Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2 (6 page)

“Fine,” Roger said, still finding it hard to speak past his emotions.

DT squeezed his shoulder. “It’s hell, but it gets better.”

“What?” Roger lifted an eyebrow.

DT looked pointedly at Mari then turned around and left. Roger frowned.
What the hell did that mean?

Chapter Seven

Atlanta, Georgia

Angie watched Rico maneuver away and swallowed hard, but her heart remained lodged in her throat. She turned back and focused on Franz’s wounds. With the stage shielding them from the sniper, she had enough room to give first aid.

Liz Freemont ran from a copse of trees to the left.

“Franz! Dear God. How bad is he?”

“Mom. Get down and stay there,” Angie yelled even though she knew her mother wouldn’t listen. At least her mother kept low and mostly within the cover the stage provided. Another person to help came as a relief.

“Hide while you’re exposed? You’re asking the impossible.” Liz brushed her fingers to Angie’s cheek, her gaze full of love, worry and relief to see her daughter all right. Angie shifted her chin to return the love. Then Liz bent down and kissed Franz’s cheek. “How is he? Can we move him?”

“From the direction Franz was hit, Rico is sure we’re safe here. Still, keep your head lower than the stage and elevate Franz’s feet for me.” Franz didn’t respond to Liz’s touch, adding to Angie’s growing worry.

Minutes ago, before Rico left, she really thought Franz would be all right. Now she wasn’t so sure. His loss of consciousness, rapid pulse and clammy skin screamed shock. Yet with the pressure to his wounds, he wasn’t losing a lot of visible blood, but he could be bleeding internally. Franz lay on his stomach with a rigged pressure bandage to his chest while she applied direct pressure to the bullet’s exit wound in his back.

Liz moved to Franz’s feet and put them in her lap then massaged his calves in an upward motion, returning blood to his heart and head. He moaned after about a minute.

Angie took his pulse again, still rapid, but stronger. “Franz, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God,” Liz said and Franz tried to turn his face to see her.

“Stay still.” Angie adjusted her pressure hold.

“Liz?” Franz called out.

Liz tapped his legs then kept rubbing. “Right here.”

“Damn, if I’d known getting shot would get your hands on me, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Best friends are sacred and forever. Lovers come and go, luv.”

Angie knew Franz had developed a thing for her mother after his divorce a couple of years ago. She also knew her mother would never commit herself to anyone or give up her independence. Angie’s father had abandoned them, and though her mother had had lovers over the years, she never committed herself to anyone. Angie loved them both and hoped Franz would win her mother over.

“We’ll see,” Franz said.

The original panic among those at the
MetroSouthern
gathering had eased and folks were now focused on helping each other, adults calling out, checking on others and reassuring crying children. Several men plotted to go after the sniper.

As much as she wanted Rico to have help, she knew why he’d gone alone and spoke up. “Everybody, Rico’s in the military. He wants you all to stay here and hidden until help arrives.”

A rifle shot ripped the air and Angie jumped. Her heart and mind reeled with worry for Rico. “Dear God. I am so glad Matt, Mitch and Lauren aren’t here.”

“You and me both,” Liz said. “I wish you and Franz weren’t either. Seeing him shot and then you up here on the stage too—” Liz’s eyes filled with tears.

Angie leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “We’re all going to be all right, okay?”

Liz nodded.

Franz groaned again. “Right now I’m wishing Caesar was here. He could have gone with your man to get the bastard.”

“Rico went alone after the gunman?” Liz asked.

Angie sighed. “Stopping him would have been like making the earth stand still. As for Caesar, he may look and sound badass, but that wolfhound is nothing but an attention-needy marshmallow. The last time I dog-sat him, he barked crazily at the UPS man, but the second I opened the door for the package, Caesar went on his back, paws up, begging for a belly rub.”

Franz tried to laugh, coughed then groaned. “Teach me to go after the biggest dog out there thinking he’d be the most ferocious. Should have gotten a Chihuahua. Shorter stride, easier to catch when it runs off, and it would at least bite toes rather than lick them.”

