Sherrilyn Kenyon - Silent Truth

“If I don’t kill the prime minister,” Jackson continued, looking up again, “then three American cities will be hit, each with more severity than the last, bringing the death toll up over a hundred thousand. Subsequent bombings would come with a message that any other countries willing to support the U.S. would do so at risk of the same fate.”

“Why are you willing to put our country into political and possibly armed conflict with your country?”

“I don’t actually have a country. I just perform a duty.”

“You want me to choose between killing an innocent man and destroying three cities? How about maiming you as an option?”

“There is that, but if you so much as cut me I’ll bleed out. I’m a type-B hemophiliac, the most prolific of free bleeders.” Jackson enjoyed showing off his perfectly white teeth again. “Speaking of blood, if you win our game without killing me, you’ll be able to save Abbie and her mother.”

“Your mother, too.”

“Genetic semantics.”

Hunter wanted to hurt this Jackson for so many reasons, Eliot and Abbie topping the list. But unsuspecting civilians would die by the thousands if he made a wrong decision. He had to find out why the shooter had brought him to this spot. “Are you through laying out the rules?”

The killer consulted his watch again, then cocked his head at Hunter. “Wait, it only gets better. You can go save Abbie or you can stop me from killing the prime minister, at which point only one city will be sacrificed when five compact bombs with a new strain of uranium detonate. Bombs capable of taking down nine square blocks in… Chicago, Chicago.” He sang the name of the city like the words from the musical. “The explosion will detonate at the Clark Street Bridge and shake the foundation of your ex-sister-in-law’s condominium building on Wacker. Now, who are you willing to save and who do you sacrifice?”

Todd, Pia, and baby Barrett would be home at Pia’s place.

Hunter struggled to breathe. His heart hammered his chest, threatening to burst from the blood surging through his body.

He had to get word on the bomb location to BAD.

“Abbie,” Jackson said, drawing Hunter back to him, “is hanging off a cliff exactly one hundred feet from here, but you don’t know the direction yet, so don’t get excited. And if you don’t leave in”-the killer glanced at his watch again and looked up-“twenty-six seconds you won’t reach her before the small bomb attached to the tension anchor snaps her connection to the wall. What’s it going to be?”

“You fucking bastard!”

“If you read the hidden files, you know I’m not a bastard. Twenty-one seconds.”

“Where is she?”

“Not yet… fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.” He looked up. “There’s a path six feet above you. At that point go twenty-two yards, then veer directly left and keep going until you reach the ridge.” He grinned at Hunter and counted down. “Six, five.”

Jackson’s finger relaxed from the trigger.

Time for a leap of faith that Mako was now in position.

A gunshot exploded from behind Hunter. The bullet hit the backside of the trigger guard and shattered Jackson’s fingers.

The killer howled in pain. He jerked his hand up in horror, blood spewing out of his ragged fingers.

Hunter kicked Jackson backward, away from the rifle.

Mako burst out of the dark and dove on Jackson, yelling, “We know about Chicago. More agents on the way. Get Abbie.”

Hunter had already taken off running. Joe had sent extra agents. Not that much of a surprise since Hunter hadn’t expected to get out of this clean. Mako had explained during the helicopter flight that if they had to wound Jackson, he’d use a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Mako would inject a clotting agent into Jackson and had no problem tightening the tourniquet to the point of the sniper losing a limb.

Mako had shot “Expert” in the Marine Corps, and was capable of blowing a hole in the enemy with skill that equalled his ability to sew one up in someone he wanted to save.

He’d do whatever it took to keep Jackson alive.

That miserable piece of shit had better survive.

After counting twenty-two yards with running strides, Hunter swung left. He shoved branches out of his way and stumbled over rocks and burst into a clearing at a cliff.

A rope was tied to a tree six feet back from the edge of a cliff. The face fell off for days. He hurried to grab the rope that was slack, which meant the killer had climbed back up from wherever he’d left Abbie hanging.

Hunter looked over the edge into a black abyss.

His heart dropped faster than the blood pressure of a dying man at the sight of her body in a snowsuit dangling in the wind.

Her sobs echoed against the stone.

“Hang on, baby, I’m coming!”

All Hunter had was Eliot’s beat-up karabiner. He hooked the rope through it and looped the tail of the rope around his back in a makeshift rappelling tension, then swung over the side, easing himself down.

“Don’t come down,” she cried. “There’s a… a bomb… it’s-”

“Stay still.”

“Hunter, stop!” she screamed. “You’ll die. Go back.”

He dropped fast, sick with fear he’d reach her too late. When he reached the tension anchor holding her rope sling he spotted the bomb device. It had enough C-4 to start an avalanche. And there was no way to remove the bomb without removing the anchor.

The timer ticked down. Sixty-four seconds, sixty-three…

She begged him between sobs. “Please go back.”

He lowered himself. “I’m not losing you.” When he dropped down beside her he only had another six feet of rope trailing from his waist. Her hands had been tied in front of her.

“We don’t both have to die.”

“We’re not going to.” He hoped. He looped a quick knot at the karabiner, not even sure if the battered piece would still hold, then used his knife to free her wrists. Pulling up the tail of his rope, he threaded it under the rope tied around her waist and made two quick figure-eight knots.

Waves of tremors shook off her, but he couldn’t comfort her yet with seconds flying away. “Hold this rope. Brace your feet apart and keep them against the wall,” he ordered and climbed back up, hand over hand, feeding the rope through his karabiner.

“He told me you’d die trying to save me,” she yelled in a stronger voice, determined to negotiate. “He said-”

“Forget him. Do what I say.” Keeping her alive was not negotiable. He walked his feet against the wall, stopping next to the bomb, and tied off with what slack rope he could pull up. “Look straight ahead,” he ordered.

Twelve… eleven seconds. Disarming the device would be easy. If he had tools.

He reached for his knife. “Abbie, get ready.”

“For what?”

Ten… nine.

“To fall.” He cut the rope sling holding her and grabbed the anchor attached to the bomb as her weight yanked him back.

She screamed when she fell.

His hand slipped off the anchor.

Six seconds… five.

Lunging up against the dead weight towing him down, his fingers hooked on metal. He released the tension clip and yanked the bomb and anchor free, flinging the deadly pair away. “Cover your ears!”

The bomb detonated. Compression and heat boiled off the explosion, but far away from Abbie. “Baby, you okay?”

He didn’t hear anything. “Abbie, goddammit, talk to me.”

“I’m okay,” she yelled.

He started breathing again and almost laughed at her angry tone until she got quiet again.

“But… you can’t get back up with me,” she said in a small voice. Her terror traveled easily in the empty night air, but it didn’t stop her. “He told me… how your friend died. That I had to-”