Page 59 of Until the End

“Yes.”

“What if we miss the pool?”

“Push off from the railing when you jump. You won’t miss. Take off your shoes first so you don’t slip.”

“Stop making everything sound so flipping easy. There’s four hundred feet between us and going splat.” She shoved the flats in her bag.

“It’s more like forty feet.” He helped her stand up on the top of the balustrade. “Grip the handrail of the staircase.” He gestured to the metal bar right beside her. “Steady yourself.”

“If we don’t die, we’ll break bones.”

A distinct possibility. “Who’s the crybaby now? If we don’t jump, we don’t make it.”

Once she was in place with stable footing, Castle trained the gun on the French doors, ready to lay waste to anyone who dared set foot on the balcony.

“This plan sucks!”

“Did I neglect to mention I have a degree in sucky planning?”

The door flew open and a bearded guy darted outside.

“Jump, Kit. Now!” Castle fired, landing a bullet to the cheek. Blood spurted like a geyser and the guy dropped.

Two more shadows moved near the front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The others were prepping to storm through any second.

“Stop being a cupcake and—” Castle chanced a quick glance back, and Kit was gone.

The breath caught in his lungs.

He looked over the edge of the balcony.

Shit, she actually jumped. And made it.

Attagirl.

18

Bravo stood on the balcony, clenching his jaw, and stared down at the pool.

That agent was tall and burly, built like a brick shithouse, and he wasn’t easy to pin down. He hopped from the water, fished out the target—she was gasping, struggling to recover—and slung her over his shoulder with ease. Then he hauled ass.

The fucker was also fast. And quickly becoming a thorn in Bravo’s side.

On the upside, Bravo no longer had to go to the trouble of killing that dipshit Delta.

Charlie came up beside Bravo and raised his sidearm, taking aim.

Bravo seized him by the throat. “You’ll do more harm than good from this distance.”

The greater the range, the lower the accuracy. This situation might’ve turned into a circus, but it still wasn’t the Wild West, where they had the luxury of shooting haphazardly.

“Remember the ROEs,” Bravo said, referring to their rules of engagement, and released Charlie’s neck. “The hard drives are out there somewhere, and she can’t talk with a bullet in her head.” He lifted his cuff and spoke into his wrist mic. “Echo, they’re headed in your direction. Follow and don’t lose them. Copy?”

“Affirmative. I have eyes on target.”

“That operative is good,” Charlie said. “Too good.”

Bravo gave a single curt nod of agreement. “Since he seems to be sticking around, we’ll code name him Caretaker.”