“Ma’am, I heard you might like fireflies.” He sweeps his gaze around the mall, then leans closer—which ain’t easy since he has to be at least six-and-a-half feet tall. “Gladys, my name’s Ford. I’d like to get you out of here if that’s okay with you.”
“Hey, you in my ear? This your man?” He had the code word—sort of—but that raspy voice has been quiet since I sat down, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“For fuck’s sake,” the voice mutters. “Yes. Give him the damn earbud, will you?”
“No. I want to know what’s goin’ on, and I doubt any of you are gonna tell me. So I’m gonna listen in.” With a huff, I take Ford’s hand and let him help me to my feet. “You find Doc?” I ask.
“No. By the time we went in, the basement was empty.” Ford drapes his arm around my shoulders. “No more questions until we’re in the van. Got it?”
I huff. “One more. You got any cash on you? All I’ve had to eat in the past two days is a bag of chips and part of a Snickers bar. I’d kill for some french fries.”
Ford pivots so quickly, I almost topple over, and heads straight for a burger chain at the end of the food court. “Foxtrot to Delta team. We’re…stopping for food. SmashMelt D.C. You want anything?”
When we reach the counter, he waits for me to order a double-smash meal deal with a lemonade, then pulls out his phone. “Add four additional meal deals, two with Coke, two with lemonade, and three extra orders of fries.”
“Shitsicles. How many folks you got in that van with you?” I whisper after he’s paid and we’re waiting off to the side for the food. “And are they all as hot as you? Because my heart might not be able to take much more sexiness.”
He lets out a rich laugh. “Everyone ‘in the van’ is spoken for. Except Vasquez, but he’s way too young for you, Gladys.”
“Well, fuck me sideways. Can’t blame a girl for asking.”
“Is that even possible?” Ford shakes his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Sierra, get up here. Need an assist with all the food.”
Five minutes later, “Sierra” hasn’t shown, and laden down with two large bags, a drink carrier, and a boatload of napkins, we head for the elevator.
The doors slide open, and a blonde dressed all in black pushes off the wall. “Damn, darlin’. That’s some shiner.”
“Who the hell are you?” I look to Ford, then back to the pretty young thing in front of me.
“Raelynn. Also known as Sierra when we’re on comms. I was comin’ to help y’all with the food, but looks like you got ithandled.” She jabs the button for P3, and the doors close with a whisper. “Sierra to Delta team. Come and get us.”
“Someone want to tell me why I can’t hear anyone you’re talkin’ to?” I stare up at Ford, but the position makes my neck ache before the elevator dings. He’s just too damn tall.
“Because the asshole you were talking to earlier is a control freak,” Ford says with a grin.
“You want to repeat that?” the raspy voice in my ear asks.
“Nope.”
A black van pulls up as soon as we step into the garage. The side door slides open. My jaw drops. Shitsicles. Two men and a woman are in the back, with a young guy behind the wheel. Ford hands off the food, while Raelynn takes my arm.
“Come on, darlin’. We can’t stay here.” She helps me into a seat, and the young whippersnapper behind the wheel turns.
Dark hair, even darker eyes. Wowza. Is he the single one? He ain’t too young.
“Where to?” he asks.
“That park we passed on the way from the airport. It’s between CID and the Correctional Treatment Facility,” a man with a pistol strapped to his hip says.
Raelynn pats my arm. “Gladys, that’s West. Vasquez is drivin’. Then you’ve got Ripper, and Inara.”
“Where are Doc and Nat?” I demand.
“Natasha is still at CID—the Army Criminal Investigation Division,” Ripper says. “Her GPS tracker hasn’t moved since a little after 9:00 a.m.”
“We have two people watching the office,” Ford adds. “They won’t be able to move her without us knowing.”
“And Doc?” I’m scared to ask. “I told you all where he was. Why didn’t you storm in there and rescue him?”
