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Joe was just about to form another plan, when Chuck’s chair moved.
“Where the fuck is Jason?” he muttered under his breath. “I gotta take a piss.”
Right. Where was Jason, Joe reiterated to herself? Galici had told the pair to switch off, but the lummox hadn’t yet come in to relieve Chuck, which could mean…
Joe smiled to herself. Had the cavalry arrived outside in the form of one hot-as-fuck Mike Carlese and his trusty SWAT team?
Damn, she sure hoped so.
If they were out there, they’d not only have incapacitated Jason, they’d take care of good old Chuck when he went out to relieve himself. That meant Joe could get herself loose, palm her little Ruger, then wake the boss-man up from his nap.
Hah! From sweet dreams to his worst nightmare. Now that’s the kind of thing that made Joe’s heart sing.
And not Baby Shark.
She heard the door quietly open and close behind Chuck, and she wasted no time. Joe rolled to her back again, spread her ankles as far as she could, brought her knees up, then sent them down to both sides as sharply as possible.
Nothing.
Goddammit.
But she wasn’t giving up. It was a stupid time to be stubborn—especially knowing the shoelace trick would work—but Joe wasn’t a quitter. She tried again.
Nada.
But… Third time’s a charm, right?
Putting all her thigh muscles into it, she executed the maneuver again, and…
Bingo!
Freedom!
Joe carefully scrambled to her feet, then reached up under her shirt to access her firearm. Once she had it palmed, she felt a lot better. Not as good as she’d feel if she had her Glock 19, but she wasn’t complaining.
On silent feet, she sped across the room and pressed her back against the wall next to the door Chuck had used. She’d give him a full five minutes to relieve himself just in case he had prostate troubles, then she’d assume outside forces had taken care of the man for her.
If Jason also didn’t make an appearance, that would mean it was her lucky day.
Which left her…Galici.
Oh, she was so going to enjoy seeing his face when he realized the game he’d been playing was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Strategy had been discussed back at the bus, and Mike had just been about to, reluctantly, hunker down with his team at the tree line outside the warehouse, when they got eyes on a burly individual who was leaning up against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette.
He wanted to rush in and immediately take the dude out, but Mason smartly held him back—knowing he’d probably kick the shit out of the man—giving Alvero and Welker the go, instead.
They jumped the guy on the sly, but once he started giving them a rougher fight than expected, even Mason couldn’t keep Mike in place. He joined the fray, barely restraining himself from bloodying the guy up, but he did get in several face-punches, and that had felt damned good.
The fracas took several minutes to come to an end, but eventually the perp was completely incapacitated; tied up and rendered secure.
Mason quickly joined Mike, Alvero, and Welker at the downed man’s side, where they attempted—for several minutes—to talk to him about who was inside the building, and the state of Joe’s health. But the guy simply sneered. Short of torturing him—which Mike was all for—the asshole wasn’t saying a word.
“Give me two minutes with him,” Mike growled, knowing he wouldn’t kill the guy, but his rage was so great, he couldn’t vouch for whether there wouldn’t be a broken bone or two before he was finished.
Mason knew that.