Page 89 of Disavowed

With the detonator in one hand, Marsden shoved Shane away from him and fired a round into the man’s kneecap. Shane screamed and dropped like a stone, clutching his knee.

Dom squeezed the trigger. The single shot blast echoed off the ceiling. Through the scope, he saw a red dot appear dead center on Marsden’s forehead. The colonel froze, as if suspended in time.

The detonator was still clutched in his hand. They’d know in a heartbeat whether he’d pressed the button before the signal from his brain to his finger had been cut off by the bullet. The small device fell to the floor an instant before Marsden did.

For a few more seconds, Dom held his breath. The building didn’t explode. Calming himself, he exhaled slowly.

One threat down. Now for Smith.

Masses of screaming people streamed from the ballroom.

Instinct took over. He was back in Afghanistan, taking out enemy combatants with the cold, calculation of a finely honed Delta sniper. He shifted right, centering the rifle’s crosshairs on where he’d last seen Smith. But he was no longer there.

Wrenching his gaze from the scope, he searched the panicked crowd for a red dress. He easily picked Daisy out amidst the mass of people running for the doors.

Smith still had his arm around her neck, dragging her with him, trying to escape along with the four hundred others desperately scrambling for safety.

Remain cool. Detach.

He sighted in, trying to align the crosshairs on Smith’s head, but the crowd was moving too quickly. One minute he had a clear shot and the next, Smith’s head ducked out of sight, hidden by Daisy’s body or someone else pushing and shoving their way through the mass of people clogging the lobby.

Still aimed in, he tracked their movement. The fucker was smart, keeping his back pressed against the wall. With Daisy’s natural height plus her heels she was nearly as tall as Smith, enabling him to use her body effectively as cover.

Dom wished like hell he had a true sniper rifle. The shot was less than twenty-five yards and with no wind to impact the bullet’s trajectory. But it wasn’t a sniper rifle.

You can do this. Her life depends on it.

People continued swarming into the lobby, screaming and tripping over each other while Gray and the other uniforms tried unsuccessfully to calm the fleeing crowd. Smith worked his way slowly to the doors, his arm gripping Daisy tightly around her throat. The scope gave Dom a clear image of her face, and it was all he could do not to fixate on the sheer terror in her eyes.

He lined up on Smith’s nose and was about to take the shot when Smith yanked Daisy tighter to his chest. Fuck. If he’d taken the shot just then, he would have drilled her between her eyes.

His control began to slip. His vision blurred, and he blinked to clear it.

I can’t do it. There’s no way.

Not without divine intervention. Still, he had to try. Without him, Daisy didn’t stand a chance. She knew too much. If Smith got her outside, he’d kill her.

Again he sighted in, forcing his heart to slow until he barely heard the telltale thump indicating it was beating at all. He began applying pressure to the trigger. Wait for it. Wait for it.

With his finger poised to take the shot, his wounded shoulder spasmed and his arms shook so badly he could barely hold the rifle. His vision began blurring even worse as the blood loss caught up with him. He released the trigger. Shit. If he couldn’t take the shot soon, he doubted he’d be able to do it at all.

Never give up. Never surrender. Never say die.

Renewed conviction thrummed through his head. He returned his finger to the trigger, refocusing, about to risk a shot, when Daisy released her death grip on Smith’s wrist. She clenched her right hand into a fist, then cocked her elbow and rammed it backward into Smith’s gut. She followed with an uppercut jab to his jaw and a sideways punch to his face.

Smith’s eyes widened in shock, and as he turned his head to the side, making a grab for Daisy, Dom squeezed the trigger.

Blood and gray matter splattered the wall, some of it spraying onto Daisy’s face and chest.

Smith slid to the floor. Daisy stood rooted, her chest heaving.

She was alive.

Dom eased his finger from the trigger and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. His heart began beating so frantically he felt as if he were having a heart attack. He fell to his hands and knees, his entire body shaking. The rifle clattered as it fell from his hands and landed on the balcony floor.

Images he’d kept buried for over a decade sprang to life like a movie rewinding, then fast forwarding.

Blood. Afghanistan. Anika. Pieces of her body everywhere. The unspeakable pain as he’d buried her remains in an unmarked desert grave. Seeing Daisy nearly killed brought the past crashing down on him. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk loving with everything he had, only to have his heart shattered again. The agony would be too great, and he wouldn’t survive.