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Kara Stanton fought like John Reese. Or perhaps John Reese fought like her.
She had recovered quickly from Carter slamming her into a wall and knocking away her gun, and had freed herself with a well-placed elbow. Carter went for her own gun but Stanton twisted her wrist painfully and it fell from her hands.
Stanton was grinning at her. Predator like. Her first punch was fast and hard and mocking, as if she was barely worth the effort. Carter clumsily struck back. Stanton blocked the assault with ease and her second punch made Carter stagger.
She was better than any adversary Carter had ever faced. But she fought like John Reese...
Carter caught her third punch and used its momentum to flip Stanton over her hip. The ex-agent landed awkwardly on her arm and Carter heard a satisfying crack. Her triumph was short lived. Stanton's leg lashed out and struck her knee. Carter crumpled with a cry of pain. Stanton tried to get to her feet but Carter, lunged at her, ignoring the stabbing pain radiating up her leg, and slammed her bodily into wall.
"Where's the trigger?" snarled Carter.
Stanton didn't even flinch. She just continued to give her the same dangerous smile that Carter had seen grace John Reese's features before he beat the fear of God into some poor soul.
"You're too late, Detective," she sneered.
Stanton hit her jaw hard and shoved her aside. Carter found the concrete again, pain spasming from her knee as she hit the ground. Stanton was reaching for something on the footpath.
The guns.
Carter scrambled after her but she was too far away. Stanton's fingers brushed the handle of Carter's Glock-
The world roared around them and force of the explosion threw both women back.
The first thing Carter felt again was heat on her face and a high pitched noise in her ears. She wasn't sure how long she lay there, stunned. A part of her registered what the explosion meant, what she had lost, but there was no time to grieve now.
Get up, she thought. Get up before Stanton.
She staggered to her feet but Stanton was already up, prowling towards her. Stanton's arm hung uselessly by her side and she seemed unsteady but apparently the CIA only hired operatives who could take an impossible amount of punishment.
"Clever Mark," said Stanton so breathlessly Carter could barely hear her over the ringing in her ears. "Good thing you found me, Detective."
Letting her anger get the better of her would get her killed. Carter has seen enough of John in action to know that for a fact. But she wanted to scream and cry and wipe that smug grin off Stanton's face.
Carter waited. She clenched her fists.
Stanton's grin widened as she circled her.
"You fell for the charming Boy Scout act, didn't you?"
Carter blocked Stanton's haymaker and even managed to land a blow of her own, but stumbled back to avoid a flash of silver. Stanton had pulled out a hunting knife. She slashed at her again, tearing her jacket sleeve and just grazing her skin. Carter's back hit a wall and Stanton brought the knife to her throat.
Carter's heart was hammering in her chest and the knife was cool against her skin, but she glared defiantly at the taller woman.
"John was good at pretending," said Stanton. "Better than I ever was."
"It wasn't me he was pretending with," snarled Carter. "Or are you just bitter that he didn't become a monster like you?"
Stanton lost her smile and pressed the knife just enough to sting.
"Either way," said Stanton softly, "you're all alone, Detective. No one is coming to save you."
Carter managed a grin.
Stanton froze at the familiar click. She gazed to her left and found Lionel Fusco pointing his gun at her temple.
"Drop it," growled Fusco. "Hands up."
Stanton did as she was told. Carter quickly retrieved the knife, Stanton's Sig Sauer, and her Glock. She cuffed the ex-agent and carefully checked her for more weapons.
"You murdered two federal officers," said Carter, struggling to keep her voice steady. And John. She murdered John. "You're going away for life, Stanton."
Stanton smiled that awful smile again.
"Not yet."
Carter saw the black vehicle at the corner of her eye and shoved Fusco to the ground to avoid the spray of bullets. Stanton bolted for the black van. They sped away and disappeared around the corner.
Fusco sat upright with a groan. Carter couldn't manage to move just yet.
"Are you hit?" asked Fusco urgently.
"No," said Carter dully. "I'm not hit."
Fusco helped her to her get shakily to feet. Her knee was still throbbing.
