Rory, In the Company of Snipers, Book 6
is coming in February 2015
Junior Agent Rory Dennison’s sixth sense jolted to life as the tear fell in slow motion, an iridescent crystal drop he couldn’t stop watching—or keep from falling. It tracked over Nima Dawa’s pudgy cheek, reddened from the chill of late October. The liquid pearl bounced when it hit the black velvet gathers on the four-year-old’s dress, then twice more until it cleared the tucks and folds and dropped to the concrete at her feet.
Even then, he watched its impact, a soundless splash of saline that should not have caught his eye the way it did and meant absolutely nothing. Or did it?
Nima offered one short little sniff and a nod to her father, Mr. Sonam Lobsang, a Tibetan dignitary with no particular political clout or power. All he wanted was to place a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown in Arlington National Cemetery.
In an unusual request, he’d asked the FBI to provide protection for himself on this visit to the States. But for Nima, he’d gone straight to his friend, Alex Stewart, owner of the elite covert surveillance company, The TEAM, and Rory’s boss. It seemed the Tibetan dignitary did not trust the Bureau with his most dear treasure. Only with him.
Nima’s lower lip puckered. Quivered. Sadness shifted over her face. For an incredible instant, all innocence was gone. She was not just a little girl dressed up for her father’s special day. She appeared older. Infinitely wiser. Frighteningly un-child-like. She was—something else.
Rory’s heart jumped to his throat, choking him. He shook his head, blinking hard to chase the apparition away. In that short half-second it took to do that, she transformed again. The person or entity—or whatever he’d seen, was gone. The somber child was back.
Like heck. His heart wasn’t thundering for no reason at all. He’d seen something. But what?
The proper answer failed to materialize, but hyper-vigilance sure did. Fear constricted the calm right out of him. It hadn’t been that long since he’d come home from the Middle East battle theater, less since he’d nearly died during a horrendously tough operation in Sonora, Mexico. His fingers turned to ice. The sickening sensation of impending doom crept up his throat, suffocating him.
Suddenly the world was not a safe place to be any longer. Danger was too near. Death, too imminent. But from where? A quick scan of the docile crowd gathered around the Arlington Amphitheater revealed no reason for the spike of adrenaline pouring into his gut. No abnormally nervous twitch amongst the onlookers disguised a hidden agenda. No darting eyes. No hands in pockets holding concealed weapons, either. No suspicious predator lurked in the midst of that flock of sheep. He would know. He’d hunted predators before.
The National Cemetery had never looked so—normal.
Or felt so—not.