Line Of Sight Part 1

Athena Force.

Line of Sight.

Rachel Caine.

To the fierce, fabulous authors, editors and readers of the Bombsh.e.l.l line, and especially to Natashya Wilson, for her faith and support. What an honor to be part of the family!

Chapter 1.

U ntil she chose to die, Katie Rush wasn't completely sure she had the guts. Sure, she'd considered it, she'd trained for it, but in the end there was always a doubt: Did she have what it took to trade her life for someone else's?

In that chaotic, oddly crystalline moment, it was very simple. She saw the gunman, she was out of rounds and there was a civilian being targeted. The calculations rose effortlessly in her brain: Given the angle of incidence, there was a seventy-five percent chance that the shooter would go for center ma.s.s, the safe shot. His ammunition wasn't armor-piercing. Of course, there were still decent odds that he'd choose the head shot instead, which was an almost certain kill at this distance.

It didn't even require a conscious decision. Her body just moved. She took a stunning blow to her chest, an impact that knocked her off balance and drove the breath from her lungs. She used the force in her favor, letting her weight fall against the boy who'd been in the line of fire and pushing him behind a parked car to safety.

"Agent down!" she heard someone yell, probably Special Agent in Charge Craig Evangelista; he was the one with the best vantage point of her position. She tried to take a breath but it was driven out of her by a second impact right over her solar plexus. Panic tried to smother her, but she grimly held on to her training, rolling on her side toward cover and ejecting the spent magazine of her Beretta as she did. Her right hand fumbled for the spares clipped to her belt and yanked one free, slapped it home with a precision built of hours of dry-fire drills, and completed her roll into a shooter's p.r.o.ne position, elbows braced. She acquired the target in a matter of a microsecond-which was good, because he had already acquired her again-and got off the first shot.

One was all she needed. She ignored the odds and went for the head shot.

The boy lying next to her was wailing and shaking. Katie felt calm, which she expected was the inevitable adrenaline shock as much as any real self-possession. She scanned the landscape for additional threats as the rest of the team swarmed in to apprehend any kidnappers who'd survived the firefight. There had been four of them-a large crew, unusually so for such a risky crime-and they'd been more than willing to go out in a blaze of glory. Katie could only see one man alive and responding to the agents' shouts and commands. It wasn't the one she'd shot. He wouldn't be moving on his own again.

She slowly got to her knees. The pain hadn't yet registered, but she had no doubt that later tonight her body was going to hurt like h.e.l.l. She'd never taken a round before, but she'd seen the deeply colored bruises on other agents who had. Bulletproof vests saved lives. There was no promise that they'd do it painlessly.

At least she could breathe again, though not deeply enough to speak. She put her arm around the boy-Samuel Kaltoff, thirteen-year-old son of a prominent Russian politician-and tried to smile rea.s.suringly. The kid was a mess, but then, he'd been through a h.e.l.lish ordeal. Three days in the hands of captors who'd shown no signs of humanity or compa.s.sion. We could have gotten him back faster, Katie thought miserably. Samuel's dirty-pale skin showed so much bruising it looked as if he'd been tie-dyed, and that was only a hint of what had been done to him. We should have had him yesterday. Katie knew that logically they'd pushed the investigation as fast and as far as it was possible to do, but at moments like this, looking at the human wreckage left behind when law and chaos crashed, she never felt that it was enough.

The paramedics, who'd had to wait for the all-clear signal, suddenly dashed in. One peeled off toward her, but she waved him toward Samuel. Nothing they could do for bruises, and if that hot, gla.s.sy feeling in her side was a cracked rib, well, it wasn't going anywhere.

"Katie," said SAC Evangelista. He holstered his weapon as he approached and wiped sweat from his forehead-it was a hot day, and the vests and FBI jackets weren't exactly summer-weight. He crouched down beside her, examining her with clinical thoroughness. He was middle-aged, on the heavy side of fit, with a bullet-bald head and big brown eyes that could look warm and sympathetic when he chose. It wasn't necessary with her. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry, sir, but I didn't see any alternative."

