Page 33 of A Shot at Love
“Stay here,” he commanded. “Don’t move.”
Raw and stark terror drenched her face when she looked up at him.
“Understand?”
She nodded a staccato assent.
Ky stood cautiously, every muscle in his body tensed, the sound of gunfire coming from his right.
He slithered to the doorway then plastered his body against the frame as more shots rang through the house. A flash of movement came from his left and he spied a figure drenched in black, a hood barring his face, an automatic weapon braced in his hands. He spotted Ky and took a stance.
Ky was quicker. He fired first, once toward the head, once, the body.
The gunman went down, his weapon banging from his hands.
Ky kept his gun trained on the man as he approached, kicked the gun across the floor, and checked him.
Dead.
The blast of more gunfire made him drop to a squat and position himself behind the staircase bannister. The commotion was centered to his right, the living room.
Suddenly, an eerie silence boomed in the house.
Ky, his weapon at the ready, mentally counted to five.
“Jon?”
When he got no response, he moved stealthily down the hallway.
The living room was in shambles, the front window blown, the walls littered with caverns from the bullets.
Another body, identically dressed as the first, lay across the entrance to the den.
Just as Ky checked the man’s status, a faint, “Papps?” met his ears.
Jon was sprawled across the floor, his gun gripped in his hand, a deep crimson stain drenching the front of his shirt.
“I’m hit,” he said when Ky reached him.
“Did you see anyone else?” he asked. He tucked his gun into his shoulder holster, then ripped Jon’s ruined shirt apart. A single hole lodged squarely in Jon’s upper arm spewed bright red blood from its center. Ky took the edge of the shirt and pressed down hard.
A hiss blew past his partner’s lips. “No. I think there were only two.” His color was pasty, sweat drenching his brow and upper lip.
The faint sound of sirens tinged the air. While putting pressure on his partner’s wound, Ky pulled his cell phone from his belt and pressed a single number. A voice answered immediately.
“What?”
“We’ve been attacked,” Ky said without a greeting.
“Status?”
“Two intruders down.”
“Agents?”
“Winters is hit. I haven’t found LaRoux and Coble.”
“Get out of there, Papps. Take your witness. Contact me when you can.”
“Winters—”
“Now!”
The call disconnected.
Jon looked up at him. “Gemma?” he asked. He swiped his tongue across his mouth.
“I’m here,” she said from behind them.
Ky’s head snapped up.
Gemma ran to them, her gaze flitting from Ky to Jon. Her eyes were wide and glazed, her skin alabaster white. She still had her camera slung around her neck. Relief surged through him when he realized she hadn’t been shot during the firefight.
When she dropped to her knees next to them, his relief flew and anger got the better of him. “I told you to stay out of sight!”
She stopped short, glared at him, her brows tugging together, and for a moment he was afraid she’d lash out at him for yelling at her. But in the next second she pursed her lips, and, silently dismissing him, gave her attention to Jon. She yanked off her hoodie, then pushed Ky’s hand and the drenched shirt out of the way and placed the garment over Jon’s wound.
“We need to keep pressure on this.” A shaking warble drowned her voice. “I hear sirens. That means help’s on the way.”
“You’ve got to get out of here.” Jon laid a hand over the one she held across his wound. “They know where you are.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Jon shook his head. His color paled even more and a swift gasp shot from him.
“Don’t move,” Gemma said. “Please.”
“Papps?”
Ky looked down at his partner.
“Take her out of here.
“Jon—”
“I’ll be fine. But if they found her once…”
He didn’t need to finish. Ky nodded, hating to leave his partner, but it had to be done. They were sitting targets.
