To protect her, because I needed to know I’d done everything in my power to keep her safe.
But his efforts had apparently all been for not because Talia had vanished right out from under his nose. And that damn well should not have happened. Not unless…
Son of a?—
“Let me see your phone!” he demanded of the other man.
Ryker didn’t hesitate to offer up his cell.
Dialing a number he was damn glad he’d memorized, Jagger put the phone to his ear and waited. It took four full rings, but Emmett Shaw finally picked up.
“Yeah?” The man’s deep voice sounded rough and gravelly from sleep.
“This is Brooks. I need to know who was supposed to be watching the safe house tonight?”
Emmett didn’t so much as pause before responding with a confident, “It’s Baxter. He showed up at ten, and Blake and I headed out a few minutes later. Why?”
“What kind of car does Jimmy drive?” Jagger didn’t bother getting into all the details right then.
“Uh…a blue Corvette. Again, why?” There was rustling of sheets. “What the hell’s going on, Brooks? Is Baxter in some kind of trouble?”
“I’ll call you back in a second and let you know.” He ended the call.
Jagger spotted the blue sports car almost immediately and headed that way. His heart raced, hoping they weren’t about to find the man shot in the head or stabbed in the heart. Or worse.
But as they approached the vehicle, both he and Ryker pulling their weapons as an offensive move to ward off possible threats, the worry Jagger had felt seconds earlier for a man he barely knew turned into white-hot rage that left his blood boiling with fury.
I’ll fucking kill him.
Jimmy Baxter, the man slated to be Echo Team’s lead sniper, was slumped behind the wheel of his car. Not because he was injured or dead—though that was going to change in about three-point-two seconds.
No, good ole Jimmy was hunched over with his head leaning up against his window because the worthless motherfucker was sound fuckingasleep.
“Ah, shit.”
Jagger didn’t bother rapping his knuckles against the window or opening the door. Instead, he spun his pistol around in his hand, fisted the barrel, and slammed the edge of the weapon’s hard, metal butt against the glass.
Hundreds of shards exploded from the window’s rubber-sealed frame on impact.
“Jagger!” Ryker started to react.
At the same time, Jimmy shot straight up in his seat, eyes wide as saucers as he looked up at Jagger and yelled, “Hey! What the fuck?”
“Sleeping?”Jagger roared.
He reached his free hand through the space where the window used to be and forcefully yanked the door. Fisting the front of Jimmy’s shirt, he pull the shocked man out of his seat and threw his incompetent ass to the asphalt below.
“I’m sorry, okay?”
“Oh, you’re sorry?” He squatted down before pulling the man’s face so close to his, the tips of their noses were touching. His voice was lethally low as he promised, “You’re sure as fuck going to be sorry.”
“Get him off of me!” Jimmy fought to break free.
“That’s enough.” Ryker intervened before Jagger could choke the life out of the son of a bitch.
It wasn’tuntil Jagger chose to let the man go that he was able to scramble away like the chickenshit he was.
“How in the actual fuck were you ever evenconsideredfor a position with R.I.S.C.?” he questioned rhetorically.