“Exactly. How are you feeling? Any major dizziness or numbness?”

“A little dizzy. No numbness. I can tell you dislocating my shoulder at the homecoming football game my senior year was worse than this.”

“It’s not the pain I’m worried about. It’s the bleeding.”

The wail of emergency sirens brought a breath of relief, but then another rifle shot rent the air and Angie’s heart kicked, flipped then raced harder.

She knew Rico was well trained, but she also knew how debilitating his shoulder injury had been and just how limited his physical capabilities currently were despite his recent surgeries. She had little doubt he could reach the sniper without being shot. Maybe even disarm the bastard because he’d have the element of surprise on his side. It was the subsequent hand-to-hand confrontation that had her knotted up inside.

But then, she’d been that way in one form or another since the moment he’d sauntered into her hotel room weeks ago. His deep voice with a hint of Latino had her insides vibrating like a tuning fork at perfect pitch.

Everything about him did something to her. He’d turned her so inside out that she, a trained nurse with years of experience to buffer her objectivity, couldn’t separate herself from him. She hurt when he hurt, and he’d been hurting since day one. He’d never said it. He’d never complained, but she could see the pain and the worry in his dark eyes.

He was a man who’d walk through fire without a word.

A soldier, whose heart was still in the fight though his body was too damaged to win.

The crack of another rifle shot slammed into her knotted fear and she bit back a cry. She didn’t want a dead hero. She wanted a living, vibrant man in her arms. So what twisted game was fate playing now? As if being kidnapped with her godsons by a butchering drug lord last month hadn’t been enough.

She winged off a prayer for both Rico and Franz and breathed a major sigh of relief at the sight of policemen in protective, tactical gear flood the area. Keeping low and behind the cover of cops were the EMTs. Help had arrived for Franz, but Rico was still out there after the sniper. Alone.

The rifle crack let Rico know he’d pegged the sniper’s hideout. Heart pounding, shoulder throbbing, Rico kept low as he clung to the shadows, running as fast as he could to the sniper’s knoll. About fifty yards into the clearing on his left, a man laid Tango Uniform, the side of his head blown off. The remains of a family picnic—sandwiches, drink boxes, apples—scattered the grass and the abandoned blanket. The frightened cries from the trees on his right told a sad story, and Rico’s blood boiled beneath his skin. The son-of-a-bitching coward!

“Daaaddy!” A little girl, about three years old, in pink shorts, darted from the trees just ahead of Rico, her pigtails bouncing as she ran toward the dead man.

Shit. Rico left the shadows and angled into the clearing, aiming to intercept the child. He ran so hard his muscles became knots of pain.

“Tanya! NO!” A woman carrying an infant appeared from the trees, attempting to go after the child, her dark eyes wide with horror, her complexion ghost pale. She was in shock and trying to cope with the incomprehensible.

“Get back!” Rico passed her going after the kid. Another bullet hammered the air. The dirt behind the little girl exploded. Rico ran harder. He wrapped his good arm around the child when he reached her and hit the ground at a roll. Pain slammed him like a freight train as his injured shoulder made impact with mother earth. He kept rolling and rolling until a dip in the terrain let him gain his feet. The child smelled of peanut butter and baby powder and was so stunned that she lay like a rag doll in his grip until he reached the trees. Then she struggled and cried out for her daddy. A daddy who would never hold her again as her sugarplum dreams became nightmares of his murder.

Rico clamped harder on to his anger, sure he would tear the sniper apart with his bare hands, limb from limb. This violence should have never touched the child’s life.

“Thank God. Oh thank God,” the woman cried as she ran to meet them.

“Don’t let go of her. Hide quickly.” Rico thrust the little girl into the woman’s arms and pushed them behind a tree, toward the woods. He spared a glance in Angie’s direction but couldn’t see her. He prayed to God that she’d stay covered just as he thanked God that Lauren hadn’t brought Matt and Mitch to the picnic as planned. The twins had been through hell and didn’t need this. Nobody needed this and he had to stop it.

