Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,2

had been bliss.

And then it had ended when my past had reminded me that I wasn’t good for him.

I was seriously fucked up, parts of me permanently broken, never to be reformed, and so . . . I’d made it crystal clear there could be no future.

I’d pretended nothing had changed between us.

Even though everything had changed.

After reality struck, I’d rebuffed him at every opportunity, pushed him away until he’d retreated. It hadn’t been easy, but I’d perfected locking down every soft feeling. And . . . we worked together. It was either get along, pretend there wasn’t anything between us, or move to a different team at KTS.

It was only after I’d threatened the last that he’d stopped pushing.

So, here we were.

On a mission, me pretending so hard to hate him, it almost seemed like reality. Except, of course, for the memories that wouldn’t stay locked away, the way my body remembered his, wanted him.

“Enough, Ava,” I whispered.

He’d saved my ass more than once, so I was going to return the favor. Maybe I wouldn’t ever be the type of woman who would hug him or tend to his boo-boos.

But I knew something about loyalty.

How important it was. How much it hurt when it wasn’t there.

I might not be a normal woman, had been shattered into too many pieces inside to ever have any hope of that, but I could be a good agent.

And I was a damned good sniper.

No shaking hands. No targets missed.

I sighted. I squeezed the trigger. They went down—

There.

I caught the flicker of movement, trained my sights on the target through my scope—it wouldn’t do to take out an innocent—and maybe it should have worried me, how detached I’d become to the killing that I barely gave the thought a consideration—and only a cavalier one at that—but I had a job to do that was more important than gentle emotions and civilian worries.

Get out alive.

Get Dan out alive.

Get the files back to headquarters.

Movement in the shadows. Closing in on Dan. Fuck. I wasn’t in a great position myself, had moved to get eyes on him, and now I was potentially exposed.

But my partner in this was a fucking sitting duck.

One that I’d told to stay there.

I had to take care of this.

Kneeling, I rested my rifle on a ledge on the upper story of the abandoned building. It was falling apart, didn’t offer much protection. But it was in the shadows, and I had a clear sight line.

I adjusted my glasses, the ones I despised having to wear, but the ones that also made it so I could site the enemy through my scope as he stepped closer to Dan, and my finger went to the trigger of my rifle, rested on the curved piece of metal.

A glint as the man extracted a weapon.

Another layer of FUBAR because I knew there were more bad guys around but hadn’t been able to pinpoint their locations.

The man took another step, and—

No more time.

Ready. Set. Squeezing the trigger slowly and steadily so as not to be surprised by the gun firing.

Pop.

“Move,” I hissed to myself the second the bullet was away.

My shot hit its target, and the man collapsed. But it was dark, and the moment I’d taken the shot, the flash of light emanating from the barrel of my rifle meant my position was compromised.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The bullets collided with the wall behind me, ricocheting off the steel siding, sending tiny arrows of metal exploding into the air.

One sliced across my cheek, a slight burn of pain I barely felt.

Because I was flying.

Jumping down from my perch, landing on the ground in a crouch that both saved my knees from injury and made me a smaller target. Footsteps clattered on the concrete, closing in on me, but I’d spent years training for exactly these kinds of missions. I burst into movement, my rifle spun to rest on my back, a knife from the holster strapped to my calf already in my hand, and burst to my feet, erupting in a flurry of violence toward the first enemy to approach.

Not expecting a frontal attack, he stumbled back a step before engaging me in hand-to-hand combat.

But I’d already taken advantage of the opening my assault had given me.

A precise slice to the thigh had the man dropping to his knees. A strike to the back of his head knocked him unconscious.

I heard rather than saw him collapse because I was still moving.

Thunk.

My knife sunk into a throat as I