“Stop or I’ll shoot Cutter, starting with his kneecaps!”
The words shocked her brain with a new and ugly fear. It was the only thing he could say that would stop her. At the edge of the trees, Rachael halted.
“Put your hands up.”
Closing her eyes against the rush of regret, she did as she was told. She stood there, breathing hard, listening to the approach of footsteps.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
Rachael turned.
The blow seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment she was turning to face her tormenter. The next she was on her knees, the side of her face aching.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Viktor Karas said.
Looking into the depths of his gaze and seeing the hatred, Rachael believed him.
The only question that remained was whether he would make good on his promise now, or wait until they reached his lair in Moscow.
Chapter Sixteen
Bo had never considered himself an emotional man. He’d certainly never considered himself impulsive. But when he saw Viktor Karas strike Rachael, the primal male fury to protect what was his exploded inside him. Perched on an outcropping of rock overlooking the dry creek bed below, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Except wait.
Even then, he faced even bigger problems. Not only did he have to line up for at least three shots under incredibly difficult conditions, but he was now also forced to face a fear that had twisted him into knots for two unbearable years. Could he conquer his fear and make the shots?
Two years ago he would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He’d been cocky, willing to try any shot, no matter how impossible. But after being forced to kill his best friend, Bo simply wasn’t sure he could do it.
It was either make the shot or watch two people he cared for die. A man he’d called friend the entirety of his career. And a woman he loved more than life itself….
Even though he was soaked to the skin with rain and cold to the bone, sweat broke out all over his body when he looked down at the Remington. His hands shook as he pulled it from its sheath. He didn’t have his sniper’s tripod, but he could set up for the shot using the rock that surrounded him. His fingers were shaking so badly, it took two tries for him to mount the scope.
A hundred and fifty yards away, Karas helped Rachael to her feet. Bo steeled himself against the sight of her struggling as they bound her hands behind her back. Just beyond, Cutter sat on the ground, unable to do anything but watch. Both faced a terrible end if Bo couldn’t pull this off.
Nausea seesawed in his gut when he lifted the rifle and set the long muzzle against the rock. Getting into the correct shooting position, Bo struggled to reach The Zone. The mental state where his focus was complete. Where nothing in the outside world mattered. A place where his only world consisted of what he saw through the scope. His target was not a person, but an objective that had to be reached.
Tonight, The Zone eluded him.
Wiping rain and sweat from his face, Bo put his eye to the scope and tried to focus. He would have to make two successive shots. Karas first, then Petrov. He adjusted the scope, nudged the muzzle right. The crosshairs settled on Karas. Center of chest. He didn’t trust himself to make the headshot. The body made for a larger target. Tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart pounding like a piston, it was the best he could hope for.
His finger trembled against the trigger. He squinted, focused. He shifted left. Centered the crosshairs.
Holding his breath, he squeezed off the shot.
FOR A SPLIT SECOND Rachael thought the sound was a crack of thunder. She was in the process of getting to her feet when she noticed the bloom of red on Karas’s trench coat. He was staring at her as if she’d just sucker punched him.
Shock vibrated through her when he grasped his abdomen and went to his knees.
Bo, she thought, and her legs nearly went weak with relief. But her relief was short-lived.
“Mr. Karas!”
She glanced beyond the fallen Karas to see Ivan Petrov sprinting toward them. The pilot had taken cover behind a fallen log. Beyond, Cutter stood, his eyes latched to the ridge behind her.
Instinct kicked in. Petrov was ten feet away, bringing his weapon up. But his focus was on Karas, not her, a mistake she could capitalize upon. Know ing this was her only chance, Rachael charged him. He swung the gun in her direction, but she landed a karate kick to his chest. He reeled backward, but maintained his grip on the weapon. With his finger already on the trigger, he sent a short burst of gunfire into the air.
Before he could regain his balance, Rachael lunged and planted a second kick to his nose. As if in slow motion the weapon flew from his hands and landed several feet away. Vaguely she was aware of another gunshot from the ridge. Petrov reeled backward and landed squarely on his back.
She didn’t wait to see what would happen next. Knowing she couldn’t use the fallen weapon with her hands bound, she scrambled past Petrov.
“Cutter!” she screamed.
He was already running toward her. But his stride was awkward with his hands bound. “This way!” he shouted.
With Cutter at her side, she ran as fast as she could toward the closest cover, a line of pinion trees.
A volley of shots rang out as they reached the trees. But there was no time to look back. Rachael ran blindly through the darkness and rain, silently praying they were able to maintain their footing.
Past the trees, the ground dropped away. She stumbled over rocks the size of a basketballs. Next to her, Cutter went down, landing hard on his stomach.
“Go!” he shouted. “Leave me.”
She darted to him. “Get up!”
“I’m hit,” he ground out.
For the first time she noticed blood on his left thigh. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I gave you a direct order, damn it.”
“Shut up and run,” she exhorted between clenched teeth.
“Stop or I’ll shoot you both in the back.” The words were quickly followed up by another burst of gunfire. “Stop!”
