Under The Gun. Lyn Stone
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nodded and released a sigh. “And some rapid eye movement awhile ago. Dreaming, I guess.”
At least he was breathing well on his own, and so far the doctors hadn’t ordered a feeding tube. However, another day or so without his regaining consciousness and they would.
Jack nudged Holly’s arm with the back of his hand. “Go home and grab a nap. You’ve got a case in progress and you can’t run it with no sleep. Go on back to the motel.”
It was standard procedure to have someone on duty whenever a government agent who dealt with special access compartmental classified information underwent medical treatment that required anesthesia, or lost temporary control of his faculties due to illness or injury. Any agent with the appropriate security clearance could be detailed to perform the task, but members of the Sextant team elected to take turns at sentinel duty with one of their own.
The Sextant team, based in McLean, Virgina, was made up of agents that the Director of Homeland Security had recruited from various government organizations expressly for the purpose of preventing or terminating terrorist activities. Holly had been with the FBI. After enlistment in the Marines, Will had worked for Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, along with his twin. Jack Mercier, a National Security Agency alumnus, headed up the team.
Three other agents added to the Sextant pool, also drawing on their former resources.
Joe Corda came directly from the Drug Enforcement Agency and had spent three years before that as an Army Ranger. Clay Senate, CIA veteran, remained something of an enigma. Holly reminded herself that she needed to spend a little more time around Clay so she could figure him out. As a natural loner, he seemed to have the hardest time adjusting to teamwork. Eric Vinland, boy genius and resident psychic, hailed from Navy Intelligence.
She called them her Crayola Kids. Three Caucs, a Hispanic, a Native American and her. They had won her heart even before showing such diligence in helping her look after Will.
There was another, much more personal and compelling reason for stationing someone here than simply following intel regulations. There was a chance Will might be able to identify the shooter.
Whoever had delivered the bullet would be a fool not to finish the job, given half a chance. Whatever it took, the team did not intend to let that happen. No one else could be trusted to guard Will as assiduously as they would.
“My report’s up-to-date,” Holly declared. “Eric’s taking over for me. I can stay.”
“No,” Jack insisted. “Go on, Holly. Get some rest. That’s an order.”
This was the hardest time of all, leaving. More difficult than staying and watching him, praying for any sign of movement. And that was pure hell.
“The feds come by again today?” Jack asked.
“Yes. And the Military Intel rep and also that ATF guy, Collins, both checked in again by phone. I keep telling them they’ll be notified if—when—he comes around. Thank God Will and Matt stopped that plane from taking off. I just hope he’ll be able to tell us something significant when he wakes up.”
Bullets had riddled the small aircraft, and six of the perps loading it had been shot. But the vehicle that had delivered the stolen cache of weapons to the secluded airstrip and, according to the inventory, three of the shoulder-fire Stinger missiles and launchers were still missing.
“Those things are too damn portable, could take out anything in the air up to five miles away. God only knows where they plan to use them.”
“Everybody’s on this, Holly.”
“All right.” She reached out and laid a palm on Will’s shoulder. Just a touch.
They each did that whenever they left him. For luck. Or maybe because they might not get the chance to connect with him again if he didn’t make it through to their next watch.
Tonight Holly’s hand lingered a little longer than usual.
Businesslike, hardheaded, tough-as-nails Holly, who rarely showed any emotion at all, felt as if she was about to cry. Wouldn’t that just tear it? Working as the lone female agent on a team of six, she really needed to prove she could bear up under anything without giving way to tears.
Would Will be amused if he ever found out she had such a soft spot?
What if he never came out of the coma? she couldn’t help thinking. How could she show up at the office every day and face all those reminders of him?
On every mission, she would be thinking about what he could have added, how great it would be just to pick up her cellphone and punch number three, hear his gruff answer, tease him, make him laugh in spite of himself. God, what she would give to hear his laugh again.
Unable to stop herself even though she knew Jack was watching, Holly brushed back the thick, dark wave of hair that half covered Will’s brow. Damage from the bullet, and the surgery to remove it, was healing well.
His hair was too long, she thought, wondering if she should trim it for him tomorrow. It felt damp. Fine beads of sweat dotted his skin.
“It’s hot in here,” she said, more or less to herself.
Suddenly Will’s hand lifted off the bed and struck the side rail with a thunk.
“He moved! Jack, he moved on purpose, I think! Not just a reflex!” she cried. “Will?” Holly leaned over the rail and clutched his shoulder, her fingers buried in the soft folds of his wrinkled hospital gown. “Will, can you hear me?”
Silence dropped like a curtain as Will Griffin opened his eyes and squinted at Holly.
He mouthed the words, “He’s coming.” She watched his throat work, his dry lips move. “Now. Armed,” he whispered forcefully, staring past them, his bloodshot eyes widening, then blinking fiercely.
Was he seeing something they couldn’t?
Holly swung around, drew her weapon and planted herself solidly between Will and any threat just as the door opened. Her peripheral vision showed Jack crouched, his SIG-Sauer automatic a deadly finger pointed in the same direction.
The nurse entering the room dropped the IV bags she was holding and crumpled to the floor. The man directly behind her turned and ran.
“Stay with Will!” Jack snapped. He stumbled, then leaped over the fallen nurse and jerked open the door, which had swung almost shut again.
Holly reached through the rail with her free hand and grasped Will’s. He squeezed her fingers slightly. She bit back a sob of relief, adrenaline rushing through her veins.
A few minutes later, Jack returned to the doorway. “He got away. Without a team to search every room on this floor, every supply closet, every stairwell and elevator, we’ll never find him! Call security and shut this place down.”
He shouted along the hall to the nurses’ station, “Get a doctor in here! Stat!”
Holly grabbed the phone on the table by the bed and snapped orders to hospital security. She watched Jack crouch beside the nurse who had fainted. Then Holly glanced down at Will.
He seemed to be watching Jack, too, head turned to the side. He blinked hard several times as if to focus better.
She clutched his hand tighter. “The guy split, Will, but we’ll get him. Give me a name, hon. That’s all we need. Who was he?”
“Dunno,” he said with great effort. “Ask…Matt.”
Holly winced. Matt hadn’t made it.
“Hey, Holly,” Mercier said. “Look at this.”
“Just a minute, Jack.”
Will wouldn’t know yet that the bullet that had lodged in his head had first traveled straight through Matt. The perp nearly got a two-fer. But Will was going to make it.
He was conscious now, understandably