"She did a number on you," said Fusco. "You okay, partner?"
The adrenaline coursing through Carter's system began to wear off, leaving her jittery, sore and exhausted.
And she had let the woman who had tormented and murdered John Reese out of pure spite get away with it.
A one of the police officers made their way towards him before Carter could answer.
"Are you okay, Detective?" she asked, her eyes wide.
If someone else asked her that question, she was going to scream. Carter forced herself speak.
"The perp got away," she said quietly. "Kara Stanton. Black van. Put out a BOLO and someone better call the feds."
The officer nodded and left, speaking rapidly into her radio.
"Agent Moss can deal with Stanton," said Fusco. "This shit is above our paygrade. Let's get you checked out."
Carter didn't respond. Fusco studied her for a moment before a flash of realisation crossed his features.
"Wait, do you still think...?"
"Carter!"
Carter jumped at her name and turned to find a tall man in a dark suit running towards her and a smaller man limping after him as quickly as he could manage.
John Reese looked pale, exhausted and beaten. His trademark suit looked very much like he had worn it after one failed bank heist, in a car crash and then all over the city with a bomb strapped to his chest.
But he was alive.
Finch had saved him. Suddenly, Carter didn't understand how she had ever doubted it. She felt the urge to hug both the idiots when they reached her but managed to suppress it. John, however, caught her firmly by the shoulders and checked for injuries.
"Are you okay?" he rasped. "Are you hurt?"
"Bumps and bruises," Carter couldn't stop smiling and she felt ridiculous. "I'll be fine."
John caught sight of the cut on her neck and became quiet and very still. Carter's smile faltered. She had definitely seen that look before.
"I'm okay," insisted Carter. "Really. I'll see a paramedic."
"She could have killed you," said John roughly.
He still hadn't let go of her shoulders. She put a comforting hand over his and ignored Fusco trying very hard to keep a straight face.
"You think I couldn't take her?" she asked lightheartedly.
"Joss," said John sharply.
It was strange being on the receiving end of one of these lectures for a change. Carter wanted to be indignant but she was far too happy.
"I thought I could get her to stop the vests from going off," she said.
"This wasn't worth risking your lives!"
This time, Carter did scowl.
"Do me a favour, John," she said shortly. "Every time you hear a little Kara Stanton talking in your head... telling you to do things like refusing to let your friends help when you have semtex strapped to your chest... I want you to ignore her."
"Detective Carter is quite right," said Finch. "Once again, you're underestimating your value to us."
Finch gave Carter a very pointed looked.
"Although I would prefer it, Detective, if you assigned yourself the same value."
Carter felt a rush of affection for the mysterious hacker. Her smile returned.
"The next time Stanton shows her face, we'll be ready," she said fiercely. "We'll take her down together."
The fearful look on John's face did not waver.
"Joss-"
"Don't be absurd, Mr Reese," said Finch, in a tone that brokered no discussion.
"You're outvoted, Sunshine," said Fusco. "Best get used to it."
"There's four of us," said Carter. "She's alone. I doubt Stanton's new employers care more about her than the CIA."
John's expression softened slightly and he finally let her go. The fear was still there but it was overshadowed by... something. A look Carter couldn't quite recognise.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by his growling stomach.
"I could eat," muttered John.
Carter was starving herself but she couldn't help laughing softly at the embarrassed look on John's face.
"I can get the four of us a table at Keens Steakhouse once Detective Carter gets her injuries examined," said Finch with a smile to match hers.
As if on cue, Carter's knee gave another painful spasm.
"You boys better go," said Carter with a wince. "I might be a while."
"We'll wait," said John firmly.
"It's already late," protested Carter. "The restaurant will close."
"Exceptions can be made," said Finch with his usual brand of cryptic, strangely inoffensive smugness.
"Especially for Mr Harold Dodo," said Fusco dryly.
Finch shot Fusco a look which was cheerfully ignored. Fusco offered Carter his arm with a grin. She rolled her eyes but let him help her to the paramedics.
Stanton didn’t stand a chance, she thought.