Out of Sight

by Cherry Adair

  She could at least do this right. AJ got off a few covering shots, snatched up Manny's fallen weapon, then followed Kane, throat tight, heart galloping as bullets whizzed by, missing them by a breath. She flinched with every round.

  Struben covered them until they reached his position. He gave her a contemptuous glance as they came level. Blood rushed to her cheeks. No comment necessary. As one, they scrambled over half walls and obstacles and careened down the small hill behind the deserted, ancient village where they'd hidden their vehicle earlier. Machine-gun fire sounded behind them like a nightmare chasing to catch up.

  "Want me to drive?" Struben reached for the handle.

  "In back with Escobar." Kane pulled open the back door, tossed Escobar on the floorboard, then vaulted over the door on the driver side.

  "Aw, shit. I'd rather sit in front," Struben complained, hefting his weapon and scowling. "People around Cooper end up getting shot, man." He smirked. "Unless you're a bad guy, that is."

  "Front," Wright jabbed a finger at AJ, and to the other man, "Can the editorial. Get in or you get left behind."

  The vehicle was someone's half-assed attempt at a convertible. The top had been removed as if by a giant can opener. A convertible wasn't going to be a whole hell of a lot of protection. Unless it converted into an armored tank.

  "Take care of his arm as best you can," Wright told Struben without turning around. The key cranked in the ignition several times before the engine caught. "Then take position. They'll be on our ass as soon as they notice we've split."

  Without comment, the other man climbed in back and got to work.

  AJ threw her leg over the door and climbed in on the passenger's side. She set the sniper rifle on the floor, switched to her AK-47, then knelt on the seat. She rested her elbows on the seat back and cradled the weapon in suddenly steady hands.

  Sure. Now she was calm.

  Damn it. Up there on the rise it had been a flat wind. Her rifle should've driven tacks.

  Breathing slow, measured breaths, like they'd taught her in sniper school, AJ had felt the adrenaline rush as she'd started a slow belly crawl, following her Dragunov across exposed sand to the outcropping overlooking Raazaq's camp.

  Easy shot.

  Excitement had risen inside her like a groundswell. Like the crescendo in Beethoven's Fifth. Like the sharp, sweet moment just before a climax.

  She'd laid her cheek against the sun-heated rock slab, forcing herself to slow. Discipline, she told herself. No need to hurry. Down below they were preparing the evening meal, oblivious to the four people above them who held their lives in their hands.

  Even without her optics, she'd been able to see the sentries down below, cradling blue-steel Ruger assault rifles as they manned the perimeter of the camp. Raazaq and his lieutenants gathered off to one side, drinking thick coffee and planning God only knew what kind of mayhem.

  AJ had felt a swell of patriotic pride. By doing her job tonight, thousands of future lives would be spared.

  She'd reached forward and flipped the spring-loaded bipod into position, giving her rifle legs. Shoving a small beanbag under the stock to support the weight of her upper body, she settled into position.

  I'm here, she'd thought, jazzed beyond belief, in the field. For real. For God and country. And she'd felt the power of life and death at the pull of the trigger.

  Conditioned not to reach past the safety until just the right moment to kill. Left arm folded up beneath her, elbow forward, fingers pinching the beanbag to adjust the angle, she'd watched the sentries circle the camp. Watched as Raazaq drank coffee.

  Through the rifle's scope she'd been able to see her target's face with crystal clarity. Swarthy. Hard features. Cold eyes. Slight. Well dressed. Thousand-dollar suit.

  The irony of long-range surveillance was the intimacy.

  Raazaq had recently had a manicure. His china cup had little blue flowers painted on it. Small details filtered into her brain, making up the whole.

  The Dragunov, a gift from her brother, was like an old friend. Certified to shoot a quarter of a mile of angle at two hundred yards. Which meant under perfect conditions, which these were, her rifle could imprint three consecutive rounds in the same hole. Say good night. Grade.

  All she had to do was estimate distance, turn the scope to the appropriate number, hold the crosshairs on the Y-shaped veins standing out on Raazaq's forehead, and pull the trigger. Piece of cake.

