Thirty foot drop

He didn't get to finish the phrase before there was a deafening roar and a helicopter swept over the hillside behind us, flying about an inch and a half above the treetops. It soared past us and then banked around in a turn over the lake, only to return and hover thirty feet above the shoreline, maybe a hundred yards away.
In the movies, special forces guys come zipping down on lines. I've even been the guy on a line once, sort of, though I was more sack of meal than Navy SEAL. But when the people jumping off the helicopter are vampires, you don't bother with a lot of lines.
Or any lines. At all.
Three figures in white leapt from the hovering chopper, neatly flipped once on the way down, and landed together in a dancer's crouch. Then they all rose, the movement as beautiful, smooth, and coordinated as anything you'd see at the Cirque du Soleil.
Lara and her two sisters walked toward us, and they were good at it. Lara was wearing a white sundress that showed off her curves, with two black leather belts that crossed on her hips. A handgun in a holster hung from one of the belts. The other belt supported a sword, a genuine rapier whose worn handle looked as if it had seen actual use. Her long black hair was pulled up in a net, and the top of her head was covered in a white cloth, a very Gypsy sort of look. She wore a choker made of pure platinum, the metal seeming to hold its own glow, even in the failing light, and a single large bloodred ruby hung from it.


Turn Coat Chapter 41, Page 394