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“I got in with a gun,” Bart countered.
“Please.” She snorted. “You’ve got clearance to walk into the NSA with that gun.” It was only a small exaggeration. Maybe. “Listen to me,” she said, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Bakr can send you all the threatening emails he wants from wherever he’s hiding. I bet the fake obituary is a distraction to hide one more of his takeover attempts. He wouldn’t dare come here.”
Her friend just shook his head like she was too naïve for words.
“Hey. Relax. Even if he has some sort of brain freeze and shows up, I can take care of myself.” It would be easier when she could shoot, but she wasn’t helpless. As soon as Bart left, she’d start tracking this persistent bastard down. This was exactly the sort of project she wanted—needed, really. Something to test her skills and consume her time. He wouldn’t be hiding for long. “Go home to your son.”
Bart crossed his arms over his barrel chest, making it clear he had no intention of respecting her point of view on this. “Ross told me to stick around.”
Of course he did. It’s what paranoid bosses did when they didn’t want to lose personnel. “Go home,” she repeated. “Ross knows I don’t need a babysitter—”
Bart lunged, shoving her to the floor. It was the last thing her shoulder needed, but shattering glass interrupted her baffled protest.
Bart slumped to the floor, one hand clutching his chest, the other fumbling for his gun.
Eva groaned against the strain of pulling him closer to the wall, away from the line of sight. Pulling his gun from the holster, she flipped off the safety.
“Sniper,” he said in a gurgling voice.
Obviously. She needed to call an ambulance for Bart. She wanted to return fire. While she’d never been in the field taking fire, she knew the mission protocols as well as any of the soldiers she had supported with her real time intel.
Sirens erupted on the street, boots and voices bubbled up from the floors below.
Time slowed, each beat of her heart separate from the one before and after. She knew the layout of each building on this street. With a crystalline clarity she made her choice. Pivoting on her knees, she raised the gun and her eyes swept the roofs across the street for a target.
Spotting movement at the corner of the post office building, she took aim and squeezed off a three round burst.
And missed. Her volley didn’t even slow the sniper down. Telling herself it had been a long shot—literally—she ducked back down to help Bart. “Haven’t you learned not to jump in front of the bullets yet?”
“Get him?”
“No.”
“Sorry.”
“Shut up.” She covered his hand with hers, pressing hard into the wound. Blood seeped through her fingers and she alternately prayed and shouted for help while searching out anything to use as first aid.
He gasped. “Led him. To you.”
“Shut up,” she repeated. “One more word and I’ll put you out of my misery.”
His mouth jerked in what might have been an attempt to smile. “Yeah. Love you too.”
***
At the sound of breaking glass, Carson met Mrs. Jackson’s startled gaze. They were the only two people in the office. “Go check on her,” she said. “That sounded close.”
Carson started up the stairs, taking them two at a time when he heard three gunshots.
“Shots fired, floor three,” he reported through his radio as he eased the stairwell door closed. Hurrying down the hall, he heard muffled voices in Eva’s office and he caught the sound of movement on the main stairs. More security. Court wasn’t in session today, so it would be a skeleton crew, but they were competent. Assured by the backup, he burst through the door, weapon drawn, to find half the window gone and Eva kneeling at her friend’s side, their hands clasped on his chest, blood soaking into his shirt.
“Love you too,” he said.
Okay, more than friends.
When no one shot at him, he lowered his gun and stepped closer.
“He needs an ambulance,” Eva called. “He’s been shot.”
