Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

There was no time to analyze the phenomenon, so she embraced the infusion of confidence it gave her, then she released the string, and the arrow shot forward. In her mind, she could follow its progress easily as it cut through the night, and she knew the precise instant when it penetrated Carerra’s back and sliced through his evil heart.

She couldn’t pause to savor the victory. Instead, she began to run, closing the distance between herself and the new troops, who were just hitting the ground. Then another fiery bottle flew past her, landing on the wing of the airplane, exploding on impact, and the three armed men went sailing through the air as a spark-filled concussion blast assaulted them.

Jonathan!

Laughing out loud, Miranda looked over at Ortega, who was standing, his hands on his hips, staring at the conflagration. At his feet lay the lifeless body of Tork.

“Good riddance,” she murmured, aiming her pistol steadily as she began to walk toward the guards that had been stunned by the blast. Ortega did likewise, until the chopper touched down, and six men in black uniforms rushed onto the strip to take over.

Miranda scanned the edge of the woods for Kell, finally locating him. He was kneeling, clearly exhausted. Running to him, she pulled him into an embrace. “You were incredible, Jonathan. Just incredible.”

“I’m tired,” he confessed. “Is it over?”

“Yes. Thanks to you.” She hugged him again, then stood to greet one of the SPIN team, who approached cautiously, asking, “Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I’m fine. This man saved our lives. Can you get him a blanket and some water?”

“Sure.” The man leaned down and helped Jonathan to his feet. “Let’s go, buddy. We’ll get you squared away.”

Kell sent Miranda a dazed smile, then limped away, leaning heavily on the soldier.

Ortega walked over to where Miranda was standing and announced, “That freak of nature almost fucking killed me.” Then he grinned. “You okay?”

She nodded.

He motioned toward the helicopter, where Kell was being greeted by what appeared to be a team of medics. “How’s the man of the hour?”

“Exhausted, the poor baby,” she said with a fond smile. “Can you believe how great he was?”

“We couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Make sure you tell him that. It’ll mean so much, coming from his hero.”

“There’s something I want to tell you first.”

She bit her lip. “Right now?”

“Yeah, right now.” He stepped up to her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

“Agent Ortega?” a booming male voice demanded from a few yards away.

Miranda wriggled out of Ortega’s embrace in time to see him scowl and demand, “Russo? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you again, too,” the newcomer said, winking in Miranda’s direction. “Agent Cutler, I presume? I’m Special Agent Justin Russo, at your service.”

Ortega snorted. “Has SPIN lost its mind, sending an FBI agent on an international op? And is that a Red Cross on that chopper? You used a nonmilitary carrier for this mission?”

“We pulled it together pretty fast,” Russo explained, giving Miranda a dazzling smile. “S-3 knew I was vacationing in Lyons, so she recruited me. Luckily, I’m friends with a girl who works for the Red Cross in Geneva. The rest just fell into place.”

“You just happened to know a girl in Geneva? Big surprise. You never change, Russo.”

“Right back at you, Ortega,” the agent said with a chuckle. “I just wanted to report that we’ve rounded up all your strays. Found Benito Carerra shot through the heart with an arrow. And this time,” he reported with a sly grin, “he’s actually dead. I’m guessing there’s a story there, huh?”

Ortega looked at Miranda, who murmured, “Lucky shot.”

“You did it?” Russo whistled. “Maybe you can give Ortega here some lessons. He aims a little high, right?” Before Ortega could answer, the agent insisted, “That’s all I wanted to say. Things are under control, so you two can get back to debriefing each other.”

Ortega glared. But Miranda insisted warmly, “You got here just in time. Thanks, Agent Russo. We really appreciate it.”

“If I’d known how good-looking you were, I’d have been here sooner,” he assured her. “Let us know what you need. I’ll be over there, wrapping up.”

Miranda waited until the handsome agent was out of earshot, then she teased Ortega. “You weren’t very nice to him, considering he saved our lives.”

“He didn’t save our lives. Jonathan did. Plus, that guy aggravates the hell out of me. Always has.”

“I noticed,” she said with a laugh. “He seems nice enough.”

“He thinks he’s James Bond. Running around with women, breaking rules, making flashy entrances like he did just now. It’s all a big joke to him. Kristie’s got a soft spot where he’s concerned, but to me, he’s a menace.”

“Well, I like him.”

“Big surprise. Women always like him. That’s how he gets away with as much as he does. If I were his boss…” He caught himself and laughed. “I almost was. That would have been a nightmare for him. I guess he’s the only one who really benefited from that mess. Speaking of which…” He reached for her again.

“Can we check on Jonathan first? Then-” She slipped her hands behind his head and pulled it forward, gently kissing his lips. “Then you’ll have my undivided attention. I need to talk to you, too,” she admitted.

“Okay. I want to see your handiwork on Carerra anyway.”

She hesitated, then said, “It was such a weird sensation. Even though it was too dark to see him, and he was so far away, I swear I could hear him breathing. I knew just where he was. It was like all of my senses were sharpened. Because of the Night Arrow potion,” she added warily.

“Right,” Ortega drawled. “It was the Night Arrow. Not the hallucinogen in Jonathan’s fear drug.”

“Oh.” She grimaced. “Good point. I forgot about that.” Then she laughed and insisted, “I like my explanation better.”

He laughed, too, then took her by the arm and they strolled over to the helicopter, where Carerra’s body was on display, the arrow still imbedded in his chest. Ortega stopped to admire it, while Miranda walked over to Angelina, who was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. “Hi.”

The widow looked up, her bloodshot eyes vacant.

“We had to sedate her pretty heavily,” a medic whispered. “But she’ll be fine.”

Miranda sighed, knowing that Angelina wouldn’t be “fine” at all. She’d be charged with conspiracy. And she’d be all alone, a nightmare in itself for a woman accustomed to depending on men. Touching her arm, Miranda told her, “I’ll make sure they know what you did. In your own way, you tried to help.”

Angelina nodded, then pulled the blanket high so that it covered her face.

Miranda sighed, then asked the attendant, “How’s Mr. Kell doing? Did you sedate him, too?”

“We made him as comfortable as we could,” the medic murmured. “There was only so much we could do. He lost a lot of blood.”

A chill flashed up her spine. “What are you talking about? What blood?”

Not waiting for an answer, she strode over to the stretchers that were being readied for loading onto the chopper. On the first lay Victor Chen, sound asleep, his face bruised and swollen but his color otherwise good.

Then she saw Kell, his eyes closed, his face pale, an intravenous tube in his arm.

“Oh, my God. Jonathan?” She knelt beside him and took his hand in her own. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, his breathing labored.

She noted a streak of blood on the otherwise pure white sheet covering him, and she steeled herself before taking a peek underneath, where bandages were already seeping, unable to completely stem the flow from two wounds, one under his arm, the other below his throat. To her shock she realized that a single bullet must have gone through him, wreaking havoc with lungs and arteries.