Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19)

by Irish Winters

  God, help me.

  “She’s a pig,” Andy spat. “Just another American whore. She deserves to die.”

  Yeah, well so do you, jerk-off. “Why?” Keep him talking.

  “She led my brother astray.”

  “And who would that be—?”

  “Jorge! Jorge Poerbatjaraka! My brother!”

  “As in biological brother or philosophical brother or asshole brother…?”

  “Shut your mouth! All Americans are pigs! Fucking pigs!”

  That’s it. Get mad. Get stupid.

  Renner took another sideways step toward his target and zeroed down on Tara’s right shoulder. It had to be a through and through. Clean shot. Slow and steady. He couldn’t afford to hit bones or organs. But God. This was Tara’s sweet delicate body he was aiming to shoot. Breathing had become impossible.

  Yet he taunted, “You talk to your mom with that mouth?”

  “I have no mother! No father but Allah!”

  “Then tell your buddy Allah hello for—”

  Tara bowed as if she knew what was coming, and damn it! She’d put her head directly in his line of sight. Renner couldn’t take the shot. He’d lost his one perfect chance. He bit his lip, shifted both reticles and—

  Pew! Andy White’s head snapped to the side. Then… Pew! Pew! Pew! The knife in his hand dropped and red mist splashed the wall behind Tara. Behind Tara. Not through Tara.

  Renner had her down on the floor and in his arms before Ahmed the Asshole fell. But WTF? He hadn’t fired the kill shot. It came through her one and only window. Someone across the street fired it. That shot could’ve been for Tara or him.

  “Ow,” she cried, doubled over and holding her side.

  “Stay with me, baby,” he murmured, thumb-dialing 911 even while he carried her into her windowless kitchen and set her ass on the table.

  Boots pounded up her stairs, and he had no choice but to drop the phone and aim for the door as he shielded Tara with his body. Whatever ISIL asshole dared come to White’s rescue would die.

  Instead, it was Hunter Christian peering cautiously around Tara’s doorjamb. “He the only one?”

  “That was you?” Renner hissed at his fellow TEAM agent. “Yes! God, yes, only Anderson White. He’s alone.”

  “You sure?” Hunter asked as Connor Maher squeezed past him into the room.

  Renner shook his head. “Thought I was sure before, but he must’ve been hiding in—” God, where? This place was so damned small.

  “No worries,” Hunter said as his rifle led him into Tara’s living room, then into her bedroom where he checked her tiny closet. “Right. Place is clear. I spotted, but Connor took the shot.”

  Both men carried McMillan TAC-338s, complete with Leopold Mark 4 3.5-10x40 LR/T scopes, in their gloved hands. The precision weapon was one of the best sniper rifles in the business.

  “We’ve been tracking White for days,” Hunter called out from wherever he was now. “Bastard got away from the FBI and us this morning. Blew up the dive-hotel he was staying at downtown. Killed two of Metro PD’s finest.”

  Connor headed straight to Tara, his blow-out kit in his hand. “Medics are on their way. Metro police, too,” he reported as he handed his weapon over to Hunter, then laid Tara back onto her table. “Get her shirt off, Renner.”

  “Renner,” she cried, her face sweaty and her eyes brimming.

  “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe now,” he said, his hands already ripping past her buttons, tearing the shirt off her left shoulder to get at the stab wound in her side.

  Connor handed over a thick pad of cotton packing, which Renner pressed over the narrow slice, needing to slow the bleeding. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Did that bastard—?”

  “No,” trembled off her lips, and Renner wanted to kill White again for hurting her at all.

  “QuikClot?” Renner asked Connor, even as sirens sounded nearby.

  “Coming right up.” While Connor ripped the foil wrapper, Renner lifted the saturated packing. Connor poured a healthy dose of the hemostatic dressing over the wound and pressed another thick pad of clean packing over that.

  “It stings,” Tara murmured, tears streaming down the sides of her face.