He ran harder. His lungs ached and heaved, dying for air he couldn’t seem to get enough of. His injury from Lebanon screamed bloody murder at him and his other muscles tried to cramp up and freeze on him. The surgeries had taken a toll on his body.

Turning toward the sniper’s position, he backhanded the sweat from his eyes and ran even harder. A police siren wailed in the distance, assuring help was on the way.

Yet the sniper squeezed off another round and Rico heard a distant scream.

He couldn’t move fast enough to satisfy the boiling anger in his gut. Less than two minutes later, armed with a heavy branch, he crested the tree-covered knoll where the sniper had shot from.

Brass shell casings—.30 caliber WSMs—littered the churned ground. The guy probably had a Remington 700 rifle.

Fifty yards to the left, disappearing around a copse of trees, Rico saw a man in fatigues and moved at a cautious run forward. The man appeared to be confused, running zigzag as if looking for something. He didn’t have the rifle with him, which meant the guy had ditched it in the park. Rico poured on the steam and tackled the bastard from behind.

They both went down, hitting the ground hard. Rico saw stars as a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder and neck. He tried to pin the guy, but the man went berserk, screaming wildly, arms and legs flailing in a mindless defense. At about six foot, the guy weighed an easy two twenty, all muscle and deadly power unleashed.

Rico could have held his own in a sane fight, but this insanity was impossible to contain and a blow to his injured shoulder had him rolling away from the guy, fighting for consciousness.

Instead of going for the kill that Rico wondered if he could stop, the man turned and ran. Rico gained his feet, sucking for air and followed, digging for his cell phone. There were people running and shouting for others to run as the man he was after weaved between them. Others stumbled back in confusion, unsure which direction to go. Rico dodged teenagers with skateboards, a mother with kids carrying kites, and a plump elderly couple with their dogs.

Stopping the guy was out, but a picture would work. The man exited the park onto a busy street at a dead run. Rico kept after him, fixing the man’s image in his mind and trying to get cell pics of the guy before he jumped into a beat-up black Jetta and burned rubber. Only three letters of the license plate were visible.

“Holy Moses, boy. You got trouble?”

Rico turned to see a beret-wearing homeless man, complete with shopping cart of belongings, camped out at the park entrance. “You can say that and a prayer,” Rico told the man. He called 911 as he headed back into the park gate, hurrying to Angie. He moved against the flood of panicked people pouring from the park. The emergency dispatcher answered just as he tripped over a baby stroller two veiled and covered-from head-to-toe women were pushing. Rico grabbed the front end to keep it from tipping and mouthed a sorry to the ladies, but they just kept their heads down and moved on. He turned his attention to the dispatcher. “I think I have a picture of the Piedmont Park shooter and his car.”

He told them the partial license plate number then told them what park entrance he was at. They ordered him to stay there.

To hell with that. If Angie needed him, he was out of there. He called Angie. The paramedics were with Franz and she would accompany him to the hospital. Rico explained what happened on his end, but that was as far as he got before suspicious cops surrounded him with their Glocks drawn. “I’ll call you back, Angel.”

One of the cops stepped forward. “Hands up where we can see them. I’m Officer Carver. You call about the sniper?”

“Yes.” Rico’s shoulder pain worsened as he raised his arms, his body shook, and sweat drenched him from head to toe. “I’m unarmed and the bastard is getting away.” Rico went to lower his arms.

“Keep your hands up, sir. Until I confirm you’re unarmed.” The officer patted him down.

“What the hell is this? I called you. The sniper just took off in a black Jetta. I have a picture of him and the car.”

“Okay. You’re good. You can lower your arms. Just keep your hands were I can see them. If everybody told the truth, I’d be out of a job. Let’s see what you got then you can tell me your story from the beginning.” Two of the cops remained, and the rest of the men scattered into the park.