“What does it say?” he asked, curious but not enough to take his eyes off the road.
Reese picked up the phone, typed in Brantley’s password, and it was then Brantley realized how much of an open book he was to this man, but the same could not be said in reverse. Somewhere along the way, Brantley had invited Reese into his life in every way, but somehow, Reese had managed to keep Brantley on the periphery of his own.
“Baz and I are on the way,” Reese read. “Big news! Baby isn’t Baz’s. I’ll let him tell you about it when we see you later. We’re running a little behind but we’ll be there. Promise.”
“Text back a ten-four,” Brantley told him.
“You’re not curious that the baby isn’t Baz’s?” Reese asked as he typed.
“Not my business.” Although there were a few other topics he would’ve gladly discussed if Reese would’ve simply brought them up.
Thankfully, a minute later they were pulling into the parking lot of the Sniper 1 Security training facility, and the risk of hashing this out once and for all was in the rearview.
Chapter Twenty
Three hours later…
“Go!”
Reese motioned with two fingers and advanced with purpose.
Keeping low, he walked down the dark path created by the large shipping containers stacked three high on either side of him. Beneath his feet was smooth concrete, which allowed him to tread silently, while at his back, Trey and Baz watched his six.
There wasn’t any light to guide the way, so he relied on the night vision goggles that lit up the space with an eerie green glow to keep him headed in the right direction. With his gun up and aimed directly in front of him, Reese listened for any sounds to indicate where their target was.
He paused when he came to an intersection between the cargo containers, looked left, then right before holding up two fingers and gesturing for Baz and Trey to take opposite directions. Despite the fact they had the ability to communicate through the microphones and earpieces they wore, he didn’t speak, not wanting to risk giving away their position.
Trey went straight, Baz to the right, so Reese moved to the left. He ignored the lightness in his head brought on by the narrow confines of the space and the darkness that shrouded him.
“Clear,” Trey whispered into his earpiece. “Headin’ to you.”
Reese continued forward, keeping an eye out not only for the target but also for his teammates.
A minute later, Baz’s voice sounded in his ear with the same reply as Trey.
Because they were both moving toward him, Reese paused again, holding his position to reduce the risk of friendly fire.
Baz and Trey reappeared a few paces behind him, and their presence reduced some of his stress. Knowing they were there was a small comfort.
“Moving,” he whispered.
They continued on, weaving their way through the rows of shipping containers. Reese’s focus was on what was in front of them, Baz’s on what might be above, on the tops of those containers, and Trey’s was on the rear.
When Reese came to a door, he stopped, holding up a finger as a signal for Baz and Trey. Stepping back to allow Trey to open the door—an action that required a well-placed foot and a tremendous amount of force—Reese kept his weapon aimed and his focus on the door, already considering what was on the other side.
Trey put his back to the door and pulled a one-leg mule kick, the heel of his foot hitting perfectly at knob level, splintering the wood at the latch. The door swung inward as Trey lurched back to avoid potential bullets sprayed by the bad guys they were searching for.
Using hand signals—two fingers pointed up, then toward the room—Reese silently instructed Baz to lead the way while Reese shifted his attention to their six o’clock, ensuring they didn’t have anyone coming up behind them.
“Moving,” Baz said softly, stepping into the room, Trey following next, then Reese.
The second he stepped into the room—roughly ten by twelve with no windows and no other exits—Reese’s heart rate kicked into overdrive, his breaths became more labored. He did his best to conceal his body’s reaction to the confined space while he kept his attention on the door.
“He’s not here,” Trey said, his words a bit garbled in Reese’s head.
He could feel the cold sweat dripping down his back as he fought the memories from assaulting him. This was a safe place; there were no real threats. It was a simulation, a training exercise. At some point, he’d even seen the required exit signs that would lead them to safety in the event of an evacuation.
Even though he repeated that in his mind, Reese knew the panic attack was coming on. His hands had already begun to shake, his breaths choppy.
