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the time.
The spotter stepped out of the brush and lifted his gun. Four shots rang out in rapid succession. Jack waited for the bullets to strike his body, but the spotter jerked and half spun to face away from him. His knees buckled and he went down hard, face into the ground. Jack forced his head up. Briony stood a few feet away, the gun in her hand, tears running down her face. She was shaking, her arm still outstretched, her gaze locked on the dead man.
Jack reached inside himself for one last burst of strength, struggled to his feet, and staggered over to her, his hand over hers. “Give me the gun, Briony.”
She didn’t release it—didn’t look at him. She was shaking so much he was afraid she might accidentally pull the trigger again. He clamped his fingers over hers and, with his other hand, caught her face and forced her head to turn away from the body as he searched for a gentle tone. “Just let go, baby. I’ve got it now. Look at me. Only at me.”
Her gaze met his, eyes swimming with tears. “I killed him.” She turned away from him, retching, over and over.
Jack took a step closer and saw her eyes begin to roll back in her head. Briony!
Deliberately he filled her mind with calm strength. He knew what violence could do to a psychic, and he wasn’t about to allow her to fall. He caught her face in his hands. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
Briony heard his voice as if from a great distance. She didn’t want to go back, there was too much pain there, but his voice refused to let her retreat. With tremendous effort, she stared into his deep gray eyes.
“You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine,” he assured her. “I’m an anchor. Just let me do my work.” He’d been too close to passing out and he hadn’t provided barriers for her, but he focused on drawing the energy away from her.
He’d never expected to be so moved by the sight of a woman’s tears—or by the fact that killing a man had made her physically ill. Worse, he could see splinters in her chin and along her arm. He didn’t even have a medical kit to help her. “We have to get out of here.
The rebels are going to be swarming all over this place.” He roughened his voice, hoping to snap her out of it. “Come on. Now, Briony .”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… ” She trailed off and looked back toward the body on the ground.
Swaying unsteadily, Jack reached out and caught her to him. “Stop looking at him. He would have killed both of us. Move now .” His thumb slid over her chin, wiping at the trickle of blood.
Briony blinked up at him and then firmed her mouth. Her arm slipped around his waist.
“I’m all right now.” She began walking with him toward the city, once again taking some of his weight. He had taken the stabbing pain away, but he couldn’t take away the horror squeezing her heart.
“You should have left when I told you to go. You could have been killed.”
“Just walk.”
“I’m not going to make it, you know. I’m burning up, lost too much blood, in fact I can’t see very well. The rebels looking for me had to have heard the shots… ”
Briony sighed. “Save your strength. Just keep walking. I’ll get you to the city, and my brother can figure out a way to get you out of Kinshasa.”
Jack kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to pass out. He’d be damned if a female was going to carry his butt, and damned if she wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t walk. There was something about her that just plain got under his skin. He’d long ago chosen his path, and it didn’t include a woman of his own or a family. Briony Jenkins was a woman made to belong to a man—heart and soul. She was the kind of woman that a man married and knew with a certainty she’d stick it out through good or bad, right beside her partner. Worse, she was the kind of woman a man might kill over, and he certainly was more
The spotter stepped out of the brush and lifted his gun. Four shots rang out in rapid succession. Jack waited for the bullets to strike his body, but the spotter jerked and half spun to face away from him. His knees buckled and he went down hard, face into the ground. Jack forced his head up. Briony stood a few feet away, the gun in her hand, tears running down her face. She was shaking, her arm still outstretched, her gaze locked on the dead man.
Jack reached inside himself for one last burst of strength, struggled to his feet, and staggered over to her, his hand over hers. “Give me the gun, Briony.”
She didn’t release it—didn’t look at him. She was shaking so much he was afraid she might accidentally pull the trigger again. He clamped his fingers over hers and, with his other hand, caught her face and forced her head to turn away from the body as he searched for a gentle tone. “Just let go, baby. I’ve got it now. Look at me. Only at me.”
Her gaze met his, eyes swimming with tears. “I killed him.” She turned away from him, retching, over and over.
Jack took a step closer and saw her eyes begin to roll back in her head. Briony!
Deliberately he filled her mind with calm strength. He knew what violence could do to a psychic, and he wasn’t about to allow her to fall. He caught her face in his hands. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
Briony heard his voice as if from a great distance. She didn’t want to go back, there was too much pain there, but his voice refused to let her retreat. With tremendous effort, she stared into his deep gray eyes.
“You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine,” he assured her. “I’m an anchor. Just let me do my work.” He’d been too close to passing out and he hadn’t provided barriers for her, but he focused on drawing the energy away from her.
He’d never expected to be so moved by the sight of a woman’s tears—or by the fact that killing a man had made her physically ill. Worse, he could see splinters in her chin and along her arm. He didn’t even have a medical kit to help her. “We have to get out of here.
The rebels are going to be swarming all over this place.” He roughened his voice, hoping to snap her out of it. “Come on. Now, Briony .”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… ” She trailed off and looked back toward the body on the ground.
Swaying unsteadily, Jack reached out and caught her to him. “Stop looking at him. He would have killed both of us. Move now .” His thumb slid over her chin, wiping at the trickle of blood.
Briony blinked up at him and then firmed her mouth. Her arm slipped around his waist.
“I’m all right now.” She began walking with him toward the city, once again taking some of his weight. He had taken the stabbing pain away, but he couldn’t take away the horror squeezing her heart.
“You should have left when I told you to go. You could have been killed.”
“Just walk.”
“I’m not going to make it, you know. I’m burning up, lost too much blood, in fact I can’t see very well. The rebels looking for me had to have heard the shots… ”
Briony sighed. “Save your strength. Just keep walking. I’ll get you to the city, and my brother can figure out a way to get you out of Kinshasa.”
Jack kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to pass out. He’d be damned if a female was going to carry his butt, and damned if she wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t walk. There was something about her that just plain got under his skin. He’d long ago chosen his path, and it didn’t include a woman of his own or a family. Briony Jenkins was a woman made to belong to a man—heart and soul. She was the kind of woman that a man married and knew with a certainty she’d stick it out through good or bad, right beside her partner. Worse, she was the kind of woman a man might kill over, and he certainly was more
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