Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(92)

“Don’t lose this guy!” Mark ordered.

Taylor and Izza charged back to their vehicle, in hot pursuit, while Mark and Steven followed in theirs.

“He’s headed for the interstate,” Taylor said as he accelerated alongside the black sedan. It swerved onto the right shoulder and roared around traffic.

“Box him in,” Mark ordered Steven. “Let’s get this sonofabitch.”

Steven hit the shoulder and stuck to the sedan’s rear bumper. In another minute, the vehicle would be on the busy interstate and more lives endangered. The chase had to end now.

“Come on, guys. Taylor! Steven!” Mark urged his junior agents to trap the fleeing sedan between them. “Izza!”

No sooner wished for than done. Izza all but climbed out her window and pointed her weapon into the driver’s window, her ponytail whipping in the wind. “Pull over! Now!”


The sedan jerked forward yet again, but Steven and Taylor had both anticipated the countermeasure. Izza, too. She leaned farther out the window, the barrel of her weapon clattering against the driver’s window glass. “Do it. Over! Now!”

He slowed.

Taylor and Steven matched the sedan’s speed until it nearly stopped. When Taylor angled to block it in, it lurched forward, pushing his vehicle out of its way. A cloud of smoke poured from the sedan’s tires.

The collision nearly knocked Izza out of the vehicle and to the ground. She dangled from the window, cussing a storm of invective into everyone’s earpieces until Taylor stepped on the brakes and jerked her back inside.

“Don’t let him make the on-ramp!” Mark yelled, but the sedan had a jump-start and a healthy lead. It swerved dangerously around traffic and up the on-ramp that fed the interstate, swerving while it dodged vehicles. Horns honked and cars pulled to the left or right to avoid the reckless driver.

Mark blew out an exasperated sigh. “Let him go. Damn it. Let him go. We can’t risk other lives. Head back to the warehouse.” At least they had the other vehicle.

Taylor and Izza were already there by the time Steven and Mark returned.

Damn it to hell. That sedan was gone, too.

Mark’s cell phone rang out from its hip holster. David. What now?

“Yes?” Mark answered it, hating the sense of doom that pervaded every phone call and the migraines that had literally moved inside his skull and set up their throbbing shop.

“I just got off the phone with the police chief. He wanted you to know about Stevenson and Bukowski, the guys who bombed Sullivan’s car.”

“What about ’em?”

“They’ve both got severe radiation poisoning.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


The cab dropped Shelby and Gabe at an impressive five-story brick building in Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, near the King Street metro station. Gabe hurried her through two glass doors that opened automatically at his approach. The small lobby offered nothing but an elevator door and a beautifully crafted tile mosaic of the American flag on the entire wall opposite the entry. Never Forget blazed in crimson red script beneath the rendering.

It stole Shelby’s breath. She had to stop to absorb the masterpiece. With clever use of light and color, the artist captured the regal spirit of the flag towering over her, its colors aloft and rippling as if it were caught on a stiff wind before the gathering storm clouds behind it.

“Just who exactly was Alex Stewart?” she asked, suddenly feeling small and insignificant.

Gabe held the elevator door for her. “USMC scout sniper. Good guy. Why?”

“He loved his country, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He did. You would’ve liked him. He was quite the gentleman with the ladies. Respectful, like men used to be.”

“So tell me again. You were USMC, too? Right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sergeant Gabriel Cartwright, at your service.”

The heat of her arrogance crept over her cheeks. She’d not paid attention when she should have. She wished she had. “What did you do in the military?”

“In the Marines,” he corrected as the elevator door slid closed. He’d automatically assumed a stiffer posture, his back erect, his shoulders squared like he was back in the service of his country. “I served like thousands of other good men and women.”

The elevator pinged at the second level. Gabe placed his palm at the small of her back, escorting her onto a red carpet that led to the center workstation.

The blonde woman at the center desk glanced over the edge of the counter circling her space. Her soft green eyes lit up. She was nothing short of stunning.

Statuesque and full-figured, she was perfectly proportioned with a gold-white topknot drizzling spirals of curls down her neck. Her skinny black jeans with rhinestones running up the side seams shouted ‘Designer!’ The tiny jacket in no way concealed her cleavage, not squeezed into a tank top with horizontal gray and black stripes like it was. The only break in the gray/black color scheme was the teardrop ruby dangling between her breasts. Oh yeah, and the red lipstick on her full lips, an identical match to the gemstone.

“Gabe. Hi,” she exclaimed, a smile warming her face. “Where’s Zack and Kelsey?”

“Someplace safe. Ember, this is Shelby Sullivan. Shelby, Ember Dennison, our resident genius. Where’s everyone else?”