Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,49
shaking like a leaf, but there were no words for what she’d just seen this warrior in action accomplish. It was as if he could see. Every time he’d aimed and fired, he’d taken out one of Delaney’s men. Every shot had been on target, but now more killers were on their way into the house. They’d be down here soon. There was no way out. Not even through the vent. She wouldn’t leave Jameson behind this time.
Wearily, she pressed her forehead to the center of his sweat-soaked back. The intimacy of their shared dilemma, their concern for each other, and the very real possibility they could die in the next few minutes, had stitched them together like matching mittens. He being the more adept right, her the clumsy, unreliable left.
Her nostrils flared at the salty scent of the man she meant to die for. Or live for, that’d be even better. But they were outnumbered again. How long could a blind man fight off all these monsters? How long could she?
His free hand reached behind him and found her biceps. “Hang in there, babe,” he said with a firm squeeze.
“I know. One step at a time,” she breathed. “That’s how we get the tough jobs done.”
“That’s right. Whatever you do, stay behind me.” He ended the moment with another squeeze, then dropped to a knee and reloaded the stubby rifle in his hand.
She’d never seen anything like it before. Couldn’t be more than twenty inches long. And he was jamming shotgun shells into a magazine? “What kind of shotgun is that?”
“High capacity. You want to use it this time?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “I’m afraid I might—”
“Kill everything that moves? That’s the point, Maddie. Don’t forget who was behind the jet blowing up around us or our abduction. Shade and Delaney started this. The only way out is when we end it.”
When, not if… Licking her too dry lips, she swallowed hard. “I know but… h-h-he’s dead.”
“And we’re not, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Whoever those guys are who just arrived, they’re in the room overhead.”
“It’s a kitchen. This is an old farmhouse.”
“Let me guess, you started the fire.”
She nodded, then spoke up with a hearty, “Yes. I had a plan. But then everyone started shooting.”
He shook his head, his eyes on the floor. “That was me, Maddie. I thought it was our plan. I create a distraction while you run for help, remember? Wish you’d stuck to it.”
“Well, err…” He was right. This was her fault.
The oddest, most welcome, “Clear!” sounded upstairs.
Jameson cocked his head like he did when he was listening extra hard, which Maddie realized was most of the time. His free arm snaked around her. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “And don’t shoot until we know for sure who we’re up against.”
“Well, yeah…” Did he think she was an idiot? “But that sounds like the FBI up there. That’s what they always say. Clear.”
“But we don’t know for certain yet. We hold,” he murmured, his body warm and solid, the only thing holding her together. “I’m glad you came back.”
“Oh, sure. I’m insubordinate. Never would’ve made a good Marine.”
“But you applied good tactical strategy, and you implemented a solid rescue plan. Tell me what else you did.”
“I slashed their tires. All of them. I stole the limo I found in the barn. I think it was Shade’s, and I stashed it down the road behind some bushes. I saved a guy. Mr. Vlad. He was in the barn, and Shade shot him, and I used my—”
“Did he live?” Jameson grinned when he asked.
But Maddie’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course he lived, but I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry. You’re the expert. Alex will be angry. He’ll say I screwed the pooch.”
“No, he won’t, Maddie. He doesn’t come across like that kind of guy. And even if he’s angry, it’s more important you think for yourself than blindly follow orders. I learned that the hard way. Things turn out better when you use your head and trust your instincts. Always follow your gut.” Jameson breathed, his face turned toward the ceiling again, his unseeing eyes blinking as if he’d heard something he didn’t like. “And that guy you saved would be dead if not for you, right?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “He’s not part of this mess we’re in.”
“Then why’d Shade shoot him? Shhhhh… Listen.”
“To what?” she whispered.
“Irish brogue. That’s not the FBI upstairs, babe. Hurry. Reload.”