Page 12 of Rogue Mission

Slow down. Breathe. One, two, three?—

A voice shatters the quiet.

“Hey ma’am.”

Crisp. Male. No-nonsense. American. Southern if the ma’am is any indication. But he’s not from the deep south.

“Quite the situation you’ve gotten into.”

The owner of the voice is weirdly, almost impossibly calm even though the whole world seems to have delved into chaos.

That kind of calm only comes with confidence that you’re in charge.

As in security.

Who is going to drag me back to my cell.

"Nice sparkly thong. Makes me think of a disco ball at this place in Madrid," he says. "Now, if you stop wiggling," he rumbles from below me, "I'll see if I can get you out of there."

FIVE

Well, hello! The glittering thong nestled between two lush buns is throwing sparks of light through the air duct.

I should not be grinning, but how can a guy not?

I've seen a lot on missions. A lot of ugliness, a lot of craziness, but what I'm seeing now is truly a first.

"How'd you get stuck?" I ask, smothering the chuckle that's shaking my shoulders.

It's wrong to laugh. We're in the middle of an op.

The woman is in a bad position. And her life, my life, and Truck's life are on the line.

But I'm not immune to irony. As my team can attest, I've been known to laugh at inappropriate times.

A lot.

"How do you think?" A low growl from above accompanies a frustrated curl of some very cute toes. "I fell. And now I'm…I don't know. But I can't move. I'm really, really stuck."

"Oh, I can see that. Every bit of that actually."

When did my voice get so deep?

It takes work, but I refrain from remarking that the view is good. Figure that will earn me a kick to the head too.

"For the love of god," she growls at me. "Give a girl some dignity."

Squeak. Squeak.

Skin tugs against metal, every little motion causing another sound. Her bare ass is plastered to the side of the duct, and every squirm drags her pretty cheeks against cold steel.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be insensitive. Gotta hurt and probably hard on the pride too. Where are your pants?"

"Oh, you have no idea how my dignity is suffering right now and I don't have pants." She says flatly, but then her voice rises to angry. "My skirt is around my waist, you idiot!"

More wiggling and frustrated muttering follows. The metal groans in protest, but holds tight. "Can you get me out of here or are we going to share life stories too?"

"Yeah. I can get you down." Pausing a beat, my grin turns to a frown. "But I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna hurt."