say they want a million dollars. Idiots. It’s gonna be tough to back them down,” Gabe added.

A grumble of agreement filtered through the van. No one wanted this standoff to end with a dead hostage.

Gabe leaned toward Jazz, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “Forget I said anything. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I can see you’re antsy, and neither one of us can afford to be preoccupied.”

He sent a pointed stare to her leg bouncing nervously. She reined in the movement.

“We’ll talk later,” he said. “Once we’ve taken care of business.”

He’d never shown this kind of deference before tonight, before Luke had pulled him aside. “Why the kid gloves all of a sudden? What did Luke say?”

Her voice rose in anger, and she caught a few quizzical glances thrown her way. Deliberately she lowered her tone. “He implied I couldn’t handle myself tonight, didn’t he? Well, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He doesn’t
know
me.”

Gabe couldn’t hide the concern on his face, which annoyed her even more.

“He still cares about you, and he knows what distractions can do. He’s been through a hell we’ve never imagined. He’s worried, Jazz.”

“Luke thinks the sniper attack and vandalism’s got me spooked,” she cursed under her breath. “I’m pissed, but I’m not rattled.”

Gabe clicked his tongue. “I’m not so sure about that. I don’t see the ‘Ice Queen’ sitting next to me, Jazz. Can you push it all aside?”

The nickname she’d long been proud of fired her fury. He wouldn’t have dared suggest such a thing to one of the guys. Her gut burned. Somewhere in the last few days he’d stopped seeing her as a teammate and started seeing her as weak.

“I’m fine.”

“Seriously, nobody would blame you if you didn’t want to be primary tonight. If the situation is getting to you at all, you should turn it over.”

“When I have to, I can pull it together, Gabe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Watch me.”

She closed her eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. Her imagination dipped her into a lake of tranquility, washing away the worries and memories as if she’d escaped into peace.

She’d learned the technique early in life, to divorce herself from the worry, the pain. Back then, she’d needed the control to find enough to eat, to outwit the dark side of her mother’s world, to help her bear what was happening to her. Now she used the skill to prepare for battle.

As if she’d cleansed herself in hot springs, the night’s events, the conversation with Luke slid to the corner of her mind. Moments later she opened her eyes to Gabe’s fascinated expression.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s freakin’ cool, Jazz. A little scary, but definitely cool.”

“Okay, you two, break it up.” Paretti leered at them. “Or is there something you’d like to share?”

Gabe rested his arm on Jazz’s shoulder. “I just want her looking out for me, boys. I was reminding her who’s the quarterback of this team.”

The van burst into laughter, and Steve Paretti howled over the rest of them, “You wish.”

“Hey, Paretti, I heard Tower was nosing around today.”

“Did you get a whiff of him? The guy reeked of perfume. And that smile on his face, no doubt he’d been doing the horizontal mambo with that redheaded angel.” Carl wiggled his eyebrows.

“She’s a hottie all right,” Steve added. “I’d love to take a peek to see if those curves are real or silicone. Gabe could probably tell us. They were up close and personal.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “A gentleman never tells tales.”

“Then you must have lots to say, Montgomery,” Paretti said.

A fresh bout of laughter erupted, filling the van until the vehicle stopped. At the final squeak of brakes, the antics ceased. Each team member turned his focus toward the job.

Two by two they jumped out into the dark night, ready to work, steady in purpose.

They formed a close-knit circle around Sarge. He pulled out an aerial photograph and a map of the surrounding area and shined a narrow beam of light on the layout. The farmhouse stood amidst several barns, a water pump station, a vegetable garden, and clusters of piñon trees.

Immediately Jazz’s attention turned to a small hill about a hundred yards to the west of the farmhouse.

Sarge followed her line of sight. “Good eye, Parker. Take Zone One.”

Jazz ticked through the procedures. She was ready; she would protect them. “I’m there.”

“Okay, people, take position,” Sarge said. “Let’s just hope the negotiators can pull this one out and we can get home before dawn.”

Jazz strode away from the group and climbed the hill. She pulled on her camouflage cloak and made her shadow invisible on the crest, the netting and threads blending into the grass profile as if nature had engineered them both. As she estimated the distance to the farmhouse and to the windows within her sight, she clicked the night optics in place then double-checked the windage and elevation of her Leupold Mark V scope. She adjusted the windage knob two clicks, moving the scope to a perfect position for the distance then did the same with the elevation knob.

As she lined up her sight, a flash of color sailed past the window. Then she saw them. A family of four cowered in the corner. She could barely make out two small pairs of legs as a man and woman tried to shield their children, but they couldn’t hide the fear. She had a bad feeling about this one.

“Blue One ready, Blue Leader.”