She envisioned bullets tearing through her spine. Beside her, Cutter struggled to his feet. She could hear someone breaking through brush behind them. Too fast. Too close.
“Run, damn it!” Cutter whispered.
She glanced at him. Shock vibrated through her when she saw blood coming through his coat. It looked black in the darkness. She couldn’t see much, but enough for her to know it wasn’t from some minor scratch. Cutter had been shot a second time.
“Cutter, my God…”
“Get your hands up!”
Rachael turned to see Ivan Petrov approach. He was twenty feet away. Blood dripped from his nose. His face was a mask of unconcealed fury, the submachine gun leveled at her chest. “I should shoot you both where you stand,” he said.
Rachael could hear herself breathing hard, a combination of physical exertion and raw panic. Beside her, Cutter was bent at the hip, obviously in pain. Blood glittered black in the dim moonlight.
Petrov reached them. His lips pulled back into a snarl. Raising the rifle, he brought the butt down hard on Cutter’s back. The agency head went to his knees.
“Stop it!” Rachael shouted. “He’s been shot.”
Petrov ignored her. His attention seemed divided. Turning slightly, his gaze skimmed the ridge above them. “It appears your friend Ruskin has decided to make an appearance.”
Rachael closed her eyes at the thought of Bo. She knew about his phobia and could only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to pick off Karas. She wondered if he would be able to do it again. Or if he’d use the explosives…
She looked at Petrov. “You’re surrounded,” she said. “Give it up.”
Hatred gleamed in the young man’s eyes when he turned them on her. “I’ll kill all of you before I do that.”
“Then run,” she offered. “Run to the border while you still have a chance to ge
t away.”
The smile he gave her sent a chill all the way to her bones. “I have a score to settle first.”
“What score?”
For the first time his gaze faltered. “I owe it to Viktor to finish this. He was like a father to me.”
A very twisted father, she thought. But Rachael didn’t voice the sentiment. All she could do was stand mutely while the sociopath trained the gun on her heart.
They were standing on an outcropping of rock. On one side was the ridge where she hoped Bo was trying to get into position for another shot. But she knew the distance would be difficult even in the best of conditions. The heavy rain and darkness would make a long-distance shot nearly impossible. Plus there was wind and a line of trees and darkness to obscure his vision.
She glanced over her shoulder. Opposite the rise, the earth sloped steeply downward toward the dry creek bed. In the darkness she couldn’t tell how far the slope went, but if worse came to worse, she and Cutter could brave the cliff and hope the fall didn’t kill them.
The pilot approached from out of the trees, a pistol in his hand. “Mr. Petrov, perhaps we should leave,” he said.
Petrov nodded, but his eyes kept going to the ridge. He knew Bo was up there. Knew they were in the line of fire. He looked at Rachael, then at the pilot.
“We kill them here.” He motioned toward her and Cutter. “Put them facedown on the ground. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Nodding, the pilot started toward her.
“Please don’t do this,” she said and stepped toward Petrov.
The Russian leveled his weapon on her chest. “Don’t get any closer.”
His words were punctuated by a low rumble of thunder. But Rachael barely heard it over the wild beat of her heart. She couldn’t believe she and Cutter were probably going to be shot execution-style before Bo could get into position for another shot. And that their killers would probably get away with murder.
Thunder rumbled incessantly and so hard the ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble. It was as if the nucleus of the storm was upon them and the earth shook with fear.
Every nerve in her body jerked taut when the pilot grasped the back of her collar and tried to force her to the ground. She resisted. Blood roared in her ears now, keeping perfect time with the storm. She could no longer tell if she was trembling or if the earth was shaking.
Another clap of thunder shook the ground. Rachael looked up to see an orange plume rise forty feet into the air on the near horizon beyond the trees. At first she thought lightning had struck. Then she remembered the explosives…and Bo.
Spinning toward the explosion, Petrov shouted something in Russian to the pilot. Knowing she wouldn’t have another opportunity, Rachael jerked from the pilot’s grasp and spun. He raised his weapon. She lashed out with her foot, catching him in the center of his chest. He reeled backward.
Behind him, she saw Cutter struggle to his feet. Twenty feet away Petrov fired a shot. Cutter scrambled toward the ledge. Vaguely, Rachael heard something crashing through brush. In her peripheral vision, she saw something large and dark enter the clearing. Bo, she thought, just as another gunshot split the air.
Bo Ruskin was astride the Appaloosa and traveling at a dangerous speed. He held a rifle in one hand, a pistol in the other. He gripped the leather reins between his teeth. Petrov fired a wild shot, then ran toward cover.
Then the horse was beside her. She had a split second to act and grabbed his outstretched hand. His strength and the momentum of the horse’s movement helped her to swing onto the saddle behind him.
“Lean against me!” he shouted, knowing her hands were bound.
The horse spun on a dime. Bo fired off four shots in quick succession in the general direction of Petrov, but the Russian was nowhere in sight.
“Cutter!” she shouted. “There! He’s been shot!”
Bo spurred the horse. The animal sprinted toward Cutter. Two more shots rang out. Rachael turned her head to see Karas standing within the trees, the rifle leveled on them. “Bo!”
