went, but with every muscle straining against the tug of an irrational yearning to stay at the side of the man she loved and face along with him whatever dangers threatened. She went, but with reluctance in every step, high heels scraping unevenly on the damp sidewalk as she paused and turned every few steps to look back.
And so it was that she saw the events unfold in jerky fast-forward, like an old-time movie.
Corbett relaxed only slightly as he listened to Lucia’s footsteps retreating back toward the safety of the embassy. He knew she didn’t want to go, that she’d have stayed and fought side by side with him, if he’d allowed it. He felt a peculiar swelling of something he couldn’t quite identify. Was it pride or something more complicated?
No time to wonder about it now. Adam’s voice was muttering in his ear again, calmly and without a hint of excitement.
“Yeah, mate, this looks like a live one…can’t tell what he’s carryin’. Definitely comin’ your way, though.”
Corbett pressed the button hidden under his tie and replied quietly, “Got it. Don’t move in…wait for my word.”
When she glanced back again, Lucia saw a man turn the corner at the end of the next block. A young man, wearing a jacket with a hood. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he walked rapidly toward Corbett, not with his head down and hunched against the cold wind, going someplace warm and in a hurry to get there. No—this man’s head was up, and even from that distance, she could see that his gaze was fiercely intent. And fixed on Corbett.
In her heart, in her gut, she knew this was wrong. He was wrong.
Oh, God, this is it. It’s him.
This was the assassin who’d already tried twice to murder Corbett. This time…
No. She told herself Corbett had planned for this. That he had backup all over the place. That just because she couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there. She told herself she couldn’t go back, that he’d be furious with her if she did.
But she did stop walking and stepped into the shadow of the nearest doorway to watch.
She wasn’t aware until sometime later that she’d also slipped off her high-heeled shoes.
Corbett watched the man in the hooded jacket come toward him. He felt calm, though his heart was thumping like bloody hell. Well, he couldn’t help that, could he? Adrenaline was flowing; he felt ready, eager, almost weightless in his anticipation of the battle to come. A smile curved his lips. Not a nice smile.
“Laz…come on, mate.” Adam’s voice in his ear had an impatient edge to it now.
The distance between Corbett and the hooded man was closing fast. He touched his tie and murmured, “Steady, old man…steady.”
Thirty meters…twenty…ten…
Steady…
At point-blank range, the man pulled his hands from his pockets. One hand held a gun. Using both hands, he brought the weapon up, aimed it at Corbett’s chest and fired.
Lucia heard the sound of the gunshot. She watched him fall.
It was the last thing she saw clearly. The next thing she knew she was running—flying—down the sidewalk toward the two men, knowing as she ran, knowing without seeing, that the assassin was advancing, aiming his weapon at his target’s head for the killing shot. Her scream of rage and despair seemed to hang behind her in the Paris twilight like the echoes of a bugle’s call to arms.
* * *
Corbett lay on the cold sidewalk and struggled to breathe. Was his heart still beating? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell. He thought he was alive. He must be, he could see and hear. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Was this how death came?
He could hear the scrape of footsteps coming nearer, hesitantly…his would-be assassin, checking to see whether he was alive. If he’s learned anything from his last two attempts, he’ll put the last shot—the killing shot—between my eyes. If I’m not dead already, I soon will be.
There’s no way Adam can get here in time.
This was it, then. His last moment on earth. Corbett closed his eyes and thought of Lucia.
She didn’t feel her stocking feet on the sidewalk. She had no idea she’d dropped her stole, or that she’d hiked her gown to her waist.
Your body is the weapon, Lucia….
Her mind was calm, its focus narrowed, locked on her target. All the strength and will of her mind and body compressed into one powerful force.
And she struck.
It’s been said no one can swear quite like an Aussie, and in those first few seconds after hearing the gunshot, Adam did his level best to uphold his former country’s reputation. As he was running toward that awful sound he kept swinging back and forth between a strong desire to strangle his best friend and the fear the bloody idiot wasn’t going to live long enough to give him the chance.
Why had the bleedin’ bastard waited so long to give the okay to move in? Had he been waiting for Lucia to get out of harm’s way? Okay, he could maybe understand that, but now there was no way he or the others could reach Laz before the assassin finished the job—if he hadn’t already. If I can get to the blinkin’ corner, I’ll have a clear shot at the blighter, maybe I can wing ’im, at least. If Laz hadn’t given strict orders to take him alive… Bloody hell!
Adam rounded the corner with his gun drawn, his heart in his throat and his lungs on fire. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.
To Corbett it was flashes of color, flurries of motion, bodies hurtling through space, meeting, struggling, falling, the violence too insanely hurried to be real.
What he remembered afterward was the sound. A screech of pure animal rage; grunts and sickening smacks and thumps. A scraping, skittering sound. More grunts and gasps, the sounds of men in desperate combat.
No. Not men. One man, and one woman.
Lucia.
It was his worst nightmare. The woman he realized had a very important place in his life was struggling for hers against an armed assassin. His assassin. And he could do nothing. Couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Could only watch helplessly while the battle played itself out.
Lucia’s initial attack had the advantage of surprise. Her flying kick slammed into the assassin as he stood over Corbett’s body, the gun pointed down at his target’s head…hesitating, inexplicably, although she didn’t recall that until later, and was only unquestioningly grateful for the extra second or two that meant the difference between Corbett’s life and the unthinkable. His death.
The kick sent the gunman crashing to the sidewalk. The gun flew from his hand and went spinning across the wet pavement. Lucia dove for it, not noticing nor caring that her bare legs scraped the concrete, or that what was left of her gown barely covered the rest of her. All she knew was a fierce sense of triumph when she felt the shape of the gun in her hands, still warm from