  Her right hand had caressed the grip. Thumb loosely opposite her index finger, squeezing just enough to feel its pebbled texture. She'd set her cheek weld against the stock, finding the eye relief necessary to center the crosshairs in the scope tube.

  "Five," Kane had said in her ear, starting the launch sequence.

  She'd aligned her body with the recoil path to minimize muzzle jump when a round kicker out at thirty hundred feet per second.

  "Four."

  She'd pressed her hips to the ground, spread her knees shoulder-width for stability.

  "Three."

  She'd slid the first bullet into the battery with her index finger so she could feel the seating. The first shot was called a cold bore. An unpracticed leap of faith imprint on a fresh target. She'd pressed the heels of her boots flat to minimize profile.

  All outside influences had faded away. Just her and her weapon. Touching. As in tune as two lovers.

  "Two—"

  God, she'd been ready…

  AJ bit her tongue in the here and now as their vehicle bounced over a sand dune. She snapped to, and tried to concentrate on the current situation. Time enough later to rehash what had happened back there. Or more accurately, what had not happened.

  Behind them the dark desert floor stretched to infinity. Sand. Sand. And more sand. It wouldn't be long now…

  "Still clear," she told the others through her lip mic.

  Struben, crouched awkwardly over the foot-well, didn't bother to glance up as his hands moved efficiently to stem the flow of blood on his partner's arm.

  Escobar opened his eyes as Struben tied off the makeshift bandage. "Heyya, beautiful."

  Struben chuckled, since his partner was looking at him when he said it. "Asshole."

  Manny shifted his focus to look up atAJ.

  "How're you doing, bud?" AJ's voice sounded scratchy with guilt as she made eye contact with him over the back of her seat. I'm so sorry, Manny.

  Escobar gave her a goofy smile from his prone position. We're cool. "Scratch."

  A scratch that hurt like a red-hot poker being thrust into your flesh. Over and over and over again. AJ absently rubbed the healing wound on her left shoulder. "Liar."

  "Macho." He grinned before admitting, "Hurts like hell." He glanced from AJ to Struben then back again. "Did we get him?"

  "Ask Coop," Struben said flatly.

  Manny might not've heard the accusation in Struben's voice, but AJ had. The injured man shifted his focus to look up at her again. His face was ghostly pale, sweaty, and covered with sand.

  "No," she told him flatly, envying him his ability to take pain without a flinch.

  "Back to plan A, huh?"

  If Kane Wright allowed her to stay in country to do what she was sent to do, then yes. She shot Wright a sideways glance. His face was as sweaty and sandy as the rest of theirs, his expression closed. The stubble on his rigid jaw made him look sinister and dangerously appealing. AJ gave herself a mental shake. She was in enough trouble without bringing her attraction to him into the mix.

  "Plan A," Kane agreed, but before AJ could relax, he added, "with modifications."

  Her cheeks flamed, and her temper rose as anger began to overtake humiliation. She pushed it back and tried for calm and rational. "I can do it."

  "Forget it." He spoke into his lip mic, so it sounded as though he were whispering directly into her ear.

  AJ shivered. "You're good. But even the great Kane Wright can't pull this one off. You need me."

  "Don't bet on it. Sparky." He downs
hifted and the car lunged forward like an aging tiger after prey. "Just cover the retreat. Assuming you can do that without shooting one of us."

  "Up yours," she muttered, and glanced down to see Escobar's wink. At least Manny wasn't blaming her. But then, he didn't have to. She could do that for herself. No matter what Kane might say to their superiors, it wouldn't be enough to best what she was already telling herself. She'd failed. When it had mattered most, she'd come up short.

  She'd be damned if she'd prove her family right. She was cut out for this line of work. Not only cut out for it, but capable, and good. Damn it.

  She wouldn't fail again. Right now she could do her job by protecting their backs. She'd show Kane she wasn't just ballast. AJ braced herself as best she could as the small car shot down the incline in a cloud of dust. Kane hadn't turned on the headlights, and the sliver of a moon was nothing more than a suggestion of cool, pale light in the ink-black sky. The tires bounced and rattled on the shaley ground. There was no road, just sand for miles around.

