Blaze Read Free Page A

I’m going to find and rescue. Keep your eyes open. If you spot either one, signal me. And stay out of trouble, Ransom, ’cause you’re not on my favorites list. I have enough to think about besides saving your sorry ass.”
    She started toward the ladder leading to the roof again. Luke easily kept pace with her. “When did you become a fucking sniper ?”
    The dig pinged off her psychic shield, leaving a dent. Everything he did, said, thought, left a dent. “Probably about the same time you became a fucking ATF agent .”
    A local deputy stood at the base of the metal ladder, securing it against the building. “Be careful up there.”
    â€œWill do.” Keira slanted the strap of her Remington over her chest and whipped the weapon around to lie against her back.
    â€œWatch where you’re throwing that thing,” Luke groused behind her.
    â€œIf I did,” she shot over her shoulder, “it would break your perfect nose.”
    She scaled the ladder with ease. With cool metal beneath her hands, her quads pumping as she ascended, bittersweet memories of her years as a firefighter flooded her mind. The fact that Luke now tailed her only shoved her into a time warp. And as soon as they landed on the rooftop together, crouched and ready to attack, their three years apart evaporated. No two people worked together better—professionally, if not personally.
    Only now they weren’t focused on drowning a fire. They were hunting a psychotic Russian cult leader holding hostages. Kevlar replaced turnouts, subguns replaced Pulaskis, helmets replaced breathing apparatus. Easy reminders of the bizarre event that changed their lives. All seven members of their hazmat unit had gone into that firefight as ordinary people. Six had emerged permanently altered. One hadn’t survived. Keira often wondered if he had been the lucky one.
    Focus. Get in, hit the target, find the boy, get out.
    She scuttled across the roof toward the single window along the second-story wall, planted her back against the peeling paint, and searched for Luke. He was right there, mirroring her position on the opposite side of the glass.
    Despite the intel Angus insisted was accurate, something felt wrong. Wrong location. Wrong target. Wrong . . . something. And Keira couldn’t tell if the sensation was expert intuition or some enhanced psychic ability, which was really annoying.
    She eased forward, glanced through the window. No one inside the bedroom-turned-office, but the laboratory set up in the corner explained all the sensations Keira had received through Rostov’s image. Sink, microscope, slides, test tubes, beakers, floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted cabinets filled with chemicals.
    What the hell?
    The thought wasn’t Keira’s, although it echoed her own. Luke also squinted through the glass, studying the mini-lab.
    She tilted her chin toward the radio speaker on her shoulder to check in with Angus and pushed the TRANSMIT button.
    An explosion rumbled through the opposite end of the main building, as if Keira’s action had detonated a bomb. Her heart punched toward her throat. In mirror reflex actions, she and Luke braced themselves against the wall. When the roar of the explosion dimmed, she tried again.
    â€œSniper Six to base. Update. Over.”
    â€œBase to SS.” Angus’s cool tone crackled over the radio. “Target has relocated. Hold for intel. Over.”
    â€œDammit.” She dropped her head back against the siding, just a second to catch her breath.
    Is she really the best shot? What the hell is going on here?
    Luke hadn’t spoken. At least not out loud. He still peered around the corner of the building, watching the fire.
    â€œYes,” she snapped. “I really am the best shot, and you are—evidently—still the jackass who thought I’d fall on my face when I joined the Bureau.”
    His head snapped around with a what-the-fuck?