Page 4

Making her want me would be even more rewarding.
When our driver slams to a stop in the littered alley that’s no wider than the SUV, Marshall holds up his hand. We watch and wait for the go signal as the air in the car goes full on electric.
I will give Simona credit, though. She’s calm.
Focused.
Her breathing is steady and deep.
It’s very clear that she’s seen some action in her days too. Another thing that attracts the hell out of me.
But that’s for another time. If we don’t die. Which can happen any time you extract a high value target from an abductor.
Marshall gives us the signal and we slide silently from the car, falling into formation behind him.
The alley grows narrower. The sides climb high above, crisscrossed with rusty fire escapes and tiny dilapidated balconies.
Carefully, we navigate the trash and discarded car parts. I nearly run smack into a chicken when it flutters up from behind a box, screeching.
This is our way in, but thank fuck it’s not our way out. The other alley is shorter. Wider and clear enough for the van that’s waiting for us to approach the warehouse door we’ll be exiting.
Marshall’s voice comes over the comm system in my ear. “Extraction vehicles in place?”
Roark, Mako, and Andre check in from their posts. One above us on a balcony. One in the van. One in the SUV we just left.
The boss man stops, presses his big frame against the wall just outside of a door. Simona, crouching low, takes her spot on the other side of the door.
“We go on one.”
“Copy.”
Simona quietly echoes her reply.
Marshall counts down, “Three, two, one.”
The heel of his boot crushes the lock. With a deafening slam, the door flings inward.
We surge into the dimly lit space. An instant later, we’re in a firefight.
Bullets explode around me as the acrid odor of gunpowder fills the air. Everything slows. The movements. The sound of my own breathing in my ears.
A pallet of boxes gives me cover. Marshall rises up and fires a volley of rounds.
And… fuck!
Simona takes off at a run toward the room where we know the target is being held. The girl’s got balls. I’ll give her that.
But Jesus. What the hell is she thinking?
While Marshall fires again, I sprint after her. My throat tight, my gut cold, and my gun raised.
But a man in all black tactical gear steps out of the room where the girl was supposedly being held. He cuts off our path with a gun pointed right at Simona’s face.
The small, unconscious body of a young girl is draped over his broad shoulder. Her bare, pale feet dangle at his waist, hanging below a drab gray sheet. She’s breathing. Slowly and steadily. Probably drugged.
Simona skids to a stop, but lifts her gun. She points it right back at the man’s head.
His eyes cut to me before swinging quickly to her. “Move and I’ll shoot her in the face.”