In the cramped space of the helicopter cabin, Luke crouched beside the stretcher, ignoring the vibration and urgency in the pilot’s voice as the helicopter took off. He hated medevacs. He’d flown in a lot of choppers with a lot of injured soldiers over the years. Too many hadn’t made it home. Luke refused to consider the possibility this time. His brother wouldn’t be a fatality statistic. He couldn’t be.

Luke gripped Gabe’s hand tight. “Man, little bro. You know how to work the situation. First-class ticket to the hospital and all this drama for a little scratch.”

Gabe tried to smile. “It’s not good,” he whispered.

Luke leaned closer to hear his brother’s weak voice. “I’ve seen worse.” Of course, most of them hadn’t made it. Gabe’s attempt to smile did nothing to ease the fear burning in Luke’s belly. He didn’t acknowledge the feeling often, but when it was family…training went out the window.

His brother coughed weakly and his eyes flickered shut.

Luke pushed the panic back. “No way, Gabe. Don’t you do it. Montgomerys don’t give up. You don’t give up.”

Gabe’s chest heaved and he squeezed Luke’s hand. “Wasn’t Jazz’s fault. Make sure she knows it. Stand by her.”

“How can you be sure?” Luke didn’t know what to believe. He could see three options: she’d flat-out screwed up and missed; she’d tanked the shot; or she’d been sabotaged.

“Best shot there is.” Gabe’s lips tightened with pain. “She’s all about protecting us, she’ll blame herself. The team won’t fight for her.”

Gabe sucked in a weak breath, and the nurse working on his leg let her mask slip. Her grim expression chilled Luke to the bone.

“Keep talking to him,” she whispered. “Don’t let him go.”

Luke urged his brother to hang on, but inside, recriminations tore him apart. The caller had warned him his family might be in danger. Was Gabe’s attack a different kind of message? Had Luke’s failure to discover the caller’s identity brought more grief down on his family?

He knelt down next to Gabe’s ear. “You’re going to make it, little brother. Mom will kick my butt if anything happens to you, and Dad will kick yours if you meet him at the pearly gates before your time.”

Gabe’s eyes crinkled at the corners then he grimaced. His eyes closed and his hand went slack.

“No!” Luke’s cry echoed over the roar of the helicopter blades.

The nurse took Gabe’s pulse and gave Luke a cautious nod. “He’s just unconscious.”

“He’ll make it?”

Pity crossed her face. “I don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood. The surgeons are waiting for him. He’s got a chance.”

Luke gripped his brother’s hand and squeezed, willing life into him. “You hear that? There’s nothing to worry about.”

At that moment, the lights of the hospital roof came into view. He sent a prayer heavenward. “I’m not giving up on him. Don’t You give up on him either.”

The cold mountain wind whipped against Jazz, but she felt nothing. She lay unmoving and focused, perched above and apart from her teammates.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there. The air ambulance carrying Luke and Gabe had long since disappeared in the night sky.

As she waited, she replayed the events leading up to the stray shot again and again. Nothing stood out. Nothing had changed from the last hundred missions. Where had her bullet landed?

Finally Sarge’s voice barked through her earpiece. “All clear. Blue One, report to Command Central double-time.”

Jazz ripped off her camouflage cloak, grabbed her gear, and hurried down the hill toward the spotlights littering the front of the farmhouse. The team formed their usual line-up, silhouetted in front of the series of lights; a stark, empty space where Gabe should have been standing broke the human chain. She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to run. She’d let her team down; she had to face them.

When she came to a stop in front of Sarge, he frowned at her, the disappointment and frustration in his gaze something she’d never seen before. “What happened?” he barked.

The words pierced her because she had no answer. “I don’t know. He was in my sights. He should’ve gone down.”

“Leave your rifle with me. There will be a full investigation.”

His too-quiet voice sent a chill through Jazz. She stared down at the weapon in her hands, the custom-made stock, the perfectly balanced barrel, the one thing in her life that had never betrayed her, and her foundation crumbled. The Remington shook in her hands.

“Gabe?” she croaked out his name.

Sarge’s expression grew cold. “Gangbanger caught him in the leg. Slashed Gabe’s femoral artery. He bled a lot, and he’s in critical condition. They’re taking him into surgery. It’s touch and go.”

