Undercover Warrior. Aimee Thurlo
believing that. She clearly wasn’t the sort who lost it under pressure.
“Hank’ll make it through this. He’s as tough as they come,” she said.
He wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or him. “So you’re his assistant, right?”
“Officially, I’m the office manager. Sometimes when he’s away fulfilling a contract, I run the day-to-day business. When he’s here, my job is to make sure things run smoothly.”
“Does Leland have any enemies?”
“Not that I know of. Hank always treats his employees and clients fairly.”
“You really like him, I gather,” he pressed, making another hard right in order to stay close to the ambulance.
She held her breath until they were moving in a straight line again. “I respect him.”
Kyle kept his eyes on the road. His gut was telling him that there was more to Erin’s story, things she was deliberately keeping back. If she was playing a game, he’d see through it fast enough. He was very good at his job, as he’d proven time and time again.
The fox fetish that hung from a leather cord around his neck pressed against his chest, reminding him to stay alert. Fox, a gift from Hosteen Silver, was his spiritual brother, and, according to Navajo tradition, shared its gifts with him. Observation, one of Fox’s innate abilities, had become second nature to Kyle. Whether that was because of the fetish or not, he couldn’t say, he just knew that it was so.
“Why did your brother suggest I ride with you to the hospital? Was it so you could question me, or is there more to it?”
“You wanted to get there fast, so it made sense for me to give you a lift. Hang on,” he added, hitting the brakes and swerving along with the ambulance ahead of him. Its loud air horn blasted. A startled pedestrian wearing white earbuds looked up suddenly, then jumped back onto the curb.
Unsure of which team she was playing on, he intended to be right there when Hank Leland regained consciousness and saw Erin for the first time since the kidnapping attempt. Hank’s reaction might be enough to tell him what he needed to know.
“You saved my life, Agent Goodluck, but I don’t think I ever thanked you.”
“Not necessary. And it’s Kyle.” He only met those honey-brown eyes for a second, but that’s all it took. Just beyond the sadness and fear mirrored there, he saw a gentle vulnerability.
He was a former marine, long ago labeled as a hard-ass, but that never failed to get to him.
He heard the ambulance’s air horn just ahead, and a heartbeat later a large black pickup flew into view, running the light, oblivious to the inevitable collision.
“Oh, damn.” Kyle hit the brakes and leaned on the horn.
Although he avoided the truck, it was too late for the ambulance. The pickup slammed into its right front end, pushing the emergency vehicle around ninety degrees with a sickening crunch.
Kyle skidded and barely missed clipping the tailgate of the pickup as it fishtailed around in the intersection. Hitting the brakes hard again, he finally managed to stop about fifty feet beyond the crash site. He looked back in the side mirror just as a familiar-looking van drove up and stopped a few feet behind the pickup.
“That idiot just ran the light!” Erin cried out, her voice shaking.
“It wasn’t an accident. Get down on the floorboard now,” he ordered, grabbing his pistol. “Call 911,” he instructed the online computer, not taking his eyes off the van. “Federal officer needs help, GPS location.”
“The van! Those are the same men,” she said, her voice rising. “Give me a way to fight back.”
“Here, defend yourself, but stay down.” Kyle handed her the Glock, then threw open his door, reaching behind the seat for his M4 as he jumped down to the pavement. He’d replaced the magazine with a full load when he put it away, but the thought of a firefight in a city intersection brought him back to his deployments in Afghanistan. Yet here he was in Hartley, New Mexico.
Two men wearing ski masks had already exited the van, both upgunned to assault rifles. They were possibly wearing vests beneath fatigue jackets, too, though he couldn’t tell for sure.
As the gunman from the passenger side approached the disabled EMT vehicle, the driver of the van watched the man’s flank and front, providing cover. To their right, the pickup driver was limping away from his badly disabled vehicle, pistol in hand. Clearly the collision had crippled his effectiveness.
Kyle advanced to his left, intending on approaching from behind. There was no cover here in the street, but he was sure they were out to nab Hank and were confident that surprise and firepower had put them in control.
The gunman came up to the rear door of the emergency vehicle and rapped on it with the butt of his assault rifle. “Open the door!”
The man’s partner, the driver, looked over at Kyle’s SUV. Knowing the fight might shift to Erin’s position, Kyle moved in.
“Put your weapons down!” Kyle yelled, now partially screened by the van.
Both gunmen whirled instantly, spraying bullets in his direction.
Outgunned for the moment, Kyle dropped to the pavement and rolled left as bullets kicked up chunks of asphalt. He returned fire, but he wasn’t alone. As he glanced back, he saw Erin lying flat beside the SUV, firing beneath the engine block at the men’s legs.
Both suspects jumped to the driver’s side of the van, moving out of view.
Not wanting to shoot in that direction and risk hitting the ambulance beyond, Kyle circled to his left.
The pistol-wielding pickup driver snapped off a few rounds, but shots from the SUV forced him to take cover beside the pickup. Erin had Kyle’s back.
Kyle couldn’t see the men any more, but he was advancing, weapon up, when the van roared to life. Tires squealing, the vehicle raced backward straight at him. He fired twice, then jumped to his left as the van brushed by him.
Swinging around, prone, he tried to bring his rifle to bear on the van, which had now done a one-eighty and was racing down the street. A bullet screamed past him from behind. Realizing it had come from the pickup’s driver, Kyle forgot about the van, rolled and squeezed off three rounds at the driver, who was leaning against his ruined pickup, still shooting.
The shooter flinched, grabbed his side, and slid down the side of the pickup to a sitting position.
Kyle jumped up, weapon aimed at the wounded man, and advanced quickly.
“Drop the weapon now!” he yelled. To his left, he could see an EMT sneaking a quick look out the back door of the unit. “Stay inside!” Kyle ordered.
Kyle was within fifteen feet when the badly wounded man looked directly at him, put the barrel under his chin and shot himself.
Chapter Three
Kyle lowered his weapon and looked away, shaking his head in disgust. A life wasted, just like that. Up to now, he’d only seen that kind of hardcore reaction overseas.
He moved toward the ambulance, put his hand on the door handle, then yelled, “Federal officer. Open up!”
The EMT inside did so quickly, throwing his hands up as the door opened. “Officer, we’re not armed, and our patient needs us right now. We’ve got to keep working, okay?”
Kyle nodded and realized, from the monitor’s tone, that Hank had flatlined. As both EMTs worked to revive Leland, one of them talking back and forth with an emergency room doctor through a headset, Erin rushed up. She stood silently beside him, watching.
Minutes passed, the medics working feverishly. After four attempts to restart Leland’s heart with the paddles, the one with