In Her Sights

by Perini, Robin

  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.

  She watched through the powerful Leupold as the team herded the suspects. Finally they clamped the last one in cuffs and shoved him in the back of a black and white. She scanned the windows with the scope but detected no movement. Where were they? Why hadn’t Sarge called the all clear?

  An air ambulance roared in from the east, its rotor wash stinging Jazz’s face. Gabe was bad, or they wouldn’t have called the chopper.

  Once it landed, the EMTs rushed in. Within minutes they carried a stretcher out of the house. Gabe’s black uniform had been cut away, revealing a body that had paled to the color of milk. An IV dripped into his arm, and his face was hidden by an oxygen mask.

  Her mind receded to a distant nightmare: a death-gray face and a blood-soaked body. Her mother’s body. So very still, just like Gabe.

  Alice Sanford had never awakened again.

  Gabe couldn’t die.

  A sharp yell caught her attention. Luke shoved the perimeter guard aside, ducked under the tape, and out-maneuvered another uniform to rush to Gabe.

  As they loaded him into the chopper, Luke lifted his head and searched the hill where she lay. She couldn’t read his expression, but she knew what he was thinking. This was her fault. She’d said she could protect the team, and she’d lied. He’d been right not to trust her.

  Somehow, she’d missed, and now Gabe might forfeit his life.

  In the cramped space of the helicopter cabin, Luke crouched beside the stretcher, ignoring the vibration and urgency in the pilot’s voice as the helicopter took off. He hated medevacs. He’d flown in a lot of choppers with a lot of injured soldiers over the years. Too many hadn’t made it home. Luke refused to consider the possibility this time. His brother wouldn’t be a fatality statistic. He couldn’t be.

  Luke gripped Gabe’s hand tight. “Man, little bro. You know how to work the situation. First-class ticket to the hospital and all this drama for a little scratch.”

  Gabe tried to smile. “It’s not good,” he whispered.

  Luke leaned closer to hear his brother’s weak voice. “I’ve seen worse.” Of course, most of them hadn’t made it. Gabe’s attempt to smile did nothing to ease the fear burning in Luke’s belly. He didn’t acknowledge the feeling often, but when it was family…training went out the window.

  His brother coughed weakly and his eyes flickered shut.

  Luke pushed the panic back. “No way, Gabe. Don’t you do it. Montgomerys don’t give up. You don’t give up.”

  Gabe’s chest heaved and he squeezed Luke’s hand. “Wasn’t Jazz’s fault. Make sure she knows it. Stand by her.”

  “How can you be sure?” Luke didn’t know what to believe. He could see three options: she’d flat-out screwed up and missed; she’d tanked the shot; or she’d been sabotaged.

  “Best shot there is.” Gabe’s lips tightened with pain. “She’s all about protecting us, she’ll blame herself. The team won’t fight for her.”

  Gabe sucked in a weak breath, and the nurse working on his leg let her mask slip. Her grim expression chilled Luke to the bone.

  “Keep talking to him,” she whispered. “Don’t let him go.”

  Luke urged his brother to hang on, but inside, recriminations tore him apart. The caller had warned him his family might be in danger. Was Gabe’s attack a different kind of message? Had Luke’s failure to discover the caller’s identity brought more grief down on his family?

  He knelt down next to Gabe’s ear. “You’re going to make it, little brother. Mom will kick my but
t if anything happens to you, and Dad will kick yours if you meet him at the pearly gates before your time.”

  Gabe’s eyes crinkled at the corners then he grimaced. His eyes closed and his hand went slack.

  “No!” Luke’s cry echoed over the roar of the helicopter blades.

  The nurse took Gabe’s pulse and gave Luke a cautious nod. “He’s just unconscious.”

  “He’ll make it?”

  Pity crossed her face. “I don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood. The surgeons are waiting for him. He’s got a chance.”

  Luke gripped his brother’s hand and squeezed, willing life into him. “You hear that? There’s nothing to worry about.”

  At that moment, the lights of the hospital roof came into view. He sent a prayer heavenward. “I’m not giving up on him. Don’t You give up on him either.”

