Sharpshooter (Shadow Agents 3)

The men didn’t speak.

Sydney did. “Gunner, can you close your eyes?”

Because she must have on a covering just like his. She’d be able to see a little bit, just as he could. And Sydney didn’t want him seeing her die.

“Yes,” he said, even as he kept his eyes wide open. This wasn’t happening. He wouldn’t let it happen. Not to her.

He yanked on the rope that bound his wrists. Felt it give way. Just. In. Time.

“Thank you,” Sydney said softly. “And, Gunner, I—”

An explosion rocked the tent, and Gunner’s chair fell to the side. He yanked out with his hands, shattering the chair legs and pulling free from the ropes that bound his legs.

Voices were crying out. Yelling. And more explosions—they sounded like thunder, but he could feel the heat from the blasts—blasted through the camp. Footsteps pounded out of the room. More shouts.

More fire. He could smell the acrid scent.

“Sydney!”

He yanked the sack off his head and rushed to her. She’d fallen back, too, and, at first, he didn’t think she was moving at all. Had they killed her before the explosion? Had that sick jerk with the knife hurt her?

But then she groaned, and he saw her hands come up. She’d worked her wrists free, too. Of course she had. That was his Sydney.

He clawed away the ropes that bound her feet and jerked that sack from over her eyes. With his breath heaving, he stared down at her, desperately looking for blood.

Her eyes were wide and bright. As always, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he ached.

Slade’s alive.

He swallowed and pulled Sydney to her feet. “What the hell were you doing?” Gunner demanded. “I wanted their attention on me.”

She blinked, and some of the brightness seemed to leave her gaze. “Sorry, I was just doing my part to keep you breathing.” She bent down and picked up a sharp chunk of wood, one of the remnants from her chair’s legs. “You’re welcome.”

His hold on her left wrist tightened. “Next time, try to keep yourself alive instead.” Because to him, she was the priority.

Gunfire burst out into the night then, firing with a rat-a-tat that was too familiar to him. “Our backup is here.” Just in time. He’d have to thank Cale and Logan with a round of beer later.

After they all got out of that jungle.

First order of business...get better weapons. That wood of Sydney’s wouldn’t last long. They’d get weapons, then hurry out there to provide support to the other EOD agents.

Moving like shadows, he and Sydney slid to the front of their tent. Their guards were gone. From what Gunner could see, chaos had taken over the camp. Men were running everywhere, shooting wildly.

Cale wouldn’t be positioned close, and those shots being fired so wildly from the rebels wouldn’t hit him. The guy was a sniper, too. Not ex-SEAL like Gunner, but a Ranger sniper who’d survived some of the deadliest places on earth.

Cale’s shots were deliberate, timed perfectly. Gunner realized that the explosions had been his handiwork, too. Cale knew far too much about demolitions.

Gunner scanned the area and found his target. Fifteen feet away. The man who was holding up his gun and staring into the jungle, not even glancing around to cover his back.

“I’ve got you,” Sydney said. “Go ahead.”

She’d be covering Gunner’s back. He knew he could count on her.

He might be a sniper, but he could still handle up close combat just fine. He’d learned those fighting techniques long before he’d let Uncle Sam talk him into being all he could be.

Gunner rushed silently forward. His target never had a chance to fight him, much less to fire his weapon. Gunner swiped out with his hands, an attack designed to take out his opponent, and before the man’s body fell, Gunner had the fellow’s gun in hi

s hand.