  “Hey,” Renner crooned, leaning over her and stroking her forehead. “This is nothing, Tara. Trust me, us guys have treated worse. White only wanted you to bleed. You’re going to be okay. A few x-rays, some stitches, and you’ll be on your feet in no time. You’ll see.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked, blinking up at him.

  He still had one hand pressed hard into her side. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice gone hoarse. “Apparently, I can’t shoot you.”

  “Me?”

  “That was my plan. Shoot one round through your shoulder to kill White. Bastard was using you as a human shield. I couldn’t just stand there and let him cut you.”

  “White?”

  Renner explained who Anderson White, aka Ahmed Al-Yousif, was. By the time he finished, the medics and police had arrived. A Metro PD officer yelled up the stairway, “Hands up! Everyone! You’re surrounded.”

  “Come on up!” Hunter drawled back, then hissed, “Shit. They’re going to take my rifle again.”

  Standard protocol. Police interrogation. Confiscation of all evidence. Hours and hours of redundant questioning.

  “Let them,” Connor replied easily. “It’s not like we don’t have more.”

  “Yeah, but—” Hunter never finished his thought. MPD had arrived along with two medics and a gurney that only fit sideways through the door.

  Tara clung to Renner’s hand as the medics took over. Two MPD officers patted Hunter and Connor down. Took their rifles. Made them empty their pockets and divest themselves of all other weapons. Their knives. Their ammo. As usual.

  “You guys do good work,” the one medic commented after he’d lifted the soaked packing to diagnose Tara’s wound and found her bleeding had slowed. “Glad you were here. Only we can’t transport you to ground level, ma’am. The stairwell’s too narrow for our gurney.”

  Of course, Tara lifted to her elbows and boldly declared, “I can walk.”

  Which made Renner smile. “Like hell,” he growled as he scooped her carefully off the table and into his arms. “You hold on tight to me.”

  She melted into him with a whimper. “Always.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  It was the Sunday before Christmas. Tara wouldn’t be allowed to leave the hospital for another day. Because of her previous concussion, she’d had to undergo more tests on her head, stress tests on her heart, and she’d answered hundreds of MPD questions. The officers were extremely thorough, as were the kindly FBI agents who’d visited her last night and were back again this morning. It seemed Special Agents Ky and Eden Winchester had been working with Renner’s friends, Hunter Christian and Connor Maher, tracking the ISIL terrorist known by the media as Ahmed Al-Yousif, but whom Renner called Andy Asshat.

  Interestingly, Ky and Eden were married. Tara couldn’t help but wonder if all married people developed the level of communication they had. They seemed to know precisely what the other was going to say before they said it.

  Before he’d left to attend the award ceremony, Renner’d told Tara to watch out for the Winchesters. She hadn’t the time to ask what he’d meant then, but she liked them. A lot. Ky had a laidback way about him, and he loved talking about his son. Give him an opening, and he dove right in. She could easily read it in his eyes. He clearly adored his wife and son. Eden was the same as her husband, professional, yet warm and friendly.

  “Would you mind?” she asked as she angled the overhead television screen where everyone could see it.

  Tara didn’t have a set at home, had never been a TV addict, but she didn’t want to miss Renner’s public debut on national television. The event was being broadcast by all major networks, as well as local news channels. Vice President Owens
was presenting the award. The stage was lined with huge red poinsettias, a garland of red, white, and blue twined between the plants.

  And there he was, looking especially handsome in his black suit, black tie, and a bright red poppy she’d personally pinned to his lapel. On stage between Mr. and Mrs. McCormack. They looked more nervous than he did. Tara fell in love with Renner all over again. The way the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled at VP Owens’ lame joke. The way Renner stared into the camera, that cocky dimple in his chin. Yeah. That guy.

  Tara loved him a thousand times over. And then some…

  Renner stared unblinking at the crowd. Everyone expected a humble thank-you for this prestigious once-in-a-lifetime congressional award. But that wasn’t what they were going to get. Not from him. Not today.

  This event was supposed to take place in the Oval Office, but ended up at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Which was just as well. There were nearly as many reporters here this morning as spectators.

