“Give me the shot, Chief,” Jake said.
No, they weren’t in the military anymore, but Jake still wouldn’t do anything without Ham’s say.
And Jake had been a sniper. A sharpshooter.
But Jenny’s head was . . . right there. Right against NYU’s and . . . “Wait,” Orion said, his voice shaking. “Count to three, pull on four. Please.”
“And I got five,” Ham said.
“On your count, guys,” Jake said.
Orion didn’t glance at Jake, but he knew he was bracing himself on the wall, breathing out, centering his shot.
Just for a second, Ham’s words thundered into his head. “Make our steps safe, and go before us. Finish the task you’ve pressed us to.”
Yes.
“One,” Ham said and Orion took off, limping, half-running.
And yeah, he’d just had surgery, so he used his crutches for leverage. But he felt no pain as he threw himself at Jenny.
Two. He shouted, just enough to jerk NYU’s hold on Jenny.
Then she was in his arms as he tackled her away from NYU’s grip.
Three. They hit the ground.
Four. The shot was crisp, and Orion prayed it hit the target.
Five. Ham erupted in a shout as he launched himself at NYU, flinging his body over the side of the balcony.
Orion covered Jenny’s body, bracing himself for the worst.
Nothing.
No explosion.
They’d stopped him from depressing the trigger. Or maybe, miraculously, it was a dud. Either way—no terrorist win.
“Ham!” Jake’s voice boomed across the lobby, and Orion rolled over, untangling himself. Jenny scrambled to her feet and grabbed his hand.
Ham was dangling over the forty-foot drop, one arm on the bottom rail of the overhang. Akif must have gotten a grip on him and pulled him over with him.
However he got there, hanging like that made Ham look like a freakin’ superhero.
Orion grabbed his abandoned crutch off the floor. Lowered it to Ham. “I always gotta rescue you.”
Ham grabbed the crutch, and in a moment Jake had joined them, helping Orion pull him up.
They grabbed Ham’s belt, working him over the side. He dropped on the floor, breathing hard. “Yeah, well, that’s your job, PJ.”
Orion grinned. Then he caught the look on Jenny’s face. She was double-gripping the railing, staring down at the bomber. He glanced down.
That was a mess. SWAT had started to pour into the building, with shouts and warnings and Jake put his gun down and raised his hands, got to his knees.
“No need for that, Silver.” Isaac White came out of a nearby room. “I saw the whole thing, as did my staff. Brave work, all three of you.” He helped Ham off the ground. He looked at Jenny. “Four of you.”
Orion cared nothing for White’s words. He pulled Jenny into his arms. “You okay?”
“Now I am.” She wrapped hers around his back, holding on. And holding on.
Clearly not going anywhere.
Except, back to Minnesota.
With him.
He backed away and lifted her chin. “Jenny?”
She smiled then, a shine to her eyes that invaded every quiet, compartmentalized pocket of his heart, busting it open, filling it with sunshine and hope and happy endings.
“Yeah, PJ?”
“I think I deserve a kiss.”
She grinned. “Yes. Yes, you do.”
So she kissed him.
What Happens Next . . .
HAMILTON JONES wasn’t the kind to second-guess his team, but Jake had him holding his breath.
Fighting a roil in his gut.
Praying hard.
Because he’d seen Jake at the bar as he’d come up the stairs from the lobby. And what he was holding in his grip didn’t look like lemonade.
But Jake was his best guy, and if he said he could make the shot—
Ham still felt a little like losing it even after SWAT had swept the reception room for any other threats. Which, in his gut, Ham knew weren’t there.
Right now.
But someone was after Isaac White—he had no doubt. Ham very much wanted to hop on White’s plane with him and head down to San Diego. But White’s team was top-notch, and Ham couldn’t be everywhere, all the time.
In fact, he didn’t have to save the world.
Really.
Maybe it was enough to check on Jake, see what was eating at his former teammate as he sat at the bar, watching the baseball game on the flat screen, working his way through a basket of wings.
Jake, the guy who could take down a terrorist, then slough it off with an order of hot wings and blue cheese dip.
Except Ham knew better. Much better.
He did notice that Jake had switched to a bottle of root beer as he sat down next to him at the lounge bar.
“Good shot,” Ham said. The bartender came up to them, an old rail-thin sourdough who had Alaska in his demeanor. Ham gestured to Jake’s fixin’s and pointed to himself.
“Thanks,” Jake said, not looking at him.
“What’s going on?”
Jake picked up another wing. “I gave my statement to an investigator.”
“I’m not here to harass you, Silver. But, I saw . . . please tell me you were dry when you took that shot.”
Jake glanced at him then, something dark and hard in his eyes. “I sat with that drink for a while, but . . . yes. I was stone sober. I didn’t even have a sip. And besides, I know better. I wouldn’t have risked Jenny’s life.”
Ham held up his hand. “Okay. Good. I thought so. It’s just—you haven’t had a drink since—”
“I’m not drinking.” Jake held up his root beer bottle. “So take a step back, Chief.”
Well, something was eating at him. And, “So, it was just lucky that you were in the bar.”
“Yep. Luck.” Jake threw down the bones of his wings. “Stupid, dumb luck.”
Ho-kay.
“How’s Orion?”
“EMTs checked him out. He didn’t rip open any stitches, but he’s pretty sore.”
Jake took a drink of his root beer. Kept his eyes on the game playing on the flat screen.
The bartender served Ham the long-necked root beer. “We’re headed up to Copper Mountain in the morning to pick up the gear. And take Orion back to his place.”
“I thought he was coming back to Minnesota.” Jake wiped his hands.
“He is. Just, well, he is in a cast. And he has to pack up. Jenny’s going to stick around to help him.”
Jake made a sound, something Ham couldn’t decipher.
“Okay, Silver. What’s eating you?”
Jake ignored him.
“Something happen with you and Aria?”
Jake looked at him, a tiny narrowing of his eyes. “Why?”
Ham recoiled. “No reason, just . . . I guess I would have thought . . . well, maybe that you two would be hanging out. She’s staying here too.”
“I know.” Jake took another drink. “I think my room’s ready.” He pulled out some cash, dropped it on the bar, and turned to Ham. “That’s why I was in the bar—because they were still cleaning my room.”
He slid off the high-top chair.
“Jake—”
“Leave it, Ham.” He rounded on him. “Listen, just . . . I’m fine.”