Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
people a moment to recover from something as traumaticas watching a human being plunge to his death. I’d put in countlesshours to shorten my own reaction time.I felt the door open above me.
Apparently someone else had shortened hisreaction time as well.
I saw the gun barrel first, but instead ofputting a foot on the skid to gain balance and see what he wasshooting, this guy just pulled the trigger.
Even in the roar of the wind and the rotors,the crack of the rifle was deafening. I had no place to go, nowhereto run, and bracing yourself against gunfire was impossible. If hehit me, it would hurt, and I’d fall to my death. Or maybe it wouldkill me instantly. Either way, I had no defense.
But luck continued to be on my side. The manfired eight rounds, none of them even coming close.
I grabbed the rifle barrel. It was hot as astove, and in the back of my mind I was aware of my palm burning.But I had a lot of practice ignoring the somatic reflex and hung ontight, shifting my body to the side to get out of the way in casehe pulled the trigger again, tugging with all my strength.
Like the first man, Skinny had the gunstrapped around his shoulder, so when I pulled, I didn’t just getthe weapon. He came with it.
I released the searing barrel and let thewhole package fall. I didn’t wait to see him hit the water.Instead, I climbed to the outside of the skid and lifted myselfinto the passenger compartment behind the cockpit. I pulled thedoor closed behind me.
The cabin was separated from the crew’scompartment, and the first thing that struck me was how quiet thespace was inside. I could still hear the blades making the classicwhump whump sound, in fact it was still far too loud tocarry on a normal conversation, but thanks to the trauma my earshad suffered and heavy soundproofing, the noise barely registered.Three leather seats lined each wall, three facing forward and threeback, each complete with a headset hanging above.
Julianne was slumped in the middle seat, hervacant eyes suggesting she might have had a little extra medicationfor the journey, or perhaps whatever they’d given her earlier wasfully kicking in.
She opened her eyes halfway, and I gave herwhat I hoped was a reassuring smile.
“What … how did you do that?”
“A little training, and a whole lot offearing for my life. You ready to get out of here?”
“How?”
It was a good question.
Process. Evaluate. Segregate. Then takecontrol of the situation.
The sun shifted through the windows, thepilot turning the craft around, heading back to the mansion. Itouched the wall between passengers and pilot, soundproofingmaterial backed with steel. A check for parachutes, weapons, oranything else I might use came up empty.
To get to the cockpit, I would have to climbback out of the craft and access a separate door, a door that wouldbe locked. Not the best plan. But I couldn’t wait for the craft toland. No doubt the pilot had used his radio to arrange for awelcome party to greet me.
And by greet I meant kill.
I finished scanning the compartment, spottingspeakers but no cameras, and then I brought my attention back toJulianne.
My assignment was to get her out of thismess, unharmed.
I’d get her out. But the unharmed partprobably wasn’t going to happen.
A dip in altitude and a glance out the windowtold me we were approaching the mansion, the bay where it nestledalready in sight. I had to make my move soon, or I wouldn’t get tomake it at all.
“You got shot,” she said, pointing anunsteady hand at my shoulder.
“Just a little bit.”
I grabbed the bottom cushion of the seatopposite me and pulled. The Velcro holding it in place made aripping sound, and it detached. I ripped another free then releasedJulianne’s seat belt.
“What are you doing?” Her words came out in aslow ooze.
I didn’t answer. After the sound of theVelcro and her muttered question, no doubt the pilot was listeningover the intercom and would be wondering the same thing. I didn’thave much time before he figured it out.
My heart hammered hard enough to break arib.
I grasped the door handle and shoved it open.I moved quickly, not only hoping to catch the pilot off guard, butJulianne, too. Even in her state, she would resist if given thechance.
Hell, I was resisting it myself.
Holding the seat cushions by their built-instraps, I pulled Julianne out of her seat and looped her left armaround my shoulder and my right arm around her waist. I needed theperfect moment. Low enough so the impact didn’t injure us, but notso close to shore we hit bottom. Or worse, land.
“What are you doing?” she repeated.
When we descended to thirty feet, the beachcoming up fast, I made my move. Scooping in a deep breath, I heldJulianne tight against my body and jumped.
She screamed all the way down.
“There will be times when you must workwith other operatives,” The Instructor said. “Rely on yourcounterpart to put his mission first, always, and you do the same.As long as you share the same goal, you don’t need to worry abouttrust.”
The water hit my feet first, slapping themhard, the force shuddering up my legs and through my spine. Coldenveloped my body and closed over my head. Moments after wesubmerged, I lost Julianne.
I was only under for a few seconds, justenough time to stop my downward trajectory and fight my way to thesurface, but it felt like forever.
It felt like I was going to die.
I almost—almost—freaked out, butpeeking through the water, eyes stinging, I could see the sunglinting off the waves above me, and my arms and legs scrambledhard and fast, like I was crawling up out of a grave.
When my head broke the surface, I gasped toosoon. Salt water filled my mouth, making me gag and cough. Above,the helicopter blades continued to beat out their rhythm.
Julianne’s blond head broke the surface justtwo feet away. She stared with panicked eyes. Reaching out, sheclawed at me like a frightened kitten.
I grabbed her hands and did my best tocontrol her, keeping us both afloat