  But this was just another dog and pony show, one of many he’d been at and given during his military career. Renner hoped Tara was watching, because he planned to never, ever, do this again.

  Alex and Kelsey sat in the front row with his mom, his sister Maureen and her daughter, Frankie. The TEAM and their families filled the rows behind them. Then Aaron’s men, decked out in suits and ties, spit-and-polished shoes, lined the following rows. They were nervous and it showed. Even outgoing Zale Warner. He hadn’t stopped licking his lips since he’d sat down. And it was easy to read hypervigilance every time he rolled his eyes. The hardest part of surviving was still—surviving. Going out in public. Dark noisy places. Always too many people. Yet there they were, tall and proud and holding it together.

  Jed McCormack had finished gracefully explaining to the country how he and his wife had deceived them in order to snare Catalina Montego. He talked about all those phony interviews he’d included her in, even explained what went on behind closed doors, which ended up being embarrassing for him. Then Lois took her turn at the podium, her tone that of a mother out to save every last one of ‘her’ boys and girls in the service.

  “What would you have done if you’d been in my shoes?” she asked bluntly, her chin set in defiance. “Our servicemen and servicewomen put their lives on the line every single day for us, while most of us sit in our cushy homes, in our civilized towns and cities, and we dare to armchair quarterback their every move. They suffer in silence while we second-guess, judge, and criticize everything they do. Denounce me and my husband if you want. Pretend this was nothing more than a publicity stunt, if you will. I. Don’t. Care.”

  She got a standing ovation for that in-your-face defiance.

  “And I’d do it again,” Lois declared, every bit the patriot that her husband was. “I’m willing to bet that every single proud military mom and dad, every mother and father, grandmother and grandfather, sister and brother of our courageous sons and daughters would’ve done the same thing. It worked, didn’t it? Jed and I lured that witch back to our country—ours, not hers—and Alex Stewart’s TEAM took it from there. Think with your hearts, people. Who do you love more?”

  Gentle, sweet Lois McCormack faced those glaring spotlights and opinionated reporters head-on, and she told Americans everywhere, “Don’t think for one second that I wouldn’t do it again. I can afford to lose fair-weather friends. What I can’t afford to lose is our young military. To that sadistic woman, I said, no more. No more soldiers…” She paused long enough to scan the audience. “No more sailors.” Another pause. Another meaningful scan. “No more Marines like my Brady.” Damn, Renner wiped a tear at that. She was killing it. “No more Coasties and no more airmen. Do you hear me, America? I said… No. More.”

  The audience exploded to their feet. A roar went up.

  But the damned woman wasn’t done. After the applause, hoorahs, and whistling died down, she leaned into the mic and stated, loud and clear, “Catalina Montego or LuAnn or whoever she wanted us to believe her name was, is dead. Now let’s get on with our lives and remember what we stand for. I’m holding a barbeque picnic at Joint Base Andrews today at four o’clock. It’s free for every veteran, their family and friends. I’m celebrating. I hope you’ll join Jed and me there. God bless America.”

  Another resounding cheer. Another standing ovation. And Lois McCormack could’ve run for the United States presidency right then and there and won by a landslide.

  Vice President Owens took the podium back then. He applauded all Jed and Lois McCormack stood for, and forgave them for tricking him and the rest of America. He said a few other things too, but when he called out, “And now….”

  Renner’s stomach fell to his feet. How could he top anything Lois or Jed had said? Dry-mouthed and on wooden legs, he joined the VP center stage.

  Owens said a lot of nice things. He made a few jokes, but he’d never served in the armed forces. He didn’t really understand the cost of war like Jed, Lois, and Renner did. Some of what he said was true, but some of it was trite and self-serving. Throughout the initial chitchat and then the official handing over of another piece of shiny metal, Renner focused on Alex, wishing he were in charge of the presentation. Alex knew, damn it. This award would mean more then.

  At last VP Owens stepped back and the podium belonged to Renner.

