Lance grinned and tugged her up to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead before adjusting for the walk they needed to get started on. “That’s notexactlyhow it works,” he said, “but also not as far off as you probably expect, either.” While Jon called everyone into formation and gave them direction, Lance held up his free hand and drew Lynn’s attention to a spark he lobbied between thumb and forefinger. “See how the electricity jumps from origin to destination?”
She nodded. “That’s an arc, right?”
Pride bloomed in his chest and he let his hand fall. “That’s exactly what it is. Scientifically it involves electricity jumping between two separate conductors or some shit,” he said, “but how it works for me is more psychological.” He tapped his chest. “I’m the point of origin, and whatever location I identify is the point of destination—the second conductor, if you will. Then it’s just a matter of how much I’m moving.”
“And somehow that means you can move your entire self in the blink of an eye?”
“More or less.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I can’t jump to a point I can’t identify in real-time, so it has limits.” He left unspecified that he’d learned to stretch that to a very literal definition by using binoculars and telescopes. He didn’t exactly need a large window to work in, but the larger the in-between space, the harder a toll it took on him.
Lynn leaned into him as they walked, her voice quiet and teasing. “My hero.”
He chuckled. “When you’ll let me be, anyway.”
“Target’s on the move,” Jon said, throwing his words over his shoulder in a familiar, sharp tone.
Dammit.That was the other thing about Lance’s power. He generally just moved faster than the average person. So, when it came to a foot race, he was usually the guy on tap.
“Fortunately for us, it looks like he’s going home. And he’s not cutting through town to get there.” Jon motioned wide. “Lance, keep to this side of the creek and you’ll come to a road. Turn left off that road onto Leeland Drive—everything past the first row of shrubs is his property. Be careful. We’ll meet you there.”
“Wait,” Lynn said, her confusion evident.
Lance gave her another squeeze. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” He pulled them to a stop and turned her to face him. “We just can’tafford to lose this lead. You stay with the guys and let Jon be bossy this once, please. We’ll wrap things up ASAP.”
Lynn frowned. “I don’t like you going after the enemy alone.”
“I’m just taking lead. Backup won’t be far.” Lance leaned in and stole a kiss from her scowling lips but didn’t let himself linger. “But I gotta go,” he said quietly. “Be safe, Lynn. I’ll see you when it’s done.”
She pursed her lips, displeasure shining in her eyes, and nodded. “If you don’t come back, I will never forgive you, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter twenty-four
Critical Strike
Lance followed Jon’s instructions,keeping the creek at his right, and in no time, he’d run out of forest and onto blacktop. It was a smaller, one-lane road in subpar shape which soon led to a left-handed off shoot labeled Leeland Drive, exactly as promised.
He dropped low, moving more carefully as he crossed onto the property. It’d be awfully funny if the cartel bigwig tried screaming about trespassing, especially with his law enforcement hooks untethered. That didn’t mean he wanted to expose his position sooner than necessary. It’d be best if he could get proper eyes on the place—get the lay of the land—before the next wave of shooting and death washed over.
The shrubs and trees that faced the road obscured a rather tall, definitely old, brick wall. The wall had been outfitted with staggered security cameras more befitting of the times.
Lance grinned.Cute.He let his natural power build, braced his fingers on the dirt, and launched himself up with a hard shove.The ground disappeared from beneath his feet. Foliage blurred in his periphery. The toes of one boot touched down at the top of the wall, between the two camera’s mounted positions, and he locked eyes on an open spot of ground below. What followed wasn’t even like kicking off so much as allowing the flow of the current to carry him the rest of the way. By the time he felt the stomach-churning tug from defying gravity, Lance was back on solid ground and drawing a deep, settling breath.
It’d been at least a couple of years since he’d seen action so close-up and he was absolutely enjoying it more than any sane man would. But sanity was overrated.
Lance trailed along the periphery for a bit, noting the perimeter of the property and its lacking interior security. The cameras were posted on exterior mounts and couldn’t possibly see over the walls. He saw no signs of a secondary camera system. No current ran through the air to forewarn him of an electric fence of any type. He sensed nothing beneath his feet, or unnaturally nearby to his feet, to suggest traps hidden beneath the surface.
Either Pretty Bird hadn’t had the property long enough to convert it, or he was a bit too confident. There was, perhaps, also the chance that he’d had—until very recently—a number of armed men patrolling the property.
Regardless, Lance ran into no opposition on any sensory level as he did his due diligence. He detailed a mental map of the external portion of the property, located the two-car garage and the vehicle that had only been parked for a couple of minutes before his arrival, and took the time to drain the batteries in both vehicles. It wasn’t exactly hard. He spotted no sign of other transportation—no dirt bike, no four-runner, no RV or even dry-docked boat. If Pretty Bird had something else, it wasn’t more impressive than one of those hovering skateboard things.
Lance found himself a nice vantage that overlooked most of the house front and lowered until he was poking the barrel of his own rifle through the stems of a poorly trimmed flower bush. The bush was one of three that lined up to a healthy tree, all angled, so his body wouldn’t be visible from the house. Not unless someone came out one of the top-floor rooms and peered the right direction over a veranda, and there wasn’t much Lance could do about that. If he had a danger of exposure, it was more likely to be a bird.
There were birds all the fuck over the place. Chirping in the trees like it was some sort of fucking children’s movie. It was enough to make a man rethink his phobias. Most men, at least.
Movement through a ground-floor window sharpened his focus. He didn’t actually know what his target looked like, but as far as he was concerned, anyone walking freely in that house was the enemy. Unless he happened to catch that the person had a bomb strapped to their chest with duct tape and tears streaming down their face, and really, at that point ‘freedom of movement’ became not so synonymous with ‘freely’.
Water dripped off a leaf over his position, landing on his upper arm once. Twice. Three times, until it formed a small, perfect puddle on his skin. The sensation of it made him want to rub at his arm, but he knew better.
