Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(143)

“I’m sorry I can’t let you watch what I do to your lover, but I have to backtrack some. You might make a sound that would warn him. Can’t have that, now can we?”

Picking up the sniper rifle, carrying it in the crook of his arm, Eduardo began moving back toward the hide location he had selected for the kill.

The clear night was unusually warm for this time of year, especially in Colorado. The moon was perfect, giving off just enough light for the Ripper to follow Eduardo’s trail, but not enough for Jack to spot him in the brush. Sliding into position, Eduardo nestled the stock of the rifle against his cheek, adjusting the focus on the sniper-scope as his view swept the small draw leading up to his position. This was where the Ripper would come.

The slope was gentle, and there was no avoiding the clearing below without leaving the trail. He didn’t think the Ripper would leave the trail and circle around to reacquire it. That would take time he didn’t have.

In the distance, a movement attracted his attention. He centered the scope on it. There it was again, just a flash of movement within the concealment of the brush. Eduardo let the crosshairs slide along with the disturbance. It wouldn’t be long now until the Ripper entered the clearing. Not long at all.

The man was being careless. It was almost as if he wanted to be seen. Eduardo would have expected him to suddenly appear, sprinting across the open space in some sort of zigzag fashion that would make the shot more difficult. If he entered at this pace, it was going to be like shooting a deer at the feeder.

The Ripper’s next action was even stranger. He stepped into the clearing and stopped, his head in the air like a hunting animal sniffing the breeze.

The crosshairs moved across the Ripper’s face, steadying on the spot where the bridge of his nose met his forehead. Right between the eyes.

A glint of red caught Eduardo’s attention. Weird. It was almost as if the Ripper was staring directly at him. And both eyes flickered with that same crimson glow. It looked a little like animal eye shine. Eduardo had seen it in the black leopards of the Amazon. But it reminded him of something else too, something he hadn’t thought of in years.

Back in those horrible childhood days in the slums of Lima, his witch of a mother had locked him in a small, dark root cellar whenever she’d gone out. To keep him from crying out, she’d filled his head with tales of a demon that hunted such dark places, a demon with eye sockets filled with flame, a thing attracted by loud sounds. The being had a name.

Rangon. The Harvester of Souls.

Eduardo shifted his focus back to the crosshairs.

“What the hell?”

The Ripper was no longer in his sight. Eduardo’s eyes swept the clearing. Nothing. How the f*ck had that happened? How long had he been distracted? Surely not more than a few seconds.

Rising to his feet, Eduardo shifted positions. Although it was unlikely that the Ripper had really seen him, there was no use taking any chances. He couldn’t believe he’d hesitated on a shot. That had never happened to him before. Never.

Not that it mattered. He’d rather take the Ripper up close anyway. That desire to carve the Ripper up hand to hand must have caused his reluctance to shoot. That would be the only path to true satisfaction.

The brush to his left parted and once again the Ripper stepped out, this time with a long knife in his right hand. Eduardo turned toward the other assassin, a smile spreading across his face. The Ripper was betting on what Eduardo wanted.

Perfect. Dropping the rifle, Eduardo slid his own blade from his pocket, the click of the stiletto loud in the semidarkness.

Then Eduardo moved, his newfound speed and strength eliminating the six feet that separated the two, driving the blade deep into the Ripper’s throat.

But somehow, the thrust failed to find its target. Precisely anticipating the move, his wrist was met with a twisting block, the pressure adding to his own forward momentum, sending him tumbling away.

Feeling the Ripper’s blade graze his side, Eduardo twisted violently in the air, barely avoiding being impaled on the counterthrust. As he rolled back to his feet, a new thought dawned in his head. If he hadn’t been remade by the artifact, he would now be very, very dead.

But he had been remade. And one lucky counterstrike was about to be repaid. Eduardo moved more cautiously now, circling his opponent as he watched for an opening. He thrust out in a lightning-quick motion that was met by a slight shift of the Ripper’s knife hand, the blade slicing into the back of Eduardo’s forearm.

It wasn’t a deep wound, but it surprised him. Eduardo played back the sequence in his head. He was moving much faster than the Ripper, but somehow his opponent was anticipating his moves. Was it possible that Eduardo was subtly telegraphing his intentions?

El Chupacabra feinted left, then swooped in for an underhand strike at the midsection. Again, the cutting blade of his enemy awaited him, slashing across his thumb, deflecting his knife strike harmlessly to the side. Blood dripped from his hand, the red wetness making the knife handle slick in his palm.

Changing his grip to the left hand, Eduardo tried again, then again. The last stroke managed to partially penetrate the Rippers defenses, inflicting a cut high up on his shoulder but missing the throat. Emboldened, Eduardo reversed the blade and came in hard toward the same area, but this time it backfired, the force of his blow impaling his left hand on the Ripper’s blade, the assassin twisting it as Eduardo withdrew, breaking at least two bones and sending the stiletto spinning to the ground beneath the Ripper’s feet.