“Roger, Blue One.”

“Blue Two in position,” Gabe’s voice whispered over the intercom system.

A car’s headlights sped up the road, and she heard a vicious curse from Sarge. She recognized the SUV immediately. Luke.

“Great. Just what we need. Michaels, set up a perimeter. Keep the press away from here.”

A couple of uniforms manned their positions, and even from her vantage she recognized Luke arguing with them. His tall, muscular frame towered over the men. He was a lethal weapon. He could’ve thrown the cops aside with a few quick moves, but he didn’t. She shook her head to regain her focus. He wasn’t here because of her. He was here because of the story.

“Secure, sir.” Michaels’ voice crackled through the intercom.

“Let’s make it happen, children.”

The team deployed, following Sarge’s attack plan. They were good. Gabe and his entry team moved into position to storm the building; the perimeter guards strategically positioned themselves to shoot tear gas or lob a flashbang into the farmhouse. She prayed they wouldn’t need either distraction. She didn’t want to have to take another shot. Some snipers went years without neutralizing a target. Jazz had taken down more than her share.

As the team moved in perfect precision around the farmhouse, she surveyed the movements from above. It was like watching a ballet. Pure art.

The negotiator’s calming voice as he tried to talk the gangbangers down echoed through her earpiece.

“Get the pigs out of here, or the woman’s dead. I ain’t kidding!”

The kid was strung out. That made him dangerous. Jazz caught a rustle in the window visible from her vantage point.

“Movement at the window, Blue Leader.”

“Hold position, Blue One.”

A shot fired inside the house. The window shattered. One of the gang members—he looked to be almost thirty—brandished his weapon. Jazz stared through her scope. The perp’s eyes were wild, his pupils dilated, and his hand was shaking around the butt of the gun. He dragged the woman out of the corner, shoving her husband to the floor. Not good.

“Adult female. Guy’s got a .357, Blue Leader. Itchy trigger finger. He looks strung out.”

The guy whispered something into the woman’s ear. She tried to shake her head, and he dragged the barrel down her cheek. “Gun moved. He’s got the barrel under her jaw.”

A sharp curse echoed through the microphone. “Look for a shot, Blue One. We may have to move in. Get ready, but watch that weapon.”

Blocking out the woman’s tears and fear, Jazz lasered her focus on the kidnapper through the scope. She needed that shot. Her muscles tensed, waiting for his mistake.

The perp didn’t disappoint.

“Blue One to Blue Leader. Subject One is not moving. I can eliminate him, but Subject Two is three meters to the east. Too high of a risk to take them both.”

Silence bellowed through her earpiece until Sarge’s voice cut through the quiet.

“We have a go, people. We’ll take out Subject Two once we’re in. Make the timing work. Blue One, you terminate Subject One. I want a flashbang at the same moment as the entry team batters the door. Eliminate Subject Two. Everyone got it?”

The team members checked in. Jazz breathed in and out slowly, focusing, waiting for the order. Once she downed Subject One, the woman would be in less danger, and the team could safely restrain Subject Two. The strategy would work if he’d just stay in her sights.
Don’t move, don’t move.

“Stand by, Blue One.” Sarge’s voice had gone clipped and tense.

“Ready, Blue Leader.” Jazz willed the man not to blow the woman’s head apart before she received her orders.

She heard a slow inhale over the microphone. “Fire.”

Jazz exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The flashbang exploded. The entry team burst in.

Her target didn’t drop.

She went numb. Impossible. He should’ve gone down.

One second lasted forever. When the team realized the plan had gone south, curses erupted in her ear.

“Move, move, move. Get that woman safe.”

All hell broke loose, and Jazz could do nothing but watch the green-tinted images through her scope. Too many bodies, too much movement for her to risk a second try. Powerless, she watched as Gabe blazed past her line of view. He grabbed the woman, swinging her aside, his weapon drawn.

Out of nowhere, Subject One raced past, a flash of metal glinting at the edge of her field of vision. She recognized the jagged blade of a Buck hunting knife. “Blue Two. Knife. Behind you.”

Gabe whirled around, and Jazz lost her view in the struggle.

Steve’s voice yelled through the microphone. “Officer down! Get an ambulance here. Now. He got Gabe.”

Jazz froze at the words. No.

She closed her eyes and had to remind herself to breathe. Oh, God. Luke. She couldn’t risk even a glance away, but she knew he was standing there, behind the tape, not knowing his brother had gone down.

For the first time she cursed her job. She needed to get off the top of this hill and take out the bastard who’d sliced Gabe. But she couldn’t leave her post, not until Blue Leader gave the all clear.

“Come on, guys,” she whispered as her thumb tapped against the stock.