Sarge didn’t state the obvious. If she’d done her job right, Gabe would be with them now. Swallowing around the lump in her throat at the knowledge she’d let everyone down, she opened her case and placed the Remington carefully inside, scope still attached. Afterwards, she chanced a glance at her teammates, certain she’d see accusation in their eyes. Some looked away, a few shook their heads in pity. Several glared. She saw the truth. They blamed her, just as she blamed herself.

She shut them out, as she had so many times before, and met Sarge’s stare. “Which hospital?”

“University.” He took the weapon case from her and tagged it with an evidence number. “Luke went with him. His family will be there soon. You may want to stay clear for a while.”

She sent him a curt nod with no intention of listening to the advice. She had to be there for Gabe and Luke. And for herself.

But first, she needed to find out what happened. “May I go into the house and see where the bullet hit?”

Sarge studied her, and she knew he could see every doubt, every worry she tried to hide. Finally he nodded. “Redmond, Paretti, go with her. Wear booties and don’t touch anything. IA will be all over this.”

Her commander didn’t trust her to go in alone. The realization cut into her. Why else would he send Redmond and Paretti with her? Was he afraid she’d tamper with evidence if it made her look bad?

“Parker,” Sarge held Jazz back as her shadows gathered the protective equipment and moved to the house, “I’m doing this for your protection. IA can’t come back and say we doctored the scene to cover for one of our own.”

His face didn’t crack an expression as he stared at his team. “Now figure out what happened.”

Jazz followed her teammates into the house to the room where Suspect One had held the woman—to where the bullet should have met the target’s head. There was no sign of the bullet or a hole. What was going on?

Careful not to contaminate evidence, she studied the broken window first, but couldn’t see any obvious damage that would have caused the bullet to veer. She turned toward the paneled wall and let her eyes wander in concentric circles from the point where the shot should have landed. Three inches. Her heart skipped a beat. Six inches. Her throat tightened. Twelve inches. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She had to be a cop now. Her mind clicked through the events, as if she were checking and rechecking the sights on the shooting range. It didn’t add up.

She turned to Steve and Carl. “I don’t understand. No glass left in the window. Nothing should have deflected the bullet. It should have hit him.”

Gone was the joking camaraderie from the van. Their faces held that speculative mask she hadn’t seen since she’d first won her slot on the team.

Her insides turned cold. She’d known they would turn on her someday. She really could only count on herself. She returned her focus to the wall. This was crazy. Where was the bullet? If she didn’t know better, she’d doubt she’d fired at all.

Her gaze continued its survey. Over a foot off the mark, she saw it. Her throat burned sour. “What the…?”

A hole. But how could it be her hole, her bullet? She hadn’t fired that far off course—ever. Especially not at just a hundred yards.

She studied the impression, but knew she couldn’t dig out the bullet. IA would have to do that.

“You found something?” Steve Paretti came to stand beside her. He placed an awkward hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

“Crap,” he said. “Did the thing take a right turn at Albuquerque?”

His attempt at a joke fell flat. Nothing could excuse what she’d done. How badly she’d missed.

But she never missed.

The nausea in her belly churned as she walked to the window and looked up at the hill where she’d laid. “It can’t be mine. It doesn’t make any sense.” Unless Luke had been right. Unless she’d been so rattled tonight that she’d lost focus.

The thought cramped her insides. She prided herself on maintaining control—and on going by the book. Sure, she’d been furious tonight, but she was not some shrinking violet. She didn’t rattle easy. She was a professional. She could picture herself checking the elevation and windage, taking aim, breathing. Taking the shot.

Oh, God. With the mark that far off, anyone could’ve been hurt. If the hostage had been on the other side of the perp, the woman would be dead now. And Jazz would be responsible not only for Gabe going down, but also for murdering an innocent.

Sirens blared from outside. Redmond cleared his throat. “Come on, Parker. The finks are rolling up. Sarge shouldn’t have let us stay this long.”

Jazz took one last look at the damning wall and nodded. They left the farmhouse, but not before she scanned the scene one final time. She couldn’t understand what had happened. How could she have been so far off?

The answer still eluded her when the team reached the sheriff’s office. She hadn’t looked any of them in the face on the strained ride. She’d ignored the few comments directed her way. As quickly as possible, she stowed her gear, got a loaner truck from the lot, and made the long drive to the hospital on her own.

After reaching the surgical floor, Jazz searched the hallway. The waiting room should be close. She hated the institutional green color of the walls. Granted, this wasn’t an orphanage or a court house or even a way station for kids who weren’t wanted. But the horrid green still gave her the creeps.

