Ten minutes. What were they supposed to do with ten minutes, just wait? Clint had taken out the snipers but how long would they be down? She didn’t know what arrows he had used to accomplish his task. Checking her wound, she could see that the blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage she had tied around it but otherwise nothing serious.

Maybe she could head toward the building that held the nearest sniper, get a jump on detaining him before back-up arrived. Keeping low, she moved toward the back of the car and peered down the street. There were a few other cars but little else in the way of cover, and no doubt people had taken notice of this entire situation by now. Staying hidden was probably the better option, though the much more annoying one. Ten minutes felt like ten hours with nothing to do but wait.