Under the Gun by Lyn Stone

Author:Lyn Stone [Stone, Lyn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Suspense
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2004-09-11T05:00:00+00:00

Six hours later they were ready to head out again, this time with no plans to stop until they reached Atlanta.

Ruis had made it through surgery. Though his condition was critical, the prognosis was good. Will owed his life to the rookie and felt almost guilty for coming through the incident without so much as a scratch.

The poor kid had emptied his pistol, taking a couple of hits in the process, and still managed to shoot that flare and light things up the way Will ordered. If not for that, they would both be dead now.

Jack had flown in Joe Corda to stay and coordinate with the locals on identifying the shooter, and to control the press.

Jack also insisted that Will have his eyes examined then and there. A brief summary of his medical history arrived by fax, and Will submitted to the necessary scans at the local hospital while Holly hovered with her usual concern.

Now, as she drove down the interstate, she kept urging him to recline his seat and get some sleep.

“They should have given you a sedative,” she complained.

“Holly, I’m fine. Not even a headache. Give it a rest, will you?”

“See, you’re tense as a piano wire. You never…well, hardly ever…fuss back at me. That just proves my point.”

“I’m not fussing at you, Holly,” he argued. “In fact, I’m feeling relieved. You heard the doctor. Tissue swelling will continue to go down and my sight should improve.” Should was the key term here.

The neurologist had qualified her diagnosis with that word, indicating that the results of the tests were hopeful, but not altogether certain. Neither was Will.

His vision had not gotten much better in the last twenty-four hours, or else the improvement was so subtle he couldn’t tell it was happening.

He could see blurry silhouettes if the lighting was stark. Proof of that lay in the local morgue back there in that burg. He always hated to get in a kill-or-be-killed situation, but he was glad he had prevailed. This was war and he was trained for that.

Holly was right about the tension. Nothing had ever shaken him up more than having to fire that shotgun at an anonymous target. A raging, moving target, outlined by the glaring light of the flare, spraying death in a wide arc, bent on killing. Will could still feel the man’s zeal for it. Not a madness he ever wanted to share mentally again.

He had connected finally, at close range. What did this mean, his linking minds with killers? With a terrorist and traitor?

“Think about something else,” Holly ordered, as if she knew the black thoughts running through his head. “How about some music?” She reached for the radio.

“No, thank you very much,” he snapped, remembering that lazy sax stirring him up the last time they had attempted to use music as a distraction. And that memory promptly dished up the torrid scene in the motel room just before the police had showed up to haul them in.

“You know we were lucky we got interrupted,” she remarked, attached to his train of thought like a damn caboose.

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