He waved that away. "Not how I would have handled it, but you got the right result. Understand, the only reason we're having this conversation now, and I'm not going to be writing the condolence letter to your folks tonight, is that you were lucky. The government has invested a h.e.l.l of a lot in your training, Agent Rush. Letting some Russian mob moron shoot you ain't exactly the return on investment they're looking for."

"Live and fight another day," she said. "I know, Craig. Thanks. Believe me, I won't make a habit out of it."

"Good. Now, you go to the hospital, get checked out. Once you're green lighted, you can come back to the office and start paperwork." He hesitated, then looked away. "You saved that kid's life, Katie. One h.e.l.l of a good day."

From Evangelista, that was effusive praise. He put his heavy, warm hand on her shoulder for one very short second before rising and striding off to oversee the mop-up.

This time, when the paramedics moved toward her, she didn't object. She was starting to ache now, and tremble with reaction. Being poked and prodded would give her time to get herself together again.

Katie was watching two equally heartwarming events-Samuel Kaltoff's weeping parents embracing him, and the sole surviving kidnapper getting handcuffed to a gurney-when her cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her jacket pocket before the paramedics took it away from her. "Hey, could you wait a second while I answer this?"

The paramedic undressing her shook his head and tugged open the Velcro straps of the vest. The sudden rush of air on her sweat-soaked skin was like being doused in cool water. He pulled the heavy armor over her head and set it aside. Katie ignored him as he lifted up the damp fabric of her shirt and probed the bruising beneath.

She flipped open the cell phone. "Rush," she said, a simple declaration of name as well as an instruction. She expected it would be a call from the field office asking for details, but instead she glanced at the number and saw that it was from out of state.

Arizona.

"Katie?" A young girl's voice. It sounded high and uneven. "Katie, it's Jazz. I need help. We need help!"

Jazz? Katie's mind froze for a second, then smoothly shifted gears. Jazz was Kayla Ryan's daughter. The voice had sounded unlike her, but now Katie recognized that it was probably due to stress. "Yes, I'm here. What's wrong, honey?" As far as Katie knew, Jazz was at the safest place on earth-at the AthenaAcademy, a secluded campus just outside of Glendale, Arizona. "Jazz, is your mother all right?"

There was a brief sound of shuffling, and then Kayla's no-nonsense voice said, "I'm right here. We've got a situation here, and I don't think the local resources are enough to handle it. We need you, Katie." Kayla was a cop, a good one, besides being a fellow Athena graduate and friend. Not a close friend, exactly-Katie didn't seem to attract many of those-but more of a sister. Athena alumni were all sisters. It was an implicit responsibility they all took very seriously. They'd suffered losses these past few years that had hurt them all. At least Jazz was safe. That was something.

"What happened?"

"I'll let Jazz tell you."

Another handoff, and Jazz's higher voice came back on the line. "It's Teal and Lena-Teal Arnett and Lena Poole. They're at the Academy with me. They're my friends. They were taken."

"Taken," Katie repeated. Her fingers tightened on the phone, and she forced them to relax. She'd seen the tragic aftermath of too many stories that began just this way, but none of them had involved girls from the Athena Academy-her own very extended family. If all of the Athena Force women were sisters, then all the girls at the Academy were nieces. "How did it happen?"

The very slight hesitation before Jazz answered raised a red flag in Katie's mind. Need to get her away from her mother and get the full story, she thought. Even though Kayla was a cop, and Athena Force, that didn't mean mothers and daughters should or could share everything. Daughters had secrets, and in cases like this, secrets cost lives. "We were going to the movies," Jazz said. "Off the school grounds, in town. But they were waiting for us, I don't know how. It was a coordinated attack. Teal and Lena gave me time to get away, they told me to run. I didn't want to leave them, I swear I didn't!"

"I know you didn't. Jazz, tell me what you saw. Exactly what you saw."

