Steely eyes held his, narrowing and judging him.
“You have your orders,” a short, squat man said. “Understood?”
Pike looked ready to toss a grenade. “Sadly, sir, my team is not under your purview.”
The captain shifted, positioning himself as one in charge. “But you are working in cooperation with the DIA and the Agency. Pending analysis of your gathered intel from the raid on Roud, which is still under review to see if Omen exceeded its granted authority in the region, that cooperation is withdrawn.”
“Bullspit!” Pike barked.
“Reinstatement is possible, depending on what is found in the AAR of the raid.”
“You don’t have the authority—”
“Oh, I do.” The squat man spoke up again and pointed to a file in Pike’s hand. “Right there. Like I said—you and your team have twenty-fours hours to provide actionable intel, or you’re out of here.”
“What about the victims?” Range inserted himself into the conversation.
“I don’t think we answer to you,” the captain snipped.
“If, as you state, OTG disregarded clear Agency and DIA guidelines in executing the Roud raid, then you have a responsibility to the people of this country—and there are nine of them onsite—to ensure they are safely returned to their families.”
“Families,” the captain spat. “You do know what you raided, don’t you?”
“Maybe you should enlighten us,” Range said coolly.
“What does that mean?”
Range feigned ignorance. “Maybe I misunderstood. I didn’t realize you were legitimately asking what we raided. It was—”
“You smart a—”
“Range!” Pike shot him a glare, warning him to stand down. “Take a walk.”
Problem was, Range had given up subservience long ago. He’d taken enough grief from Canyon to last a lifetime. But to be fair, he also didn’t want to make life difficult for Pike or Omen. Tucking his anger into his fists, he started for the door.
“Range.”
Hearing the captain mention his name, in a curious way that was more informed than he’d prefer, Range told himself not to turn back.
“Can’t be a Metcalfe. They have class. Know when to keep their noses clean.”
Biggest lie on the books. None of them knew how to keep their noses clean. They found trouble without looking for it. That was part of the Metcalfe brand.
That and the attitude.
He kept walking. Felt good to give the captain his backside instead of dignifying his stupidity with a comeback. Proud of himself, he huffed off the need to rearrange the guy’s face. It was progress, being able to walk away.
A hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Where is she?” Pulled him around. “Tell me! I saw you with her.”
Range shoved himself into the captain. Slammed him against the wall. “Your mom? I wouldn’t—”
“Kasra. Where is—”
“You sick—you were supposed toprotectthe people here, not rape them!”
The captain’s fist collided with his jaw. Wracked pain through Range’s neck, which whiplashed. He threw his own. Nailed the guy solidly. Threw another. A flurry of strikes and he had the guy on the ground.
“Range!” Hands hauled him backwards.
