Two more boards pop free, and I’m staring up at the ceiling, my head, shoulders, and one arm free. That’s all I need.
That and the strength to stand.
Opting to crawl first, I creep to the edge of the truck bed and pull myself up.
Please don’t let anyone see me.
Voices come from somewhere deep in the warehouse. Too far away to make out what they’re saying. I have to move. Have to get out of the truck and find a closet, a vent shaft, a door…
The ground is so far away. But Robbie didn’t close the tailgate, so I scoot to the edge, dangle my feet over the side, and let myself fall.
* * *
Ronan
West aims a thermal imaging gun at the third building in the massive complex. The first two were empty. Cold. This one is the largest. A storage facility for farm equipment, up until three years ago, it’s been vacant ever since.
“Bingo,” he says, his voice so quiet if the bone-conduction mics weren’t the most sensitive in the world, I never would have heard him. “Grouping of heat signatures on the second level. Offices up there, from the blueprints. Can’t get a read on the back of the place from this angle.”
The plan he came up with for this building? Flashbangs if the assholes were close to a door. Silent infil and ambush if they weren’t.
“Tank. You and Probie take the rear. Trevor, Ronan, and I are going in the front. Unless you encounter a goddamn white flag and the fucker waving it drops flat in under three seconds, we arenottaking prisoners. Understood?”
One by one, everyone confirms the orders. No one who touched Zephyr gets to walk out of here. Especially not François Strauss.
West takes the lead, keeping to the shadows until the last possible second. A glass-walled reception area is dark, but next to it on the building’s outer wall, is a metal door. West shoulders his M4, drops to one knee, and has the lock picked in under a minute. Signaling his orders, he yanks open the door.
Trev corners to the left, leaving me to clear the right. West follows, and we creep along the wall until we can see the offices.
“Target O is down,” Tank says over comms. “Throat cut. Couple of hours ago. Broken laptop keys on the ground, and a fuckton of blood in two spots. This is where they had the package, but she’s not here.”
No. God, no.
Trevor rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes once. Tank didn’t say he found her body. Just Oliver. There’s a chance she’s still alive.
Gunfire explodes toward the back of the warehouse, and we all tense.
“Pinned down behind a stack of pallets,” Raelynn says. “Two shooters. We’ll keep ‘em busy.”
West signals for Trevor to head their way, then points at the stairs down from the offices. Two men, François and Alex Strauss, are already at the bottom and moving quickly to the south side of the building.
Where the fuck is Zephyr?
Waving his hand in front of my face, West glares at me. “Move your ass,” he whispers. “We need one of them alive until we find the package.”
More gunfire, then Trevor’s voice. “One hostile down.”
We’re within a hundred feet of the Strauss brothers when François lobs something back over his shoulder.
“Cover!” West shouts, and I dive behind a pillar while the SEAL grabs a fucking grenade and throws it toward the door. The roar is deafening, and the front wall of the structure collapses in a heap of cement and twisted metal.
West is face down, and I rush over to him, checking for a pulse until he groans. “Fuck.”
A shot hits the concrete a foot away, sending fragments pelting us. The two brothers stand side by side, each of them with a gun aimed at our heads. “Which one of you is the lover boy?” François asks. “She screamed for you. Many times. Until I broke her.”
I start to lunge for him, but a bullet flies just over my shoulder, and West grabs my vest and yanks me back down.
“The next one goes between your eyes,” François says with a smile.