Jazz took a deep breath. "We were walking on the sidewalk, talking, and a van pulled up to the curb ahead of us. It was a blue cargo van, and the license plates were muddy. I couldn't see any letters or numbers. There was dark tinting on the windows. I think it was a Ford van, probably about eight years old. Oh, and there was a fresh scratch on the pa.s.senger side, like somebody had keyed it in a parking lot."

Katie raised a commanding finger to the paramedic to back off when he tried to speak to her. He did, finally taking the look in her eyes seriously. "And?"

"The side door slid open, and two men jumped out. They were both tall, but one was bigger than the other one-I think they were about six feet and six feet four inches."

"What did they look like?"

"I couldn't tell," Jazz said unhappily. "They were wearing these mesh masks and bodysuits. I guess that was to keep from leaving trace evidence. They didn't say anything at all, and they were really fast and strong. Lena almost got away, but they caught her."

Sometime during Jazz's recital, Katie had closed her eyes, painting the picture in her mind. A cloudless Arizona day, clear and sunny. The van pulling to a smooth stop at the curb so as not to alarm the girls into flight. A blitz attack, scientifically calculated. Two abductors, plus a third to drive the van. They'd cut their losses once they'd realized they'd lost the initiative and Jazz was beyond their control.... More impulsive predators would have gone after her, allowed Teal and Lena s.p.a.ce to act. Instead, these men had disengaged to minimize their exposure.

Dangerously competent. And the fact that they'd succeeded at all meant that they'd known what they'd be dealing with.

"Tell me about the girls," she said. "Teal and Lena."

"Teal's the oldest, she's seventeen. She's really fast-the fastest runner in the school. She looks a little bit like you in the face, and she's tall, too-she has lighter hair, and her eyes are more green." Jazz took a breath. "Lena's fifteen. You can't miss her. She's got purple streaks in her hair, it's cut all different lengths, you know? She was wearing a purple skirt and a hot-pink top." Jazz's voice wavered. "They're my friends, Katie. Really my friends. I should have stayed with them. I let them down."

Jazz was small, but she was a dynamo, like her mother. Self-possessed. A fiercer friend Katie couldn't imagine. Jazz was someone who wouldn't take failure easily in a situation like this. AthenaAcademy instilled that quality in those who hadn't come in the doors gifted with it, but in Jazz tenacity was a purely natural talent.

"Jazz, it's going to be all right. We're going to find them. Now, put your mom on the line, will you?" Jazz did. Katie dropped the warm-and-fuzzy from her voice. "I'm heading for the airport now," she said and slid off of the tail end of the ambulance. "I'll take a cab to the crime scene. What are the cross streets?"

Kayla gave them to her, relief evident in her voice. "Thanks for agreeing to help. I know you're the best at this, Katie, and I have the feeling we need to find these girls quickly. This wasn't random. No way was it random."

Kayla was being careful, not saying things that they were both thinking.

"Did they have enhancements?" Katie asked. She would have asked straight out, psychic abilities, but Kayla knew what she meant, knew exactly what made many of the girls fostered by the AthenaAcademy special. She and Kayla were included in that number, most definitely, although Katie herself had tried her best to downplay it throughout her career.

Kayla confirmed her worst fears. "Yes. Definitely...enhanced abilities."

"What about Teal and Lena's parents? Has somebody talked to them?"

"We're handling notifications through the school. I've already talked to Ms. Evans." Christine Evans, the princ.i.p.al of the AthenaAcademy-as tough as they came, even by Katie's admittedly high standards. So tough, cops and FBI agents still automatically called her Ms. Evans years after graduation. "I'll book you a seat on the first available flight. I'll wait for you at the scene."

"Soon as I can," Katie promised, and was about to hang up when she hesitated. "Kayla? Is Jazz okay? Physically?"

"As far as I can tell." Her friend's voice was tight. "I want to take her to the hospital. Just to be sure."

It was what Katie would have advised, but she was glad she didn't have to. Kayla had enough on her mind.

"Do that. I'm on my way," she promised and flipped the phone closed.