  He stuck his chin at Americans everywhere. He thought of Tom and all that he and his men had gone through—just because they were military. He thought of Aaron, who watched him now from behind Agent Lee Hart’s broad shoulder. Renner brought his gaze back to Brenda Graves, the first woman he’d ever loved and would love until his last breath. She winked at him like this was no big deal. And suddenly—it wasn’t. He smiled at her, so damned proud to be Cody’s and Brenda Graves’ son. So damned proud to be an American.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Good afternoon, America.”

  The audience gave him an appreciative smattering of applause, which was all he deserved.

  “As you all know, my name is Staff Sergeant Renner Graves. Former active duty Marine. Always a Marine. But that’s not important, and if you’re like me, you’ll forget me the second I step off this stage. I know I would. But what you need to remember are the American men and women fighting somewhere, right now, for you and me. What you need to remember is that it only takes one…” He lifted his index finger for all to see. “One. Just one. One man. One woman. To change the world. Montego sure as hell did that, didn’t she? But thanks to a group of warriors hardened in the worst kind of hell imaginable, she’s terrorized us for the last time.

  “Do I deserve this expensive looking medal and all these accolades?” He shook his head. “No. I don’t. I’m not the one who ended Montego, and I didn’t go after her so I could stand here today. Yet here I am…” He spread his arms.

  Once again, the audience recognized him with another smattering of get-on-with-it-so-we-can-go-home. And that was okay. Renner wanted out of there, too. But Tom and his men, all those military members Montego had mutilated or murdered, and all their families deserved so much more.

  “So, indulge me a minute or two while I tell you who we are,” he said, his gaze riveted on Aaron as he purposely used that collective word. “We are not heroes. We don’t like the word and we don’t believe it. Don’t you believe it, either. Because we are no different than you. No better. No smarter. But we…” He stuck his chin at Aaron. “…are America’s sons and daughters. We are college students and backyard mechanics, moms and dads if we are lucky. We are peanut-butter-and-jelly and a cold glass of milk on a long, hot day when we are too tired or too lazy to fix a real dinner. We are cold Bud-Lite on Super Bowl Sunday, and Coney Island hotdogs in the middle of Times Square.

  “We are Fenway Park, the Boston Red Sox, the New York Yankees, and every baseball team in between. We are Irish and Vietnamese, African American and Native American. We are Catholic. We are non-believers. We are “see-the
-USA-in-your-Chevrolet” and fireworks on the Fourth of July. We are Ajax: “Stronger than dirt. Burger King; “Have it your way”. And we promise you…” He cleared his throat then. “I mean I promise you…”

  His eyes zeroed back to his mom who was crying, then to Kelsey, also crying, finally to stone-faced Alex, who wouldn’t be caught dead crying. Man, he loved all three of them. They were family. Those men and women several rows behind them as well.

  Renner ended at Aaron, who was now sitting forward in his seat, his fingers steepled beneath his chin and his eyes glimmering. That man exemplified endurance, solitude, and sheer grit. He’d endured Montego’s cruelty, and he’d turned his hatred of her into something better. He helped lost children. Now there was a hero.

  “I…” Renner raised his hand high above his head, his index finger extended, pointing to heaven. “That’s me, Renner Graves. Just me. Just I. And I promise you…” He nodded at Aaron, “that I will bear all my country asks of me, brother. And I will bear it gladly if it saves one…” Renner swallowed hard, his heart breaking for all who’d died serving America. “Just one of my brothers or my sisters. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what ended Montego’s death grip on the East Coast. Men like me who walked into Hell to save just one.”

  Alex was the first out of his seat as the audience thundered to its feet. He nodded at Renner, clapping his approval, his mouth pressed into a tight line like he needed to hit something. Renner knew the feeling.

  But Aaron stood there behind Lee Hart with tears running down his face, saluting, openly falling apart. His men too, and that, right there, proved that Montego hadn’t destroyed them. The men Montego had hurt the worst were still in the fight. Better yet, they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to prove her sorry ass wrong.

  Renner nodded at Aaron, offered Alex the same recognition, then walked off stage. He’d done what he’d come here to do. He needed to get back to Tara.