“Stop!” she cried.
He skidded to a halt.
She bit out, “There’s epoxy glue all over the foyer floor. You’ll have to go around.”
He nodded and took off running toward the kitchen. Quickly, she curled into a ball, caught her rope, and righted herself. She took off, crawling crablike around the foyer toward the shoot-out now in progress in the living room. The space was huge-easily fifty feet square, and crammed with furniture, cabinets, tables, and any manner of good cover. At a glance, all the shooters, both friendly and hostile, looked pinned down and at a stalemate. She glanced over at the doorway Jeff would have to come through. He’d be a sitting duck if he tried to get in there.
She had to do something to tip the scales and fast. He’d be here in a few more seconds.
She climbed up to the twelve-foot-high ceiling and commenced crawling stealthily across it. There. Below her. One of the hostiles. She pulled her pistol and shot down at him, burying a round in the top of his skull and a second round in the back of his neck as he fell.
Her shots elicited a round of gunfire, but none of the hostiles spotted her. She held her position, unmoving. She was completely exposed up here. If any of the bad guys looked up, she was dead meat.
Jeff spun into the room, and the hostiles seemed to realize that the stalemate was breaking against them. They commenced running around, shooting wildly. Although they didn’t hit any Medusas, they did effectively foul up everyone’s field of fire. Kat saw Aleesha and Isabella draw knives and move out, easing around the perimeters of the space.
Two of the hostiles drew together in the middle of the room, back-to-back behind a giant armoire in a highly defensible position. They were going to be hell to reach. Anyone who came into their line of sight would be shot.
And then she spotted Jeff moving toward them.
He was going to be a hero, dammit.
Swearing under her breath, she scrambled forward. From her vantage point, she saw Jeff pause around the corner from the hostile pair. He shoved a new clip of bullets home and tensed to move. A quick glance showed her the worst. The tango was sighting down the barrel of an AK-47, right at where Jeff was going to emerge, finger poised on the trigger. The second Jeff came around the end of the wet bar, he was going to be blown away.
Desperate to stop him from diving straight into the commando’s hail of lead, she scrambled the last few feet. And let go of the ceiling.
Chapter 18
Jeff’s heart skipped a beat as Kat’s dark shape hurtled down from the ceiling directly in front of where he was about to shoot.
Dear God. Had she been shot?
Pure, unadulterated panic ripped through him, a sick wash of heat that all but knocked his legs out from under him. Roaring in rage and terror, he charged around the corner, heedless of any danger waiting for him. He’d charge the jaws of hell itself for her.
He made out a writhing mass of arms and legs that he dared not shoot at, so he continued to sprint forward, the panic blurring his vision until he could hardly see.
And then a petite figure rose to the top of the pile.
Kat. He’d know her anywhere.
Blindingly fast, she gave a vicious yank. The figure beneath her went limp and thudded to the floor. A second, bigger figure jumped on her from behind, a knife glinting dully in the gloom.
Jeff’s weapon swung up to his shoulder. Time ceased, and his mind went to some strange place it had never gone before. A state of suspended animation descended upon him. He became one with the gun, and with the lead slug resting in its depths. He took the shot almost without conscious thought. It was as if his mind directed the bullet’s path, guiding its flight unerringly a hair past Kat’s temple and into the left eye of her attacker. The guy’s head snapped back, and Kat whipped around in his grasp, striking him an open-handed blow that leveled him long before Jeff’s bullet dropped him.
As he ran forward toward her, a single thought crossed his mind. He’d never seen another human being move as fast as she just had.
“You okay?” he bit out as they sank to the ground, back-to-back as their attackers had just been.
“Yeah. You?” She panted.
“Fine.”
The gunfire in the room was winding down. One more burst of gunfire, he recognized the sound of an MP-7-standard issue for the Medusas-and then it went quiet. The silence was intense after all the shots in an enclosed space, and his ears rang fiercely.
“Report!” he called.
One by one, the Medusas reported in. Misty’s voice sounded strained, as if she were injured.
“Mamba,” he called.
“I’m on it,” the medic replied, already running toward the last sound of Misty’s voice.
He stood up cautiously. “Clear the space by standard quadrants. We’ll meet at the fireplace.”
Kat stood up behind him and it was all he could do not to spin around and snatch her into his arms, to run his hands over her to assure himself that she wasn’t hurt. But now was not the time. Not yet.
He methodically checked his portion of the room, verifying that the two hostiles he and Kat had taken out were, indeed, dead. A few minutes later, the team converged by the fireplace, Mamba holding Misty’s left arm and still binding a splint into place. For her part, Misty’s face was drawn in pain.
“What have you got, Mamba?”
“Bullet in the upper arm, lodged near the bone. Gonna have to dig it out. Bleeding under control. She’s ambulatory but not combat capable.”
He nodded briskly. It was weird to let a woman suffer with a gunshot wound like this, but if he’d ever doubted it before, he didn’t now. These women were soldiers of the first caliber, every bit as good as his own men. They’d worked like a well-oiled machine, in spite of the close confines, the lack of radios and determined resistance by the hostiles.
Kat looked up from the body she’d just searched. “Russian. What do you want to bet our frisky oil minister sent them to get his movie back.”
Jeff nodded. “That movie’s gonna cost India a big oil contract or a whole lot of egg on that Russian minister’s face. The State Department’s gonna kiss your feet when you give that disk to them.”
Kat made a face. “That’s okay. I’ll settle for a decent foot massage. No kissing required.”
He grinned and spoke off frequency. “It all depends on who’s doing the kissing and how. You’re gonna like what I do to your toes.”
Kat’s eyes popped wide open, clearly imagining the possibilities.
The static in his ear stopped abruptly. Hallelujah. In the chaos of battle he hadn’t noticed it, but it had really been starting to get on his nerves the last minute or two.
“Say status,” Jennifer Blackfoot ordered.
She sounded tense. Which was saying something for her.
He replied, “All hostiles down. One friendly injury. We’ll need medevac to a hospital, but it’s not life-threatening.”
“Well done, Maverick, ladies.”
He started. That had been General Wittenauer’s voice. He’d had no idea the Old Man had been monitoring this op.
“Let’s move out,” Jeff ordered.
They headed for the back of the house. Bravo 51 was being directed to move in and pick up Misty and Mamba and fly them back to the H.O.T. Watch cave. Aleesha would remove Misty’s bullet in their operating room, where there wouldn’t be any awkward questions asked about how Misty’d been shot.
The helicopter lifted off, and the Medusas hiked off through the trees to recover the surveillance gear they’d abandoned when he’d ordered them to rush the house. Kat hung back with him, since she’d carried all her gear with her when she broke in to the mansion.
She gazed up at him in the starlight beseechingly. She did not speak, but then, she didn’t have to. Her eyes said everything. She was hurt. Missed him. Wanted to talk to him. Wanted him to understand that this was who she was.