Ricocheted?
“I said freeze!” Gunner yelled. “Stand down! Stand—”
The man was running toward him. Gunner didn’t see a rifle. The guy was sweating. His eyes were wild as he brought up his hands. Gunner saw the handgun gripped in the man’s shaking fingers.
He’s not going to stop. The guy was desperate to escape, and he was about to shoot at Gunner. The man was ready to kill, in order to escape.
Gunner didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger on his own weapon.
* * *
WHEN SHE HEARD the sound of the shots—two shots, fired closely together—Sydney started running toward the James Fire Building. Her heart was racing fast, adrenaline burning in her blood, and she had to get to Gunner.
Cops were in front of her. Slowing her down. She wanted to shove them aside—so she did. Then she headed into the building with her gun up, ready to do anything she had to do in order to help Gunner.
She found him on the stairs crouched over a body.
Sydney didn’t lower her weapon. Her gaze swept over Gunner. No blood. No blood. No blood. The mantra repeated in her head until she could breathe normally again.
“He wouldn’t drop his weapon.” Gunner’s voice. Flat. She lifted her left hand, curled it over his shoulder.
The cops were there, fanning around the body. Gunner’s shot had been lethal, right to the heart.
The man’s eyes were closed. His body lay sprawled and twisted on the stairs.
“There’s a rifle, sir,” one of the cops said.
Sydney lifted her head. She saw the young, uniformed cop pointing up the stairs.
Gunner rose. “He ditched it when he came down the stairs. I heard him toss it. Then he...he pulled his backup weapon.”
Gunner hadn’t been given a choice. She understood, just as she understood that it was never easy to take a life.
Whether Gunner was following mission orders and taking out a threat through his scope or fighting an up close enemy, it wasn’t easy.
Never easy.
“Gunner?” she whispered, wanting him to look at her.
His head turned toward her. His eyelashes flickered. She knew Gunner wouldn’t show emotion here. She’d seen him do this before. He shut down after a kill. Withdrew.
That was the way Gunner worked.
“I wanted to take him in alive,” Gunner said softly. “I wanted to find out why, to find out who’d sent him.”
Because Gunner must think this was a hired killer, just like the mercenary who’d targeted the EOD agents before. She glanced back at the man. Early thirties, blond hair slicked with sweat. She didn’t recognize his face, had never seen him before.
The EOD would find out everything they could about him. They’d run down his fingerprints. Analyze the scene.
Her gaze flickered over him. There was a tattoo on the inside of the man’s wrist. A striking snake. They’d track that tattoo, too. They’d find out who this man was and why he’d been shooting at them.
Gunner still held his gun in his right hand. Sydney tucked her own gun into the waistband of her jeans, then she reached for his weapon. “It’s over now.”
But Gunner shook his head. “No, I’m afraid it’s just getting started.”
* * *
THERE WAS SO much blood on his hands. Gunner knew he’d never be able to wash all of that blood away.