  No one said a word. What was there to say? The fact that they'd found Raazaq's camp was a miracle in itself. It was surprisingly close to the city, but still a ways off the beaten path. Kane had surmised Raazaq's people were laying in supplies before they took off for Fayoum. If they could eliminate Raazaq before he traveled south it would save them a lot of headaches.

  Well, thanks to her, they hadn't succeeded. They were back to square one.

  AJ wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that they'd made it out of there alive despite her screwup. But she knew damn well they weren't safe yet.

  "We've got company," she and Struben said in unison as several pairs of headlights crested a rise behind them, illuminating the cloud of sand in their wake. Shots blasted at them as Raazaq's men roared up in their sand spume. Just show. They were too far away, as yet, to make any impact. But that was about to change.

  Like everything else Kane Wright did, he drove incredibly well. The car was a piece of crap, but the best they'd been able to commandeer on short notice. Yet Kane made the vehicle corner like a well-oiled machine. Still, the shocks were nonexistent, and AJ bit her tongue several times, tasting the metallic tang of blood, as they bounced over the dunes.

  "Savage wouldn't have missed," she said. Like an abscessed tooth, AJ's guilt throbbed relentlessly.

  "Damn straight," Wright said tightly.

  There was nothing to say to that. Savage, too, was a T-FLAC legend, but the more experienced T-FLAC agent was in a leg cast and stuck in a hospital in South America. Savage would not have missed that shot. Raazaq had been right there in AJ's crosshairs. Right there. And she'd bull's-eyed a nearby lantern instead, setting off a small fire, and alerting them to her presence. It was FUBAR of gigantic proportions.

  "Can we save the postmortem for later?" AJ shouted over the gunfire and the rattle and clang coming from what was passing as an engine. She kept her weapon trained on their trail, but Raazaq's people hadn't closed the gap sufficiently to waste serious firepower. Yet.

  "Sure," Wright said in her ear. "Right now, it would be nice just to stay alive. Tomorrow—damn it," he whipped the car around a small dune, "you go home with Escobar. Struben and I will finish the mission."

  "I'm sure T-FLAC will recall me as soon as you file your incident report. Until then, I'm still part of this team."

  "I don't need someone who's gonna freeze."

  His voice was its usual controlled and chilly calm, tinged with just a hint of sarcasm. AJ felt as though he'd whipped her with live electrical wire. If she didn't admire him so much, she'd hate him for being so perfect. But she did admire him. And damn it, he was right. She bit her tongue on a smart-ass comeback, and did a quick swipe other hand down her damp cotton pants to get rid of the clammy sweat on her palm. She had plenty of experience with forceful men. She'd been around them all her life. Her father and brother were just the first of many. But Kane Wright wasn't a man she could wrap around her little finger. Neither did she want to.

  Anyway, this was neither the time nor the place to use the womanly wiles she so despised. She'd joined T-FLAC to put her brain and training to use. It was a refreshing change to have a guy not look at her as a sex object. Even if that guy happened to see her as a particularly inept field operative.

  "Aw, man! I'm going back?" Manny complained on the mic. He sounded pissed.

  "How bad's the arm?" Kane demanded.

  There was a long drawn-out silence. "Bad," Manny admitted reluctantly.

  "Your woman can kiss it all better when you get home," Kane told him.

  "I'd rather—"

  "Get your sorry butt off the floor and help cover our ass," Kane finished for him.

  Manny scuffled around, then levered himself up beside Struben to give her a clear shot. AJ winced empathetically when he readied his weapon. His arm must hurt like hell. He'd have cold sweats, be feeling light-headed, sick to his stomach… but he'd do what he had to do.

  Not like her.

  Live with it. Cooper. Live with it.

  She saw a flash of light, a quick flare behind them. There. Gone, in the thick darkness. A bullet hit the dash behind her, missing her by inches. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. "Closing in," she shouted, unnecessarily, blinking back fear-induced sweat from her eyes.

  "Deal with it." The engine whined in protest as Kane demanded more speed. A rooster tail of sand fanned out on either side of the wheels.