Bo raised the pistol, but the horse was moving too fast, the ride too violent for him to aim. But he fired blindly. A muzzle flash came from within the line of trees and she knew Petrov was not yet down.
“Cutter!” Bo shouted. “The ravine! Jump!”
Cutter didn’t need to be told twice. He stumbled awkwardly toward the edge where the water had cut a deep gorge and disappeared over the edge.
Rachael’s mind barely had time to process that when she realized Bo was going to take the horse over the edge as well.
“Bo!” she screamed.
And the horse leapt into space.
Chapter Seventeen
The horse landed on its haunches and slid twenty feet in deep sand before regaining its balance. Rachael closed her eyes and leaned hard against Bo.
The ride down the steep slope was as wild as any roller coaster. As a child Rachael had always been a fan of roller coasters. As an adult, she’d set her sights on a different kind of thrill. She hadn’t bargained for riding blind into what could turn out to be a suicide rescue.
The horse struggled to maintain its footing as it slid on its haunches down the slope at a dangerous speed. Mud and small debris flew up from its hooves as the animal muscled through brush and hurtled roots and branches.
All Rachael could do was pray she didn’t fall off.
The descent seemed to take forever. She caught glimpses of trees and flashes of lightning. In the back of her mind she wondered about Cutter. She wondered if the men above them had night-vision equipment and would continue shooting.
The horse reached the base of the ravine and skidded to an abrupt halt. She felt Bo relax, then he reached down and patted the trembling animal’s shoulder.
“Easy, boy,” he murmured. “Good boy.”
He dismounted, then reached for her. “Are you all right?”
Rachael was no stranger to high adrenaline. But every muscle in her body quivered as he eased her to the ground. “I’m not sure yet.”
Pulling a knife from his belt, he turned her and slashed the nylon binding her wrists. For a moment she couldn’t find her voice. Then she looked into his eyes. “You blew up the chopper?”
“I knew those explosives would come in handy one day.”
She didn’t intend to reach for him. But at the moment she needed to feel his arms around her more than she needed to take her next breath. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she closed her eyes against the rush of pleasure when he put his arms around her and held her tight.
“It’s all right,” he said. “We’re going to be okay.”
“You saved our lives.”
“Yeah, well, it ain’t over yet.” Gently, he eased her to arm’s length.
The hairs at her nape prickled as she looked up the steep ravine. Seeing the impossibly rugged terrain, she almost couldn’t believe the horse had taken them safely down without so much as a misstep.
“We need to find Cutter.” Patting the horse’s shoulder, he walked the animal to a low growing tree and tied it. “I have a feeling Karas isn’t finished yet.”
“Cutter has been shot,” she said. “Twice, I think.”
Even in the dim light she saw him grimace. “We need to find him and fast.” He motioned left. “Let’s fan out. Try not to make any noise. They may just be crazy enough to follow us.”
Giving her a last look, he disappeared into the darkness.
She was still shaking when she started along the foot of the cliff. The ride into the ravine had been so wild she couldn’t tell where they’d landed in relation to where Cutter had gone over the edge.
“Cutter?” she whispered into the darkness. “Cutter?”
The sound of a twig breaking off to her left sent her heart slamming against her ribs. Rachael spun.
And found herself looking at a deadly pistol and the bloodied face of Viktor Karas.
“WE MEET AGAIN, Ms. Armitage.”
Her gaze flic
ked past him. In an instant her mind scrolled through a dozen different scenarios. He was outnumbered. Obviously injured. But she knew an injured predator was the most dangerous.
“If you scream I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
“You’re going to do that anyway.”
“I want my son’s remains. I’m willing to wait for the rest.”
She stared at him. A two-inch cut on his temple spread blood down the right side of his face. Lower, more blood marred the front of his trench coat.
“You’ve been shot,” she said.
“Twice, actually. But the Kevlar vest did its job.” A tremor went through her when he raised the gun a fraction of an inch and pointed it at her forehead. “Now where are my son’s remains?”
She saw the tension go through his arm. Even in the semidarkness, she saw his finger move on the trigger. Her only thought was that she was going to die. That she would never see Bo again. She would never get the chance to tell him she loved him.
“Don’t,” she heard herself say.
The smile that split his face looked macabre in the semidarkness. “Did my son beg for his life?”
“Your son tried to kill me. It was self-defense.”
“Where are his remains?” he repeated.
“He was buried in Washington, D.C.” It was a lie; Rachael had no idea where the government had buried his son. “Cherry Hill Cemetery, near Dulles Airport.”
Hatred glittered diamond sharp in the depths of his eyes. “Get on your knees.”
Rachael knew the moment she acquiesced, he would execute her. “Please.”
“Do it.”
Taking her time, she got down on both knees.
“Beg for your life,” he said.
She looked at him, wondering in some small corner of her mind if he’d lost touch with reality. If the pressure of his lifestyle had finally sent him around the bend. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
His lips pulled back in a snarl. “I said beg, bitch. Figure it out.”