She finally found the right door, but didn’t turn the doorknob. The Montgomerys were probably inside. She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to run. She’d let Gabe down; she had to face his family.

With a deep sigh she pushed open the door. The room was empty. No mother, no brothers, no Luke. Her lungs emptied and she could breathe again.

Maybe they were somewhere else, a place where the real family waited.

Family.

The word made her shudder. Gabe had called her family, but she wasn’t. Not really. And now, because she hadn’t listened to him, he was fighting for his life.

The image of the knife played over and over in her mind until it was all she could do not to scream. How had she missed the shot?

She snagged the chair closest to the door and perched on the edge, ready to bolt. She tugged at the neck of her gray sweatshirt. She’d changed into civvies, not wanting to agitate an already tense situation when she saw the Montgomerys.

No, that wasn’t the entire truth. She hadn’t stripped off her SWAT team regalia so much for Gabe’s family as for herself. How could she wear the uniform of her team when she felt as if she’d blown the unit apart?

Sarge had been right. Coming here was a stupid idea. She should have gone home and waited for news. She should leave. Right now.

The door slammed open beside her, hitting the side of the chair and blocking her from view. Luke strode in and she tensed. He hadn’t seen her, but Jazz’s heart twisted at the torment carved in his face. She’d never seen his hair so unkempt, like he’d tried to tear it from his head, and lines she hadn’t noticed before grooved his mouth. But the pain in his eyes hurt the most. She’d seen them in passion, in aggravation, but never with the agony she witnessed now.

He rammed his fist into the wall. “Damn it!”

The anguish cloaked within the wrath made her ache for him.

Oh yes, she definitely should have left. But now, like so many other times in her life, she had no choice but to stay and deal with the consequences. “Luke,” she whispered.

He whirled around, his body poised for attack, his aggression, frustration, and fury tearing across his face in waves. When her identity registered, he went still. “Jasmine? What are you doing here?” Disbelief edged his voice.

The urge to go to him, apologize, and hold him close appalled her. She had no right. This was her fault. “I’m so sorry, Luke. I shouldn’t be here, but I just couldn’t wait at home. I had to know how Gabe’s doing.”

Luke shoved his hand through his hair. “He’s still in surgery. No news.” He paced the room like a caged beast, body taut, ready to ambush anyone who dared bring him bad news.

Unable to watch him in so much pain, she followed her instincts, stood, and reached out a hand to clutch his arm. “Can I find your mother, your brothers? You need your family with you now.”

He said nothing, just stared at her as if he couldn’t believe she had the audacity to even breathe the same air he did. Expecting rejection, she turned to leave.

Luke grabbed her arm and spun her to him. “God help me, Jasmine. You’re what I need.”

He yanked her to him, the hard muscles of his body shaking with emotion she’d never seen in him before. He buried his face in her hair and she could do nothing but stand there, holding him, not knowing how to comfort this kind of grief.

“Just this,” he whispered. “Give me a minute.”

In all the time they’d spent together, she’d seen him frustrated, strong, intense, smoldering, but this was unfamiliar territory. She raised an unsteady hand and stroked his hair.

“It’s bad,” Luke’s voice choked out the words. “He was so gray. I’ve seen that look too many times on men who didn’t make it.” He lifted his head and his bloodshot eyes bored into her. “The doctors aren’t hopeful. I saw it on their faces.”

Jazz didn’t want to hear that. She refused to believe Gabe wouldn’t survive. “He’s strong.”

“Strength doesn’t always matter. My dad was invincible—at least I thought so. Then on his day off he walks into a convenience store and some punk kid with a stolen .45 blows a hole in his chest.” Luke’s jaw tightened. “My father died in this hospital. I’m not sure my mother can handle another doctor coming in with the same news.”

Jazz didn’t know how to respond, so she just wrapped her arms tighter and whispered words as much for herself as for him. “Gabe’ll make it. He’s got to.”

Luke’s cheek rested against her head and he pressed her even closer. They stood there, in silence, unmoving.

“Luke? Jasmine? Oh, dear God. What’s happened?”

The woman’s panicked voice wrenched Jazz from Luke’s arms. She recognized the Irish lilt. Luke’s mother stood in the doorway, her pale face tense with concern. Anna Montgomery hurried toward them, followed closely by Luke’s U.S. marshal brother, Nick.

