Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(105)

“Copy that. I see them now.”

Mark and his team continued toward Becker.

“Three ambulances approaching from the west on Constitution,” Ember advised more calmly.

“Say again? I don’t hear any sirens,” Mark said.

“They’re running silent on your six. Wait. There’s four now.”

“Get your ass out of there,” Gabe urged. “I’m telling you. Something’s not right.”

Mark ignored Gabe’s prompt to retreat. “Got Becker and his buddy in my sights.”

Becker and his friend approached with long, confident strides. The other man’s face was as indiscernible as before, this time shielded behind dark glasses, the upturned collar of his jacket, and a ball cap with the brim pulled low.

An ambulance rolled by, temporarily blocking Gabe’s view. “Move, damn it.”

Mark grunted. “What the h...”

“Boss?” Gabe asked. “Say again.”

Mark never came back. When the ambulance passed by, he and Rory were on their hands and knees. Taylor and Izza, too.

“Rory! Oh, my God! Mark! They shot Rory!” Ember came unglued. “They shot all of them!”

Gabe jumped to his feet. “No,” he ground out. “They couldn’t have. I heard no gunfire.”

“But... But...”

He dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Knock it off. They’re not dead, damn it. Watch.”

He gulped as the worst-case scenario unfolded before his eyes. Mark’s earpiece would have relayed the loud pop of gunshots. Hell, Taylor, Rory, and Izza’s headpieces would all have caught the same report, but none of them had. What the hell was going on?


Becker pointed to the now prone figures on the sidewalk. Two men who Gabe assumed were medics hurried out of the nearest ambulance to the men. Becker crouched near Mark and tugged his earpiece out of his ear.

The last thing Gabe heard was the drawl, “You won’t need this anymore.”

The bastard had the gall to smile up at the traffic cam as if he knew exactly where to look. As if he knew Gabe were watching.

“No!” Ember shrieked. “God, No!”

The scene got more bizarre. Paramedics appeared out of nowhere. They lifted Mark and his team onto gurneys in no time.

None of the agents resisted. Not once. They all certainly looked dead.

Wait just a damned minute.

Gabe brushed Ember out of his way, needing to see two of those medic’s faces up close and personal. He captured a still shot and zoomed it. Sonofabitch!

“That’s the same guys who showed up when Alex got shot. They were here. In our garage. It’s them! Damn it to hell. What’s going on?”

The medics applied blood pressure cuffs and oxygen masks to each agent before they loaded them into separate ambulances. In the meantime, Becker’s buddy in black set a brisk pace eastward on Constitution. Straight for the White House.

“They killed him,” Ember whimpered. “They killed Rory and my guys.”

“No,” Gabe corrected. “There was no gunfire, Ember. This is a set-up. Mark and David walked straight into an FBI dragnet. Shit. Becker knew they’d be there. He knew we’d be watching.

“We need to do something,” Shelby insisted.

Gabe looked down at her hand in his. He hadn’t remembered grabbing onto it, but there it was. She was right, damn it.

The Marine in him snapped to command. “Gear up, ladies. We’re going to war.”




If Mom could only see me now.

Gabe had made good on his promise. Not only did he entrust Shelby with two weapons she had no idea how to shoot, she also now toted a backpack loaded with a bunch of stuff she didn’t know how to use, either.

Gabe was a man on fire. He’d had no other choice. They’d literally hit the ground running with him in the lead. How Ember could keep up in three-inch glam heels was another thing altogether. But the woman had changed from competent techie to kick-ass warrior. Warrior-ess? Whatever.

The backpack slung over Ember’s shoulder, combined with the holster on her hip, made her a blonde version of Lara Crofts, the heroine of the Tomb Raider mystique. The sharp staccato of her heels made her intentions clear. She meant business.

Gabe commandeered a SUV in the lower-level parking garage. They crossed the Potomac in no time. Shelby rode shotgun with Ember belted behind her in the center seat.

“Keep an eye out for any FBI van.” Gabe peered to the left and right as he drove. “Fallon’s probably parked it by now.”

“Just to be clear, where’s our first target?” Ember asked.

“World War II Memorial. To the President.”

“But Rory and Mark aren’t—”

He gritted his teeth. Tonight was about saving more than just their teammates. She had to have known that when she’d geared up. “Ember. President Adams is our number one priority until we know where the Vice President is. I’m sorry.”

“No, I get it,” she replied softly, but all Shelby heard was the hurt in Ember’s voice and another metal on metal sound. A gun being racked. A round chambered.

And there she was, Shelby Sullivan, a darned good healthcare provider when Gabe needed a weapons expert to cover his back, someone like Ember.

She fingered the leather strap, tracing the outline of the weight concealed beneath a light TEAM jacket and over a heavier tactical vest as her mind went back to that moment in The TEAM vault. The armory. The tender look in his eyes when he’d slipped the holster over her left shoulder had startled her, but more startling—the regret she thought she’d detected.