Maverick (Elite Ops 2)

“Micah, wake up!” she screamed as she lost her battle. Those brutal hands grabbed hers, squeezing until she released Micah with a scream of pain.

She was torn from the car with enough force that she slammed to her knees. Scrambling against the grass beneath her, she fought to find her footing, to throw herself back into the car as she screamed out for Micah.

Why wasn’t anyone helping? She could hear the horns, the cars passing. She glimpsed the shocked faces as she was lifted by her hair and thrown toward the SUV.

“Micah!” She couldn’t let this happen. No one would do this unless it was the man sent to kill her.

She tried to see his face, tried to slap the glasses from it, to identify him. She had to get details. Micah would save her. He would need to know what this man looked like. Micah needed to know who Orion was.

“Bitch!” Her claws raked his face as she fought him, twisting and jerking against his hold

, her hands flying out, slapping at him, trying to claw him again.

He was pushing her closer to the SUV. Dragging her by her hair and her arm, trying to throw her inside it. She felt a pinch at her arm and a feral insanity surged through her.

An injection; the bastard had shot something into her arm. Her scream was enraged as she tore as his arm, clawed at his hand, and felt the darkness edging at her vision.

No. No. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let him take her. Micah would never forgive himself. She wouldn’t have a chance to live if this man got her in that SUV.

“Micah!” She felt herself weakening.

Tears streamed from her eyes as her knees collapsed and the darkness began to swell through her. She felt herself falling, felt her face scrape the grass, and before she lost consciousness, she could have sworn she heard a gunshot.

MICAH CAME BACK to consciousness with Risa’s screams ringing in his head. He could hear her terror, the sharp, imperative sound of rage and pain, and he knew in that instant what had happened.

The steering had been sabotaged as well as the brakes. He’d felt the explosion beneath the car a second before everything had gone to hell. He’d almost had a handle on it, almost had them safely out of traffic, when that damned SUV plowed into them.

The air bags hadn’t deployed. Somehow they, too, had been deactivated. A gunshot through the back windshield had also taken out the front one, shattering the already-broken window and throwing glass through the car.

Blood filled his vision as he struggled against his seat belt. It took precious seconds to tear his weapon from the pocket of his jacket and too damned long to struggle to lie across the seats where he could glimpse her struggling with the hulking form of a male trying to push her into the black SUV that had pushed them off the interstate.

He couldn’t see. He swiped at the blood that smeared over his eyes, but the figures were wavering. His vision was fucked the hell up. He was seeing double for too long. He couldn’t tell where she was, and the bastard had her too close. There was no way to fire at the man attempting to take her without possibly hitting her instead.

He had to do something. He pushed himself from the car as he aimed to the side of the assailant and fired. Risa was to his right—well, two Risas. There were two versions of her assailant on the left. Micah fired to the left.

The bastard was still trying to shove her into the SUV.

Micah aimed at the ground and fired again, close to the other man’s foot. Had the bastard jerked?

Risa fell from his grip as he jumped into the SUV. The assailant’s foot was on the gas before his door was closed and Micah was struggling away from the car.

Where the hell was his backup?

He rolled from the car, catching his weight on his shoulder as he struggled to get to her still form where she had been left, crumpled on the ground.

“Risa!” he choked out her name.

God, had he hit her with that bullet? Had his vision been worse than he thought it was?

He could hear sirens, the sound of brakes, and voices rising as he stumbled to her.

“Risa. Baby.” He touched her hair. There was blood on her face, her arm. Her eyes were closed, her body limp.

“Risa. Please. Baby, please.” He hunched over her, rabid fury coursing through him as he fought to run his hands over her body, to check for injuries.

She couldn’t be hurt, he prayed. He couldn’t have shot her. Not Risa. How could he live with himself if he had hurt her, even in his effort to protect her?

Shaking his head, he lifted it, his weapon coming up as a shadow fell over them. Shadows.