The crosshairs hovered over Garcia — beautiful Veronica, with her curvy hips and full breasts. Her body alone was enough to make her a target. The sniper allowed herself the hint of a smile. I ought to send you a bullet, she thought. If only to get you out of the way. It would be a favor to all others of our sex. But no, that was not quite right, either. She and Quinn were a couple, but girlfriends came and went. Garcia’s death might not cause the magnitude of emotion that was needed…
She’d saved the most likely for last.
Godlike, the sniper watched little Mattie swing on her papa’s outstretched arm. There was an undeniable bond between a father and his precious daughter. The woman holding the rifle knew that from experience. Her own father had taught her how to kill a man when she was much younger than Mattie Quinn.
Target acquired, she took note of a light crosswind coming from her left, estimating it at less than five knots. She adjusted her windage and elevation for the drift and drop that would affect the 250-grain bullet during its quick journey of 3,900 feet. She parked the peppermint next to her back teeth and slowed her breathing — allowing her mind to clear. Buddhists called it mu-shin or no thought. Inhaling slowly, she released half, then held it. The picture in the scope came into crisp focus. All else around her fell away.
Jericho Quinn and his precious little girl threw their heads back in laughter as the trigger broke with a crisp snap. The powerful rifle bucked in the woman’s hands. Quinn would live for a few hours more, but in the space of his next heartbeat, he would be done with such laughter forever.
CHAPTER 2
“It really is time to go,” Kim said, her voice an exasperated sigh.
Mattie gathered the hem of her dress for another giant leap into her father’s arms.
“Listen to Mom, kiddo,” Quinn said, his arms still outstretched, ready for Mattie’s last leap. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
Kim moved closer, ready to snatch her out of the air in midjump. “Guess I have to be the bad guy—”
Quinn heard the crack of a supersonic bullet as it hissed past. He was all too familiar with the downrange pop of gunfire. Time seemed to unhinge and slow as if he were moving through life a half step faster than everyone around him. Voices, screams, the sound of running footsteps became muffled and low.
A lock of his daughter’s dark ponytail lay on the concrete walk at his feet, neatly clipped by the passing bullet while she clung to his neck.
Forcing himself to exhale, Quinn grabbed Mattie by the face with both hands, scanning her for wounds. He was rougher than he should have been. Startled, she began to cry but was otherwise fine. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Garcia, who nodded immediately that she was unharmed. Behind her and nearer the steps, Steve Brun had his new bride and everyone around them moving toward the opposite side of the chapel, out of the line of fire. An Air Force Special Operator like Quinn, Steve knew the drill.
Thibodaux was also well accustomed to the unique sound of bullets flying in his direction and shooed his wife and boys toward the relative safety of the cadet chapel’s lower level.
The distant pop of a rifle moaned in on the breeze, and Quinn made a subconscious mental note of the time between the bullet’s passing and the report.
He handed Mattie off to Garcia, shouting for them both to run toward the stairs as he reached for Kim’s hand. She’d dropped at the shot and lay blinking up at him as if dumbfounded. Gary Lavin stood over her, staring cow-like, still with no idea what all the fuss was about.
Quinn tried to pull Kim to her feet but she resisted.
“Jericho…” Her face had gone pale.
Quinn’s breath caught hard in his throat when he realized her leg was bent at an impossible angle, crooked at midthigh. A crimson stain crept from beneath the perfect blue fabric of her dress, blossoming against the concrete beneath her.
“Oh… Jer…” The words caught in her throat, strangled. “I’m… shot…”
Lavin offered all the help of a blank stare.
Fearful of a follow-up attack, Quinn scooped Kim up in his arms to run toward the chapel. He kept her leg as immobile as he could to keep from causing further damage, but the most important thing was to move to cover. She was so much lighter than he remembered. Blood soaked his white shirt from bow tie to cummerbund by the time they reached the cover of the concrete buttresses surrounding the lower chapel. Kim’s head and shoulders shook from fear and shock.
Thibodaux had drawn his pistol and stood at the end of the lower walkway outside the chapel, alert for secondary threats. He subscribed to Quinn’s motto of See One, Think Two.
Camille Thibodaux adopted Mattie into her little clan for the moment, shielding her along with all her boys.
Major Brett Moore called base security with his calm, pilot-in-command voice to let them know about the attack and to get an ambulance rolling. Claxons sounded seconds later, warning USAFA cadets to shelter in place or move into the nearest building if they happened to be outside.
“I need your help here,” Quinn said to Garcia, forcing himself to stay calm, though he felt as if his heart was about to explode.
She nodded, returning a small Kahr pistol to the holster suspended below her bra. She knelt on the concrete and pressed the palm of her hand where Quinn directed, high on Kim’s thigh, next to her groin, putting pressure on the femoral artery.
Pushing back a rising panic, Quinn peeled off his uniform waistcoat and stuffed it under Kim’s legs. She moaned, her head falling to one side on the cold concrete walk.
“Her pulse is over the top,” Garcia whispered.
“Stay with me, Kimmie.” Quinn yanked up the hem of her dress, tracing the arcing fountain of blood back to its source midway up her thigh. The entry wound was relatively small, roughly the size of his thumb, but high-speed bullets are made to tumble when they hit bone, and this one had done its job perfectly. Striking Kim’s femur roughly four inches above the knee, it had bounced end over end in an upward line, literally mowing away bone and muscle. Much of her thigh was an unrecognizable piece of burger.
Fumbling through blood, bone, and flesh, Quinn pushed the fact that he was working on his high school sweetheart out of his mind. The femoral artery was fairly easy to locate. It was the diameter of a wooden pencil and arcing fountains of blood at each pulse of Kim’s weakening heart. But getting a hold on it amid the mess of snot-slick gore so he could stop the bleeding was another matter entirely. Had it been completely severed, she might have bled out before he’d gotten her to cover. Even nicked as it was, her life expectancy could be measured in seconds.
Quinn moved Ronnie’s hand down to the wound and used a wadded piece of Kim’s dress to apply direct pressure over the bleeder. He yanked off his tie with bloody hands and ripped away his shirt. Using his teeth, he tore away a long strip of cloth to use as a tourniquet, smearing his face in red during the process. Field medicine was a grisly business. Looping the cloth around her thigh, he pulled it snug well above the wound, remembering the tactical medic’s mantra High or Die.
Kim gave a rattling cough. Wincing. Pain had finally worked its way through the initial shock. “You’re welcome.” She forced a grin, peering at him through dazed eyes. “You’ve wanted to get out of that tie all day.”
“Good girl,” Jericho said. His heart was a stone in his throat. “Keep talking to me.” He pulled the cloth tight, knotting it, and then glanced at Lavin, who stood over them wringing his hands.