  They were close.

  Too damn close.

  Faster vehicles.

  Weapons blazing.

  "Go. Go. GO! Rocket launcher. Incoming!" Heart in her throat, AJ identified the blast as light and heat flew over their heads and disappeared into the night.

  Jesus God. A rocket launcher? This close?

  They were toast.

  CHAPTER TWO

  « ^ »

  She was able to fire off a volley of shots by hanging over the door, using the window frame for leverage. She wouldn't hit anything important. Not at this distance. Not with the car bouncing and jostling hard enough to loosen her teeth, not to mention all the nuts and bolts in the rusted-out vehicle.

  Suddenly Manny obstructed her next shot as he slumped down across the backseat.

  Oh, God, oh, God. "Was he hit?" she yelled into the lip mic.

  Struben glanced down briefly. "Don't think so. Passed out."

  Things were going from bad to worse. And she wasn't handling it any better than she had out on that ridge.

  "Get him off me," Struben yelled while he kept up a steady stream of fire. AJ leaned over between the seats and grabbed Manny's collar. God, he was heavy. She pulled and tugged until he slid off Struben's lower legs and flopped onto the floorboard.

  AJ straightened, only to be tossed sideways, slamming her boob into the side of Kane's seat as the car tore up a steep incline. She shot out an arm and caught herself on the seat back as the vehicle clung there, half on its side before all four wheels slammed back down to earth. She tumbled back into her own seat, then scrambled to get her act together and reposition herself using her own seat back as a brace for her weapon. With Struben on the opposite side of the car, the field was clear.

  Kane drove like a bat out of hell, while she and Struben worked in perfect sync. He reloaded, she fired. She reloaded, he fired. Hot air brushed her throat as a bullet zinged by. Her heart did a hard thud-thump as an extra shot of adrenaline zinged through her.

  Missed, you bastards.

  Turn the fear into anger, she told herself. Fear into anger. But the fear was so vast, so huge, there wasn't room for anything else. "Four hundred meters, and closing."

  She spread her knees wider on the cracked vinyl seat, and braced her boots against the shot-up dash behind her. There was no swivel firing point as there'd been in class. This was the real deal. And unfriendly fire was going to hurt just as bad as, if not worse than, a wild shot in training class.

  Fear into anger.

  How about fear into sheer, unadulterated t
error?

  "Three-fifty." She fired repeatedly. The AK-47 range was about three hundred meters, which meant she had a loopy trajectory requiring clumsy adjustment for accuracy at this range and speed. About a hundred rounds per minute with a forty-round magazine wasn't going to last long. They were merely holding them off.

  The hot air smelled of sweat, dust, oil, and steel. Her shoulder was numb, sweat ran in stinging rivulets into her eyes, and sand crusted to the patches of sweat like flies on flypaper.

  Welcome to Egypt.

  Kane kept the gap at three hundred and fifty meters. Man, he was unbelievable. AJ reached back into her kit for another magazine. Kane's hand intercepted hers and he slammed a clip into her hand as efficiently as a surgical nurse making a pass off to a surgeon. He hadn't removed his eyes from the road.

  A nasty mix of excitement and fear churned a toxic cocktail in AJ's system.

  The psychiatrists and doctors had told her flat out: Odds were it would happen again, and it would hurt like hell. Either live with that reality or take the desk job.

  Get over it, or get out.

  Fear into anger.

  She'd been unstoppable before that fateful training exercise three months ago. She'd been fearless no matter what the instructors threw at her. Top of her class in sniper school. Top of her class in physical conditioning. Top of her class in strategy—despite her looks.

  Three months and two days ago she'd felt invincible. Confident. Self-assured.

  But not anymore. Not anymore.

  If she could just get the hell over freezing every time she had a human in her sights she'd be a damn good T-FLAC agent. Unfortunately there hadn't been time to work through her fear before they'd pulled her out of boot camp and shipped her to Egypt.

  The middle of her first op was a bad time to be trying bravery on for size.

  If only she could be like her hero. She'd come close. So close. And then BAM! Her magic cape had been ripped away and reality had reared its ugly head.