I nod, feeling the heat in his gaze. “Are you?”
“Sure. But what are we going to do about her?” His eyes dart to where she is now lying.
I lean down and grab her gun, passing it to Owen who holds his hands up in anogesture.
“The situation has changed. You need to defend yourself.” I pull the clip out and reload it, putting the safety on.
“Safety.” I point to the small button on the side of the gun. “Press this, point and pull the trigger. Two hands, like this.”
I hold the gun in one hand with my second hand clasping the bottom. “It’s not like movies; there’s more of a kick back than you expect. Two hands will be better and give you more stability.”
I push the gun into his hands and turn my attention back to Anya, shaking my head.
“Shame, really,” I mutter, sighing, crouching next to her. I check for her pulse and open her jacket, grabbing her wallet, keys, and pick up the phone that is on the floor.
The screen cracked, but it’s working.
“Owen. Bag! Come on, we need to leave in two minutes.”
He’s standing there, staring at me like I’m a stranger.Again.Standard behaviour for when he looks at me nowadays.
He jumps into action and heads into his bedroom. I follow him, but stand in the doorway, watching as he grabs a duffel bag from his fitted wardrobe.
Comfortable that Owen is now moving, I turn my attention back to the phone, pulling up Andrews’ number, and dial it.
“Miss Harris.” His deep, smooth voice comes over the receiver.
“It’s me.”
“Little one?” He sounds surprised.
“I need an extraction.” I watch Owen move with purpose around the room, grabbing clothes and toiletries, throwing them into the bag.
“How many?”
“Two. Target is with me.” Owen glances over and raises an eyebrow. “Client, I mean. Old habits,” I say, smirking at Owen, who glares at me, raising his middle finger.
“Location?”
“Tar-Client’s apartment.”
“Time?”
“ASAP. I’m compromised. But you already know that.”
“Little one.” He sighs. “I saw.”
“Then help me, your arse is on the line here, too.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, my head beginning to pound, my injured arm hurting.
“Where to?”
“I haven’t worked that out yet.”
“Snow,” he states firmly.
I’m about to get a lecture and can practically sense him sitting up taller.
“Don’t start! I don’t need a lecture. What I need is you to send a goddamn extraction and I’ll sort the rest.”
