Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2 by J.L. Saint Read Free Book Online Page B

marshmallow. The last time I dog-sat him, he barked crazily at the UPS man, but the second I opened the door for the package, Caesar went on his back, paws up, begging for a belly rub.”
    Franz tried to laugh, coughed then groaned. “Teach me to go after the biggest dog out there thinking he’d be the most ferocious. Should have gotten a Chihuahua. Shorter stride, easier to catch when it runs off, and it would at least bite toes rather than lick them.”
    “Exactly. How are you feeling? Any major dizziness or numbness?”
    “A little dizzy. No numbness. I can tell you dislocating my shoulder at the homecoming football game my senior year was worse than this.”
    “It’s not the pain I’m worried about. It’s the bleeding.”
    The wail of emergency sirens brought a breath of relief, but then another rifle shot rent the air and Angie’s heart kicked, flipped then raced harder.
    She knew Rico was well trained, but she also knew how debilitating his shoulder injury had been and just how limited his physical capabilities currently were despite his recent surgeries. She had little doubt he could reach the sniper without being shot. Maybe even disarm the bastard because he’d have the element of surprise on his side. It was the subsequent hand-to-hand confrontation that had her knotted up inside.
    But then, she’d been that way in one form or another since the moment he’d sauntered into her hotel room weeks ago. His deep voice with a hint of Latino had her insides vibrating like a tuning fork at perfect pitch.
    Everything about him did something to her. He’d turned her so inside out that she, a trained nurse with years of experience to buffer her objectivity, couldn’t separate herself from him. She hurt when he hurt, and he’d been hurting since day one. He’d never said it. He’d never complained, but she could see the pain and the worry in his dark eyes.
    He was a man who’d walk through fire without a word.
    A soldier, whose heart was still in the fight though his body was too damaged to win.
    The crack of another rifle shot slammed into her knotted fear and she bit back a cry. She didn’t want a dead hero. She wanted a living, vibrant man in her arms. So what twisted game was fate playing now? As if being kidnapped with her godsons by a butchering drug lord last month hadn’t been enough.
    She winged off a prayer for both Rico and Franz and breathed a major sigh of relief at the sight of policemen in protective, tactical gear flood the area. Keeping low and behind the cover of cops were the EMTs. Help had arrived for Franz, but Rico was still out there after the sniper. Alone.
     
    The rifle crack let Rico know he’d pegged the sniper’s hideout. Heart pounding, shoulder throbbing, Rico kept low as he clung to the shadows, running as fast as he could to the sniper’s knoll. About fifty yards into the clearing on his left, a man laid Tango Uniform, the side of his head blown off. The remains of a family picnic—sandwiches, drink boxes, apples—scattered the grass and the abandoned blanket. The frightened cries from the trees on his right told a sad story, and Rico’s blood boiled beneath his skin. The son-of-a-bitching coward!
    “Daaaddy!” A little girl, about three years old, in pink shorts, darted from the trees just ahead of Rico, her pigtails bouncing as she ran toward the dead man.
    Shit. Rico left the shadows and angled into the clearing, aiming to intercept the child. He ran so hard his muscles became knots of pain.
    “Tanya! NO!” A woman carrying an infant appeared from the trees, attempting to go after the child, her dark eyes wide with horror, her complexion ghost pale. She was in shock and trying to cope with the incomprehensible.
    “Get back!” Rico passed her going after the kid. Another bullet hammered the air. The dirt behind the little girl exploded. Rico ran harder. He wrapped his good arm around the child when he reached her and hit the ground at a roll. Pain slammed him like