In an instant Jazz watched as Luke thrust aside his own emotions. His jaw strong and eyes calm he pulled his mother into his arms and hugged her close. “Gabe’s still in surgery, but he’s fighting. I’ve left messages for Seth. He’s on a mission, and Zach’s on location in South America. The studio will get in touch with him as soon as possible.”

Anna nodded her head against Luke’s chest as he comforted her, whispering words Jazz knew he didn’t believe. Jazz backed away toward the exit. She really should have listened to Sarge. She didn’t belong here.

“Jasmine.” Anna’s soft voice stopped Jazz, and slowly she turned to face Gabe’s mother. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am so sorry.”

Tears pooled in Anna’s emerald eyes, and Jazz couldn’t hold her gaze. Shame bowed her head. Anna cupped Jazz’s face in her hands and the smile that trembled at the corner of her lips nearly buckled Jazz.

“I know you did everything you could, honey. Gabe knows too.”

Jazz wanted to scream in denial. No. It’s not true. I missed the shot. I failed him. But she couldn’t form the words, and she couldn’t pull away. Anna held her tight and Jazz’s heart crumbled as, unimaginably, Anna comforted her.

Luke’s hand stroked Jazz’s back, and an undeserved warmth settled over her in this unexpected cocoon. She wanted to cry. She needed to leave before she broke under their kindness. Before she could escape, though, a large bear-like man strode in, his arms laden with a bundle of pink. Caleb Montgomery couldn’t have looked more fierce, except that his eyes moved tenderly from the sleeping child to his mother. The blanket fell away from the angel’s face and Jazz’s throat tightened. Joy.

Luke strode to Caleb and lifted his little girl into his arms. “You shouldn’t have brought her.”

“We didn’t have anywhere else to leave her,” Caleb whispered. “The Baileys are on vacation, and I…I had to come. We’ll worry about the hospital kicking us out later.”

Luke swallowed and pushed aside the soft blond curls. He kissed her forehead and ran a tender finger down her cheek. “Jasmine, meet Joy.”

The gentleness in Luke’s expression and touch squeezed Jazz’s heart. She’d never seen such love in anyone’s eyes. She’d never felt that kind of love either.

Anna held out her arms, and Luke shifted the precious bundle to his mother. The little girl snuggled against her grandmother’s chest, the stuffed clown fish tucked in her arms. Silent tears fell down the woman’s cheeks as she stroked Joy’s blond curls. Now three generations waited for word.

Caleb turned to Luke. “Gabe?”

“I’m ready to break down doors. No news since the last specialist went into surgery.”

Caleb’s face turned grim with purpose. “We’ll see about that. I still have M.D. after my name even if I don’t have hospital privileges here anymore.”

Jazz hovered and turned to the exit, but Luke firmly drew her down beside him as if there were no question she belonged there. “Stay.”

Guilt wracked her, but she couldn’t leave. Not when she owed the Montgomery family for what she’d let happen to Gabe.

Within minutes, Caleb returned, his expression somber. “It’s grim. They called in a vascular surgeon. He’s lost a lot of blood. They’re not sure how much muscle and nerve damage there might be. He may not regain full use of his leg…if they’re able to save it.”

Nausea burned Jazz’s throat. She wanted to disappear, but then she witnessed something remarkable. With quiet grace, Anna pulled a string of rosary beads from her jacket pocket and bowed her head. In an oddly synchronous movement, all three strong men knelt beside her.

Soon low whispered prayers filtered through the waiting room. Jazz wished she knew how to pray for Gabe, but, growing up as she did, every ritual the Montgomery family performed in this sterile room was foreign to her.

So she simply bowed her head. Please. Save him.

A chilled breeze sliced along the hill next to the hospital, thrashing the piñon needles into a frenzy. Jazz Parker had looked devastated as she’d walked in.

Good. The bitch deserved that—and more.

The plan had been brilliant. Just a little turn of a knob, and Jazz Parker was a pariah.

One missed shot, and the SWAT team didn’t trust her anymore. How wonderful it would’ve been to watch the cops scurrying around like rats wondering what’d happened to their precious plan. Fools. They should’ve known when they hired the daughter of a town whore that she’d fail. Jazz Parker—no, Jane Sanford—couldn’t be trusted. She was a thief and a liar. Always had been. Always would be.

If only the cop would die. That would be perfect. If not, the hospital entrance was an open invitation. Death could be arranged. There were a lot of ways to die in a hospital.

Yes, Jane would feel pain like she’d never felt before. Pain she deserved. Someone Jane cared about would die.

Justice had a name, and it was vengeance.