  The cold mountain wind whipped against Jazz, but she felt nothing. She lay unmoving and focused, perched above and apart from her teammates.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been there. The air ambulance carrying Luke and Gabe had long since disappeared in the night sky.

  As she waited, she replayed the events leading up to the stray shot again and again. Nothing stood out. Nothing had changed from the last hundred missions. Where had her bullet landed?

  Finally Sarge’s voice barked through her earpiece. “All clear. Blue One, report to Command Central double-time.”

  Jazz ripped off her camouflage cloak, grabbed her gear, and hurried down the hill toward the spotlights littering the front of the farmhouse. The team formed their usual line-up, silhouetted in front of the series of lights; a stark, empty space where Gabe should have been standing broke the human chain. She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to run. She’d let her team down; she had to face them.

  When she came to a stop in front of Sarge, he frowned at her, the disappointment and frustration in his gaze something she’d never seen before. “What happened?” he barked.

  The words pierced her because she had no answer. “I don’t know. He was in my sights. He should’ve gone down.”

  “Leave your rifle with me. There will be a full investigation.”

  His too-quiet voice sent a chill through Jazz. She stared down at the weapon in her hands, the custom-made stock, the perfectly balanced barrel, the one thing in her life that had never betrayed her, and her foundation crumbled. The Remington shook in her hands.

  “Gabe?” she croaked out his name.

  Sarge’s expression grew cold. “Gangbanger caught him in the leg. Slashed Gabe’s femoral artery. He bled a lot, and he’s in critical condition. They’re taking him into surgery. It’s touch and go.”

  Sarge didn’t state the obvious. If she’d done her job right, Gabe would be with them now. Swallowing around the lump in her throat at the knowledge she’d let everyone down, she opened her case and placed the Remington carefully inside, scope still attached. Afterwards, she chanced a glance at her teammates, certain she’d see accusation in their eyes. Some looked away, a few shook their heads in pity. Several glared. She saw the truth. They blamed her, just as she blamed herself.

  She shut them out, as she had so many times before, and met Sarge’s stare. “Which hospital?”

  “University.” He took the weapon case from her and tagged it with an evidence number. “Luke went with him. His family will be there soon. You may want to stay clear for a while.”

  She sent him a curt nod with no intention of listening to the advice. She had to be there for Gabe and Luke. And for herself.

  But first, she needed to find out what happened. “May I go into the house and see where the bullet hit?”

  Sarge studied her, and she knew he could see every doubt, every worry she tried to hide. Finally he nodded. “Redmond, Paretti, go with her. Wear booties and don’t touch anything. IA will be all over this.”

  Her commander didn’t trust her to go in alone. The realization cut into her. Why else would he send Redmond and Paretti with her? Was he afraid she’d tamper with evidence if it made her look bad?

  “Parker,” Sarge held Jazz back as her shadows gathered the protective equipment and moved to the house, “I’m doing this for your protection. IA can’t come back and say we doctored the scene to cover for one of our own.”

  His face didn’t crack an expression as he stared at his team. “Now figure out what happened.”

  Jazz followed her teammates into the house to the room where Suspect One had held the woman—to where the bullet should have met the target’s head. There was no sign of the bullet or a hole. What was going on?

  Careful not to contaminate evidence, she studied the broken window first, but couldn’t see any obvious damage that would have caused the bullet to veer. She turned toward the paneled wall and let her eyes wander in concentric circles from the point where the shot should have landed. Three inches. Her heart skipped a beat. Six inches. Her throat tightened. Twelve inches. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She had to be a cop now. Her mind clicked through the events, as if she were checking and rechecking the sights on the shooting range. It didn’t add up.

  She turned to Steve and Carl. “I don’t understand. No glass left in the window. Nothing should have deflected the bullet. It should have hit him.”

  Gone was the joking camaraderie from the van. Their faces held that speculative mask she hadn’t seen since she’d first won her slot on the team.