The paramedic, frowning, rushed into the silence. "Agent, you can't go anywhere before those ribs are X-rayed," he said. "They might be broken."

"They're not broken," she said and pulled on her jacket after tucking the FBI identification flap back into its Velcro pocket. "You got forms for me to sign? Because you have one minute to get them in front of me before I'm gone."

She didn't wait for him; he could d.a.m.n well catch up. She strode off, looking for Evangelista, and found him talking with two other agents. They all nodded to her.

"I need a minute," she said. Evangelista gave the other two a crisp dismissal and turned to her with his full attention. "Two girls have been abducted in Phoenix. One other girl got away, she's the kid of a friend of mine. I need some personal time, okay? E-mail the paperwork to my Web account. I'll get it completed tonight."

"Katie, you sure that's a good idea? You took a couple of hard hits. Paramedics released you?"

"Sure." She lied like the professional she was. "Good to go?"

"Can I stop you?" He shrugged. "I'll need you to make yourself available tomorrow sometime for a recorded statement. If you need me to make a call to the Phoenix field office, let me know."

He extended his hand. She shook it briskly, not letting the pain in her ribs show. "No heroics, Rush," he reminded her.

"No, sir. No heroics."

That was it. He turned away and was immediately lost in the wash of detail and doc.u.mentation that was the bane of every investigator's existence.

"Sign here," said the paramedic, appearing at her shoulder with a metal clipboard and pen. He pointed to a line, and she scribbled her name. "Agent, seriously, get yourself checked out wherever you're going. Those ribs don't look good."

"I'm fine," she said, and remembered to smile at him. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"My job." He nodded. No smile back. She supposed she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his ability to do his work. It occurred to her, a little late, that he was pretty cute-her type, too, with big dark eyes and nice shoulders. Ah well. She didn't have time for romance, anyway. She never did.

She retrieved her car, parked three blocks away, and drove to the airport without stopping for anything.

Chapter 2.

T he girl leaning over the table was wearing the tiniest orange bikini he'd ever seen. Stefan was a connoisseur of bikinis-some people watched birds or b.u.t.terflies; he watched girls in outrageously small sc.r.a.ps of fabric. Today was a spectacular day for it, in fact-a cloudless deep-blue sky, a cool ocean breeze, a bright summer sun. VeniceBeach at its finest, and the girls were in full bloom.

Life, he reflected, was very good to him. A great profession, a great place to live, stimulation of all kinds. Yeah, not bad. Not bad at all.

He didn't look at the deck of cards he was shuffling, just smiled at the girl in the orange bikini and the other girls crowded around his table. An invisibly fast motion of his little finger, and a card slid out of the deck he was manipulating and spun across the smooth marble surface of the cafe table toward the orange bikini. The girl squealed in excitement, grabbed the card and held it up for the admiring oohs and aahs of her friends. Four friends, to be exact, and every one a sculpted marvel. Not natural, of course. VeniceBeach had more girls with breast implants than it did grains of sand on the beach, or at least it seemed that way these days. Not that Stefan minded, really. Nature was wonderful, but the human race had always been inclined to decorate.

And these girls...well, they were very, very decorative.

He gave them a charming smile, and they all smiled back, crowding closer. His hands were still moving on their own, shuffling, fanning, dazzling. It was a nervous habit now, something he did without even thinking about it. Illusion wasn't his main source of income, but it was his pa.s.sion, and it kept him on the streets, where he belonged.

"Oh my G.o.d, that's amazing!" the girl in the orange bikini-Heather?-said, and showed him the queen of hearts he'd flipped her. "Stefan, do it again! Please?"

"Put it back in the deck. Anywhere." He didn't look, and his hands never stopped. She slid the card in, and he did the trick again, faster this time. The cool slap of the cards on his fingers was soothing. Relaxing. It was a kind of meditation for him, card tricks, and of course, it got the girls to lean closer. That was never a bad thing.

