“So, if the grunts burn up too… you could do this on a larger scale?” The wheels were turning.
I nodded. “My associate is going to make a plan. I’m assuming we lure them with some type of device or firepower if we need to. I open it and we shove them through. Watch those motherfuckers burn.”
My associate was Jeremy.
Now she was grinning. “Let me speak to my Captain.”
I wasn’t in handcuffs. They’d asked me pretty calmly to come speak to them. They’d seen my video. If the Galadrias weren’t here, I think it would have gone much more smoothly, but the sight of all the colored beasts floating in the lake had spooked them a bit.
She left and I waited. And waited. And waited.
“Just let me check on her!” I heard Ronnie scream outside the tent after a while.
“This is a classified situation, ma’am. No civilians.”
“Oh, fuck off, we’re all ex-army, you prick.” Maxine’s Texan drawl lashed out at the poor guy.
“Hey!” he shouted, and Ronnie slipped inside the tent.
Her eyes washed over me. “Damien is freaking out. I told him I’d check on you. You okay?”
A guard burst in a moment later and grabbed Ronnie by the armpit.
Bad idea.
With a battle cry, she thrust her weight forward and flipped the dude over her back until he was flat on the floor, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him.
The woman who’d been interrogating me before, Mrs. Tight bun, popped her head in and looked at her fallen man.
“Kit Steele isn’t a prisoner. Her friends can come and go,” she informed him.
He took in a huge breath of air and shot Ronnie a glare. “It’s classified.”
Tight bun rolled her eyes. “They were just in there with her. They know everything we know and more. Get out.”
I grinned as he sulked his way out of the tent.
Ronnie held out her hand. “Dr. Ronnie Soto, trauma surgeon.”
The woman shook it and nodded. “I know who you are. I have a file on your entire team.”
Shit.
I didn’t like the sound of that, and neither did Ronnie from the look of her glare.
“My Captain has okayed the experiment,” the lady told me. “I’ll just need you to sign a waiver admitting that you could be injured or killed in this process and you won’t hold the US government liable.”
Ronnie and I shared a look, then bust out laughing.
The woman glared.
“Sorry. It’s just ... I do this for a living. I used to protect the president,” I informed her.
The woman nodded. “I know. Mrs. Buckley told me. She’s on her way. I still need you to sign the form.”
She told her? She was on her way?
Whoa. This had reached top brass. Now I was nervous.
