Under The Gun. Lyn Stone
make it. The loss of one Griffin was more than their friends could stand. Though Matt had remained with the ATF after Will was recruited to join Sextant, that had worked to everyone’s advantage. Each operative on the new team kept their close contacts from former jobs within other agencies. One didn’t get much closer than a twin.
There were several voices behind her now, but Holly didn’t worry. Jack was taking care of business. Will was going to need her when he learned what had happened to Matt. She had to decide whether she should tell him straight out.
Instead of giving Will the bad news about his brother, she said, “Don’t try to talk anymore, Will. Just stay with us.”
She realized she and Jack hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t questioned for a minute the urgency Will had projected. They had just responded to the warning and whipped out their pistols. Thank God they had.
Nobody had ever doubted Matt Griffin’s extraordinary powers of telepathy. But Will hadn’t shared his brother’s gift. Not before today, anyway.
Holly linked her fingers with his. His grip was so weak. She hoped against hope that was caused by inactivity and not permanent damage to any response mechanisms. He needed to be strong, much stronger than he was now, when told about Matt’s death.
Even as she watched, Will’s lips firmed, his expression one of intense pain.
Will knew about his brother. Maybe he had read her face, or perhaps remembered the actual shooting. Holly briefly considering lying to him, assuring him Matt was all right, but she couldn’t do it. Didn’t think it would do any good, anyway. “I’m so sorry, Will.”
His grip tightened perceptibly, as if he were trying to wring a vow out of her.
“Don’t you worry,” she assured him. “We’ll get that son of a bitch. But you’ve got to help us. Stay awake if you can. The doctor’s on his way. You pull through this, Griffin, you hear me? That’s an order.”
She heard a small crowd murmuring behind her and turned to see why no one had disturbed her conversation with Will yet. They should be working over him like bees by now, ensuring that he didn’t lapse back into the coma. Adjusting machines, checking his vitals. Something.
“Jack? What’s the matter?” she asked, still holding tightly to Will’s hand. She watched a doctor and two attendants trying to revive the nurse. “Was it a heart attack?” Holly knew better even as she asked.
Jack left the hubbub and stepped closer to the bed, shot Will a worried look, then frowned. Still he didn’t respond to her question. The noisy crew had called a code blue and were loading the woman onto a gurney they had wheeled in.
Only one nurse stayed behind. She began shooing Holly aside, ordering both her and Jack out of the room. Like hell, Holly thought, gritting her teeth, standing her ground gripping Will’s hand.
His fingers still clutched hers, stronger now. When he squeezed briefly, the feeling that shot through her promised more than any verbal assurance he might have given.
Something clicked between them in that second, a mental connection. She could clearly feel his determination to pull out of this, his fury and grief over Matt’s death, his gratitude for her friendship. His thoughts came through as clearly as if he shouted them out loud.
Despite her constant jabs at the guys about psychic connections, visions, premonitions and such, she was a believer, for sure. But she’d never imagined herself capable of reception. Or of Will being able to project.
A fluke, surely. Comforting and scary at the same time. Even as she thought that, Will relaxed his fingers.
Maybe she had imagined it. That must be it. Despite the fact that her mother was West Indian, Holly knew all her own powers came straight out of books and the excellent training she’d had, certainly not from any in-born woo-woo genes.
Reluctantly she let go of Will’s hand and moved away to let the nurse do whatever needed doing.
Holly took Jack’s arm and they went to stand in the doorway the others had just vacated. “Will’s back with us. He’ll stay.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead to ease the tingling feeling there.
“Thank God for that,” he said vehemently. But he kept his voice low, probably so Will wouldn’t hear. “The nurse is dead, Holly.”
“Dead? I didn’t even hear the pop. That must have been some silencer.”
“Didn’t use one. Judging by the projectile, I’m sure he was packing spring-loaded plastic. He would never have gotten past security downstairs with anything metal unless he had credentials and a good reason to carry.”
“It’s a good thing we do,” Holly whispered. “Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d been caught unarmed?”
He nodded. “The broken ampule was still in the back of her neck.” He patted his jacket pocket. “That’s what I wanted to show you earlier. They won’t guess cause of death until they do the autopsy. Probably not even then, if he used Nicopruss to kill her. It’s virtually undetectable. He obviously wasn’t expecting Will to have company in here, but you can bet our guy has more than one shot in his pocket.”
“Who the heck was he?” Holly asked, but they could both guess the answer to that. A hit man. A professional with the right tools.
“Would Odin risk hiring a pro to do this?” she asked. “It makes sense it’s Odin himself, Jack. No one has been able to identify him, and Will probably saw him that night.” According to the only survivor of the botched raid, Odin had been there in the thick of it, had planned to fly the plane out.
“Whether it’s him or not, we’re still dealing with a trained assassin.”
“I saw his face,” she told Jack.
He snapped to attention at that. “I was in a crouch to fire, and the nurse blocked my view. By the time she fell, he was gone. You made eye contact? He knows you saw him?”
Holly nodded again. They stared at each other then, he with concern, she with confirmation of what they both knew. They were definitely dealing with a professional killer, and Holly had just made his list. Will was already at the top of it. Even Jack was at risk. He hadn’t seen the man’s face, but how could the killer be certain of that?
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” Jack said.
“Correction,” she said with a shake of her head and a worried glance at Will, who was either sleeping peacefully or had lapsed back into his coma. “We’ve all got to get out of here. Now. We’re sitting ducks. This guy could have reinforcements stationed out there, just waiting for us to exit.”
Jack already had out his cellphone. He punched in a number and held the device to his ear. “Option three, Corda. Asap. And bring Solange,” he snapped, then disconnected. It spoke of how secure this escape was to be that Jack planned to involve his wife, Solange, who was a physician.
The team had worked out plans to cover all contingencies. Holly knew that the third option involved a helicopter on the roof of wing three, four floors up from where they were now.
He put the phone in his pocket. “I’ll get hospital security to help transport Will.” They would both need to provide cover in case the perp had gone upstairs instead of down. “You get him unhooked.”
Jack hurried out into the hallway while Holly returned to the bed. Will, eyes still closed, was already fumbling with the tape holding his IV in place. She took over and slid the shunt out of his vein, pressing the area with a tissue to halt the bleeding.
Ice? Had he said the word or had she imagined it? She snatched the top off the plastic pitcher on his bedside table and dipped her hand inside. Tepid water.
She punched the call button. “Get me some ice in here. Hurry!”
“In a moment, ma’am. We have an emer—”
“Don’t you make me come