Celestial Desire by Abbie Zanders Page B

crept around the corner toward his target. This wasn’t a training exercise, and the people involved weren’t nameless, faceless strangers.
    The exact situation within was unclear; the door was closed, the drapes were drawn. From the room to the left, a television game show host droned on; from the one on the right, a particularly spirited tryst was clearly audible through the low-quality door. The only functional illumination on this side of the building – a single exterior light on the corner - flickered in the darkness, off, then on, then off again.
    What he wouldn’t have given for a thermal image scanner or some high-tech receivers at that moment! Zane paused, his body hugging the shadows, and focused. The murmur of voices - one male, one female – was barely audible. The female’s he recognized as Celeste. She was both alive and conscious, and that filled him with both relief and a renewed sense of hope.
    That relief was short-lived when the man’s voice suddenly exploded in rage, followed almost immediately by a loud crash. Celeste’s terrified scream rent the air, and Zane no longer cared about anything except getting to her. Sig in hand, finger on the trigger, his turned his body and delivered one powerful kick to the flimsy door.
    The door flew open, the wooden frame around the outside splintering under the force of the kick. Zane rushed into the room and came face to face with a stunned James Bradley. Bradley reached back, presumably for a weapon. His peripheral vision affirmed that Celeste was not in the direct line of fire, Zane didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger twice in quick succession, firing once in the head, once in the heart; both lethally accurate kill shots by an expert marksman.
    James Bradley slumped to the floor, landing with a sickening thud. After confirming that he was no longer a threat, Zane stepped over his body to get to where Celeste lay motionless on the bed.
    “Celeste. Celeste, baby. It’s over. It’s going to be okay.”
    Tucking the gun into the back of his pants, he pulled out his Ka-Bar and sliced through the ties around her wrists. Tinged a sickly purplish-blue, her hands dropped limply to the bed. She didn’t answer; she didn’t move. She didn’t acknowledge his presence at all.
    Panic shot through him; his heart rose up into his throat as he took in her bruised, battered face and the blood. No! Zane refused to accept what his brain was telling him. He couldn’t be too late. Not again.
    His first impulse was to turn her over, but his field training kicked in, his instincts warning him not to move her until he assessed the situation. With trembling fingers, he touched the pads of his index and middle fingers to her neck. He held his breath until he found a pulse. Celeste was alive!
    Exhaling in relief, Zane did a quick but methodical exam, his inner rage growing with each new bruise and scrape he uncovered. Celeste remained unconscious, and was unable to provide any information on the extent of her injuries, but given the swelling and bruising between her jawline and collar bone, a broken or fractured neck was a very real possibility.
    He pulled the covers up over her naked body as far as he could, wishing he could do more as he dialed 911. He dared not move her just yet; even the slightest shift could result in irreversible paralysis. Very carefully, he ensured that she had enough room to draw breath, then dropped beside the bed, praying for the paramedics to come in with the backboard as quickly as possible.
 
     

Chapter 12
 
     
    If she never woke up in a hospital again, it would be too soon, Celeste thought once she was aware enough to recognize the beeps and whirs and sterile white walls.
    “You’re finally awake, I see,” said an unfamiliar voice, and then there was a shadow over her face and a bright light shining in her eye. She tried to turn away and couldn’t, so she squeezed her eyes shut instead.
    “Please open your eyes, Ms. Harrison. I