Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

gun.
    Without realizing it, Kate silently took off the safety and assumed the shooting stance that had been drilled into her during the hours of practice that had left her hands numb and her arms aching.
    Did the targets have guns?
    As she’d been taught, she shoved thought aside and let her body take over.
    Squeak—squeeeak.
    Her gun came up as though someone else was holding it, someoneelse training it on the door to the right of Sam, someone else waiting. She had a hard time believing it was happening to her.
    It isn’t real. Just another practice. Just—
    Waiting.
    Waiting for the squeeeak and the sliding shadow of darkness that would be a man intent on killing her.
    Waiting.
    The door moved with dreamlike slowness, opening into the room.
    “Don’t shoot!” Sam yelled to Kate even as he slammed into the door with the full force of his body.
    A man cried out in fear and anger and pain. He left arm was caught in the vise of the door. The knife in his hand gleamed dully.
    “FBI,” Sam shouted. “Drop the knife!”
    Kirby twisted and threw himself at the door, trying to get his arm free and throw his attacker off balance.
    It almost worked. Sam had been expecting the man to retreat rather than attack. If Sam had had any doubt about what they were up against, he no longer did.
    Not only a pro, a well-trained one.
    Sam grunted with effort and put his weight into the door. “If he gets past me, start shooting and don’t stop until he does. Got it?”
    “Yes.” Thin, flat, the voice didn’t sound like Kate’s, but her understanding was clear.
    “Last chance, asshole,” Sam said. “Drop the knife!”
    Kirby went slack.
    Sam shifted to reach for the knife.
    On the other side of the door, Kirby lunged forward. His entire body slammed into the door, knocking Sam back an inch. Just one.
    Way too much.
    Kirby yanked back his trapped arm. Instead of running away, he drew back and hit the door like a pile driver. It splintered away from its hinges. Off balance, Kirby staggered into the bedroom.
    Sam bent under the impact of door and attacker, rolled, and scissored his legs. He didn’t connect the way he’d wanted to, but he managed to knock the attacker off balance again.
    Kate looked for a target. All she saw was a windmilling kind of darkness rushing around the open doorway.
    A knife blade sliced through the air and thunked into the wall so close to her cheek that the metal felt hot and cold at the same time. She gave a startled cry.
    Sam shot twice quickly, then twice more. In the small room it sounded like four cherry bombs going off on top of each other.
    The man on the floor jerked and went still.
    “Sam, are you all—”
    “Not yet,” Sam said harshly to her. He went to where the man lay and bent down far enough to wedge the muzzle of his government-issue Glock up under the intruder’s chin. Even if the man was playing possum, now he couldn’t move without getting his head blown off. “See if the lights work,” Sam said to Kate. “If they do, don’t look real close.”
    The lights worked.
    She tried not to look. It was impossible. There was blood and… something …everywhere. The intruder was dripping scarlet everywhere he wasn’t black. Bone gleamed in an open wound.
    Her stomach turned over.
    “Damn, I told you not to look,” Sam said. “Breathe through your nose and hiss it out through your teeth. It will help the nausea.”
    He ought to know. It was how he was keeping his stomach in place. Then he glanced up briefly and saw the blood on her cheek.
    He stopped breathing.
    “Kate. You’re bleeding.”
    She blinked. “I am?”
    “Your cheek.”
    She touched her cheek with her free hand. Her fingers came away red. Vaguely, she became aware of a burning sensation. She probed more deeply.
    “Just a little cut,” she said. “I’m fine.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay.” Sam started breathing again. It felt good. “Find my cellphone. Punch one and then two. When Doug answers, tell him what happened. Can you do that?”
    She wiped her bloody fingers on her bare thigh and looked everywhere but at the man on the floor. “Yes.”
    Kneeling, Sam put the fingers of his left hand lightly on the attacker’s neck where the arterial pulse of life should be. If it was there, his own heart was beating too hard for him to pick it up. But all in all, he didn’t think there was a pulse to be found.
    Fuck.
    He’d been looking forward to questioning the mutt.
    Grimly, Sam began the