Gloom sat back down again.

"Or failing that," the Cajun said, "a friendly actress in need of companionship. You wouldn't be a friendly actress now, would you, cheri?"

"No, I'm the director and we're shooting a scene right now." Lucy stared at the monitor where Wilder looked positively wimpy on that skid. He really should stay on the ground, she thought. He's so good on the ground.

"Very pleased to meet you," the man said. "I'm Rene LaFavre, J. T. Wilder's comrade-in-arms."

"You're a friend of J.T,'s?" Pepper said, delighted. "So am I!"

"J. T. is a man of discernment in his friendships," LaFavre said, smiling at her.

"Yeah," Pepper said. "Do you want to come to my party tonight?"

LaFavre put his hand over his heart. "Tragically, I have a previous engagement."

"Mr. LaFavre," Lucy said, staring at the copter, where Wilder now looked rigid with terror.

"That's Major LaFavre, darlin', but you can call me Rene."

"Thank you, Rene. Captain Wilder is on that helicopter skid up there."

LaFavre looked up. "I don't think so."

Lucy squinted at the helicopter as it dropped closer and then looked at the monitor. "Gloom," she said, her voice rising. "That doesn't look like Wilder on the skid." She looked again as the helicopter dropped closer.

"That's not Wilder," Lucy said, standing up. "That's Bryce. Connor," she yelled into her headset. "What the hell is Bryce doing on that skid?"

Chapter 10

Tyler saw the copter coming from the west, right on time.

Then he looked at his cell phone and read the order he'd gotten fifteen minutes earlier: Mission canceled.

What the hell did that mean? He was ready to go. Fuck, he was more than ready, he was primed.

"Fuck you," he said to the phone. "I say it's a go."

He tossed his empty beer can over his shoulder and got down to business. He was a half mile to the south, in one of the abandoned towers that dotted the old Weyerhaeuser paper mill factory on the Savannah River, using a regular scope as the sun was still a good two and a half hours from being gone. It was going to be a very difficult shot. Moving targets always were.

The slanting rays of the sun were warm on his skin. A great fucking day. Perfect for shooting.

He ran the sight over the bridge and brought it to rest on the Kid's mother. He could get her with one shot, so easy, let the Kid see what it was like to be alone, nobody fussing all the time. Right beside her was the Kid-

Staring straight at him through those binoculars.

He stepped back from the window and swore. She couldn't have seen him, the little bitch, but Jesus, she was freaky.

The sound of the rotors grew louder and he snapped into mission mode and raised the gun to see the helicopter in the scope. He thought of the vulnerable points he could shoot to make it drop like a rock. The transmission. The appropriately named Jesus bolt that held the blades on. And with the chopper flying perpendicular to his position, he could put a shot right through both people in the front seat. One bullet, two kills, every sniper's dream. Actually four kills, as the chopper would then be unpiloted and crash, taking out the two in the back.

That would be so cool, Tyler thought. Big points in a video game. Get him extra lives to move on to another level.

The sound of the rotors grew louder, and Tyler turned the gun back toward the low-flying helicopter and slowed his breathing.

Mission.

He focused on the gun, the sight picture, his breathing, his heartbeat.

In between beats, he fired.

Wilder felt the aircraft shudder and dived to the floor for the nylon rope even as Bryce dropped from sight. His fingers closed on the rope as the safety cable snapped taut and he heard Nash swear as the snaking steel cable cut his hands. Then the rope broke free of the anchor point-fuck, the rope broke-and Wilder tightened his grasp on the nylon, Nash's skin-on-metal friction giving him the split second he needed to get a solid hold.

"Get him down," Wilder yelled at Karen through the boom mike. "Now. The cable is not secured. It is not secure, and Nash and I are holding it."

She obeyed instantly, bringing the chopper to no forward speed as she descended, ever so carefully.

His arms were burning and he could see the blood flowing over Nash's hands, ripped by the cable. Bad for traction, he thought and braced himself as Karen brought the chopper in. Through the door he could see Armstrong running underneath-Lucy-and then Karen said, "He's down. He's safe. Lucy and some guy got him."

"Fuck." Wilder could feel the weight off the rope but still he didn't let go. He looked at Nash with sympathy. "I got it."

Nash nodded and slowly unwrapped his hands from the bloody steel, hissing in pain as he did so. Wilder let go of the rope and it disappeared over the side.

He spoke into the mike as he got a bandage from the first-aid kit on his web gear. "Put us down as soon as they're out from under, and tell them we need the EMTs." Then he tapped Nash on the shoulder, holding up the bandage. Nash sat back and closed his eyes as Wilder went to work. The cuts looked painful but not serious, and Wilder relaxed enough to let in the thought that he'd been ignoring.

Rope doesn't break, not like that.

Nash swallowed and said, "Thanks, mate."

"No worries," Wilder said, and worried.

When the skid had broken, Lucy had yelled, "No!" and shoved Daisy to one side to get to Bryce before his pedaling legs hit gravel. LaFavre was right by her side, moving very fast for someone who talked so slow. They grabbed Bryce just as his feet touched down and pulled him back, slowing him to a trot, LaFavre smoothly unhooking the cable from the back of Bryce's harness as they brought him to a stop. Then there were people everywhere, taking Bryce from her, asking a thousand questions, all variations of, "Are you all right?"

No, she wanted to say as she let them take him, the EMTs closing in. He's not all right. He just fell off a goddamn helicopter.

Lucy picked up her headset again. "Who's hurt?" she said, remembering Wilder's call for the EMTs.

"Nash cut his hands," Karen said, her voice almost lost in the rotor noise.

Lucy swallowed. "How's Wilder?"

"Fine," Karen said. "We're down in a minute. I can't see the skid. What happened?"

Lucy looked at the helicopter. The right skid was dangling almost straight down. "The skid broke, I think."

"Excuse me, ma'am," LaFavre said. "Are you talking to the pilot?"

Lucy nodded.

"Might I have a word with him?"

"Her." Lucy gave him the headset.

LaFavre smiled. "Her?" He held the headset between them so she could hear, and said, "Pilot, this is Major LaFavre, Task Force 160. You've got a bum right skid, detached in front, still attached the rear, but not able to sustain landing. Recommend you head to Hunter Airfield and swap that bad boy out. They can put a brace out for you. I could make a call for you and make sure you get special treatment." Lucy noticed that the accent came back stronger during the last sentence.

"Shit," Karen said. "Change in plans. I can hover and drop Nash off so the EMTs can check him. Then I have to go back to the airfield, I'll need Wilder for that."

"And me, darling," LaFavre said.

"Who the hell are you?" Karen snapped.

"Why, I introduced myself, my cheri. Major Rene LaFavre. And who do I have the pleasure of discourse with?"

"Lucy? Who the hell is this guy?" Karen sounded distracted.

Lucy reached out and took the headset back before LaFavre asked Karen out for dinner and a sleepover.

"He's a friend of Wilder's," she said into the headset to Karen. "A pilot. I want to talk to everybody in that copter when you're back."