“Wow, that was some dream. My God, that man has seeped into my subconscious.” As she turned on her night table lamp, the cat hopped off. It was three thirty in the morning. After pushing out of bed, she padded into the bathroom for water.
Hours earlier, she’d left the club in a huff. Not acting like a professional wasn’t helping her solve these murders, but she wasnotready to face her fear. Just the thought of going into a windowless basement made her stomach clench and her heart pound. No way could she force down her insecurities while trying to act like a badass cop.
I’ve gotta get over myself and do it.
After sliding back under the covers, she reached for her phone. She tapped on the Survivors app and checked for messages. None.
She needed sound advice from an impartial person on how to handle the situation. As she scrolled through the online members in the private chat group, she felt comfortable reaching out to two of them for help. The first was her therapist, Heather Sharpe.
“Dr. Sharpe, my work requires me to face my claustrophobia. I’d like to set up a virtual appointment with you. My sched is pretty crazy right now, but I’m hoping we can find something sooner than later. Please let me know your avail. Thanks.”
She sent it, then scrolled to Justice and typed out a message. “Hey, insomnia bud. I have a prob. Could use your advice.” She hit send.
Like most nights, dots appeared. “Whatcha need?” he replied.
“I have to face a fear with someone I don’t get along with. It’s a work thing, so no choice. I don’t want this person to see me weak. How to proceed?”
Nothing for a minute, then his response. “Deep breath. Small steps. Confidence you’ll be okay. Do it for you. BTW, how could anyone not like you?”
She smiled. Justice was right. So what if she has a panic attack in front of Stryker? Her gut told her that if she did, he might be the best person to help her through it. And if he was a total tool, she’d manage through it for the victims. She’d do it for April Peters and Gloria Stanton.
“Great advice,” she texted him. “Thanks for your help. What’s keeping you up so late?”
“Nothing special,” he replied.
“You okay?”
“Who the hell knows,” he replied.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Maybe another time.”
“Get some sleep.” She closed the app and set down her phone. Lying there in the dark, her thoughts floated back to her sexy dream. The way Stryker had held her in his arms and kissed her naked body. How she’d loved giving herself to him and how easily he’d been able to pleasure her.
Not happening, so stop dreaming about him.
* * *
Stryker reread the text exchange with Boomslang before setting his phone and wallet in the cubby. As he finished pulling on his tactical gear, he thought about asking her for coffee. Or a drink. Dinner was too much and a lunch date wasn’t his style. Dating, in general, wasn’t his thing, but some chick who’d named herself after a venomous snake intrigued him.
He stepped into his combat boots, fitted his Glock with a silencer, and searched his pockets for a hair tie.
Brooks was getting ready next to him and Stryker held out his hand. After scrounging in his cubby, Brooks handed him a hair tie. Stryker pulled his hair into a man-bun before turning his thoughts to the mission.
A surprise attack on a ruthless gang in the DMV. In the dead of night, the leader and his four highest-ranking members would be exterminated. These five criminals were wanted for sex trafficking, child pornography, multiple murders, and sexual assaults. All five were repeat offenders, but they’d always managed to find their way back into society.
Today was the day they’d meet their maker, Stryker Truman style.
He checked his secondary weapon before dropping it into the holster. With ski mask in hand, he turned to his team. “We ready?”
Rhys pulled on his ski mask. “All set.”
Brooks nodded before pulling up the hoodie and grabbing the key to the SUV.
To replace Quincy, Stryker had called in his close friend, Sinclair Develin. Known in DC as The Fixer, Sin’s expertise was getting his high-profile, high-paying clients out of scandals. When needed, he would join Stryker on a kill.
Sin slid a blade into a sheath strapped to his ankle, then stood and holstered his Glock. “I covered the SUV’s plates with deflectors when I got here.”