When the queen of hearts spun out this time, flipping in midair to land faceup, they all squealed. He followed it with the rest of the suit, in order, never looking down. It was his own trick, invented on long, lonely nights when he hadn't felt like company. He didn't sleep much, never had. He'd been up at dawn this morning, down on the beach with a cup of Starbucks' finest, watching the sun gild the waves in rolling gold.

"Wow," Heather breathed and looked up, delight shining in her eyes. That was what he loved about magic.... It really did magical things, even if it was only illusion. It made people feel a sense of wonder, and that could never be underestimated. "Stefan, you are amazing!"

He winked at her. "Better save your praise. We just met. I could get better, you know."

They all laughed, breathless and excited. He couldn't understand what his attraction was for women; he couldn't really see it when he looked in the mirror. He was a collection of flaws: not tall enough, a little broad in the shoulders, gypsy-dark skin at least three shades off the golden glow that Californians seemed to crave. His hair curled, and he'd given up styling it; it just cascaded wild and black around his face and down past his collar. His nose was too large, his eyes so dark brown they looked black. No, he was hardly the California ideal, and he was overdressed for the nearly naked dress code of VeniceBeach in loose low-slung jeans and a roomy black cotton shirt over a red sleeveless undershirt.

And yet, he was surrounded by girls so hot that he was surprised the wooden floor didn't catch fire around them. Ah well. His cross to bear, he supposed.

Heather slid onto the bench beside him, and a girl in a blue thong bikini slipped in on the other side. "Ladies," he said. "Are you trying to distract me? Or learn my secrets? I promise, there's nothing up my sleeves."

Heather leaned over, and her tongue touched his earlobe, a gentle wet caress that made him pause in his shuffling and close his eyes to control a deep, satisfying shudder. Oh, yes. He liked VeniceBeach. "How about here?" she asked, and her hand moved on his leg under the table.

"Naughty," he said, and actually jumped when the girl on his other side moved, too. "Okay, that's-naughtier."

They giggled. Stefan started shuffling again, fumbling one or two cards, trying to think how to get himself out of this gracefully. Or at least how to retain as much of his mystery and dignity as possible while succ.u.mbing. After all, if it was beyond his control, who could blame him....

Over one of the girls' bronzed shoulders a TV was soundlessly playing on a twenty-four-hour news channel. He fixed on it, trying to take his mind off the girls while still enjoying what they were doing, and read the text crawling at the bottom of the screen. BREAKING NEWS, it read. DUAL ABDUCTION IN PHOENIX...

It hit him in a rush of light and color and sickening sensation. Cold.Cold metal floor. Vibrations. Light leaking in through tinted, curtained windows. Fingers going numb, tied too tight. Sharp pain in bound ankles.Knees, too. Wet gag in his mouth, on the verge of choking him. No way to spit it out. The cool, gritty feeling of tear tracks on his face. Grim anger and fear, a trace of panic held down with difficulty.

A girl was lying across from him on the van floor, similarly bound, her purple-streaked blond hair falling over her face but not quite concealing her frantic eyes. There was a bruise on her face, dark even in the dimness.

Two men sat on benches, one on each side. Couldn't make out their features in the darkness. One was smoking, the stink of it filling the van and making it even harder to breathe around the gag....

He jerked back into himself, gasping, and dropped the cards. A strange sound sawed at his ears, and after a couple of seconds he realized it was the girls, giggling. He was still in the coffee shop, in VeniceBeach. He was safe. His heart was racing, his palms sweating, and he couldn't get away from the feeling of fear and foreboding and claustrophobia in the vision.

He stood up, gathered the cards and jammed them into his pocket. "Sorry," he said, and pushed through the crowd of girls to achieve the open air outside. He stood there, breathing deeply, trying to slow his pulse. Blue sky, warm sun, pounding surf. Laughing people. Weight lifters on the beach, displaying their oiled muscles and as much skin as legally possible. Skating, scantily clad girls. Jugglers. Sidewalk artists. Musicians. Normal life, by the community standards. Stefan stood there shaking, struggling to put himself back in his own body. He was unable to forget the bleak terror the girl was feeling.

DUAL ABDUCTION IN PHOENIX.