Time of Attack Read Online Free PDF

woman—as her father had put it, on the athletic side of zaftig . The curves and swells of her coffee-and-cream skin filled her bright yellow dress with a sort of snug innocence, as if she was unaware of how alluring she actually was.
    “I think you and your papa could go on like this all day,” Garcia said, laughing an honest, abandoned laugh at Mattie and her pull-ups.
    “That we could,” Quinn said. He glanced over his shoulder at the steps leading from the angular white spires of the cadet chapel where Steve and Connie Brun stood in mess-dress tux and radiant white gown for their last few photographs. Other wedding guests, including Major Brett Moore—the B-1 bomber pilot who’d rescued Quinn from the Bolivian jungle just weeks before—mingled at the base of the steps behind the photographer. Some wore civilian clothes, but enough were in uniform to leave no doubt that Connie had entered not only the Brun family, but the United States Air Force family as well. Everyone chatted and laughed, watching the couple in the sunshine. The weather along Colorado’s Front Range had given the bride a perfect wedding gift with unseasonable temperatures in the high fifties.
    Quinn was glad for the warmth but wished they would hurry with the photos so he could go somewhere and get rid of his tie.
    Kim took a step closer, clearing her throat the way she did when she was about to lay down one of her immutable laws. For a small woman, she could pronounce edicts like Queen Victoria.
    “You’re rumpling your clothes, Mattie.” She put a hand out to take the little girl by the arm. “Come on. Let’s get you straightened up.” Both wore soft, robin’s-egg blue dresses that reminded Quinn of photos from all the Easters he’d missed.
    Ronnie sidled up to pull on the ends of Quinn’s bow tie while Kim helped Mattie with the sash on her dress. Gary Lavin stood by, fidgeting. He’d chased away all the guests and could find no more victims to share in his vast knowledge.
    Thibodaux sauntered back up with two of his seven boys, complete with their eye patches, swinging on a massive arm.
    “Y’all go play with your brothers.” He shook them off, grinning at Quinn. “Hey, l’ami,” he said in an easy Louisiana drawl. “I’ll deny it if you quote me to another Marine, but you Chair Force boys manage to be pretty STRAC here at the Wild Blue U.”
    Ronnie Garcia nodded, fluttering thick lashes that shone in the light like a hummingbird’s wing. She ran the tip of a long finger over Quinn’s shoulder boards. “ Strategic, Tough, and Ready Around the Clock , that’s Jericho.”
    “Is that what STRAC stands for?” Thibodaux snorted. He kept his voice low so Mattie couldn’t hear him. “I thought it meant Shit, The Russians Are Comin’ . . . ”
     
     
    The Japanese woman behind the rifle was tempted to shoot the big Cajun in his good eye. He was Quinn’s friend, so his death would suit the purposes of her employer nicely. On the other hand, the new bride made a tempting target, fairly glowing in her white dress under the midwinter sun. A splash of red might make for a nice complement.
    The woman swung the rifle a fraction of an inch. Perhaps the ex-wife . All reports indicated Quinn still worshipped the woman, though she would have little to do with him. That fact alone made her a less than desirable choice. Such a woman was better left alive to add to his misery.
    The crosshairs hovered over Garcia—beautiful Veronica, with her curvy hips and full breasts. Her body alone was enough to make her a target. The sniper allowed herself the hint of a smile. I ought to send you a bullet, she thought. If only to get you out of the way. It would be a favor to all others of our sex . But no, that was not quite right, either. She and Quinn were a couple, but girlfriends came and went. Garcia’s death might not cause the magnitude of emotion that was needed . . .
    She’d saved the most likely for last.
    Godlike, the sniper watched