  Her insides turned cold. She’d known they would turn on her someday. She really could only count on herself. She returned her focus to the wall. This was crazy. Where was the bullet? If she didn’t know better, she’d doubt she’d fired at all.

  Her gaze continued its survey. Over a foot off the mark, she saw it. Her throat burned sour. “What the…?”

  A hole. But how could it be her hole, her bullet? She hadn’t fired that far off course—ever. Especially not at just a hundred yards.

  She studied the impression, but knew she couldn’t dig out the bullet. IA would have to do that.

  “You found something?” Steve Paretti came to stand beside her. He placed an awkward hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

  “Crap,” he said. “Did the thing take a right turn at Albuquerque?”

  His attempt at a joke fell flat. Nothing could excuse what she’d done. How badly she’d missed.

  But she never missed.

  The nausea in her belly churned as she walked to the window and looked up at the hill where she’d laid. “It can’t be mine. It doesn’t make any sense.” Unless Luke had been right. Unless she’d been so rattled tonight that she’d lost focus.

  The thought cramped her insides. She prided herself on maintaining control—and on going by the book. Sure, she’d been furious tonight, but she was not some shrinking violet. She didn’t rattle easy. She was a professional. She could picture herself checking the elevation and windage, taking aim, breathing. Taking the shot.

  Oh, God. With the mark that far off, anyone could’ve been hurt. If the hostage had been on the other side of the perp, the woman would be dead now. And Jazz would be responsible not only for Gabe going down, but also for murdering an innocent.

  Sirens blared from outside. Redmond cleared his throat. “Come on, Parker. The finks are rolling up. Sarge shouldn’t have let us stay this long.”

  Jazz took one last look at the damning wall and nodded. They left the farmhouse, but not before she scanned the scene one final time. She couldn’t understand what had happened. How could she have been so far off?

  The answer still eluded her when the team reached the sheriff’s office. She hadn’t looked any of them in the face on the strained ride. She’d ignored the few comments directed her way. As quickly as possible, she stowed her gear, got a loaner truck from the lot, and made the long drive to the hospital on her own.

  After reaching the surgical floor, Jazz searched the hallway. The waiting room should be close. She hated the institutional green color of the walls. Granted, this wasn’t an orphana
ge or a court house or even a way station for kids who weren’t wanted. But the horrid green still gave her the creeps.

  She finally found the right door, but didn’t turn the doorknob. The Montgomerys were probably inside. She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to run. She’d let Gabe down; she had to face his family.

  With a deep sigh she pushed open the door. The room was empty. No mother, no brothers, no Luke. Her lungs emptied and she could breathe again.

  Maybe they were somewhere else, a place where the real family waited.

  Family.

  The word made her shudder. Gabe had called her family, but she wasn’t. Not really. And now, because she hadn’t listened to him, he was fighting for his life.

  The image of the knife played over and over in her mind until it was all she could do not to scream. How had she missed the shot?

  She snagged the chair closest to the door and perched on the edge, ready to bolt. She tugged at the neck of her gray sweatshirt. She’d changed into civvies, not wanting to agitate an already tense situation when she saw the Montgomerys.

  No, that wasn’t the entire truth. She hadn’t stripped off her SWAT team regalia so much for Gabe’s family as for herself. How could she wear the uniform of her team when she felt as if she’d blown the unit apart?

  Sarge had been right. Coming here was a stupid idea. She should have gone home and waited for news. She should leave. Right now.

  The door slammed open beside her, hitting the side of the chair and blocking her from view. Luke strode in and she tensed. He hadn’t seen her, but Jazz’s heart twisted at the torment carved in his face. She’d never seen his hair so unkempt, like he’d tried to tear it from his head, and lines she hadn’t noticed before grooved his mouth. But the pain in his eyes hurt the most. She’d seen them in passion, in aggravation, but never with the agony she witnessed now.

  He rammed his fist into the wall. “Damn it!”

  The anguish cloaked within the wrath made her ache for him.

  Oh yes, she definitely should have left. But now, like so many other times in her life, she had no choice but to stay and deal with the consequences. “Luke,” she whispered.