She looks both ways like she’s a little kid crossing a road and then pushes through a door. He looks at the expensive watch on his wrist counting down the minutes and I’m not mad that he’s not going to make that assignation.
“Target cited,” I whisper into my comms.
“Send it.”
“Good copy,” I reply before pulling in a steady breath. And when I release it, I let my finger hug the trigger.
Before the earl ever hits the ground, I’m on the move. Scooping up my spent shell and dismantling my rifle. I’m not sure how the mission changed or why, but it won’t be me who takes the fall. I have too much to live for at home. I’m not going to have Macy visitingme in the pen.
“Mission completed. I’m on the move.”
“Stow your gear and head into command.”
“Good copy.”
Moving with my bag over my shoulder, I head to command. Mario has overwatch on another building. No one is getting POTUS today. But more importantly, he’ll have my back if things turn sideways.
Not on our watch.
My heart is racing as I head for the stairwell to stow my gear. I don’t let my nerves show. To the world I’m battle ready, but inside I’m wondering what the fuck just happened.
Chapter 22
Dead
Stella
As soon as the shots rang out, we were whisked away by our team and taken straight to a situation room where the gang was quickly assembled.
“Was this the bloody plan?” Rhys thunders, “because a little fucking warning would have been nice! What the bloody hell was that?”
“The earl is dead,” Jake says with a blank face. “We’re going to keep the hit quiet for as long as we can but he’s no longer a threat.”
“And her uncle?” Rhys asks.
“He’s under the impression that he’s being safely sequestered until he can be flown to his home country.”
“He’s not going to make it,” Rhys says.
“No, he’s not.”
“Good.”
“So the party’s over and it’s time to get to work,” Jules says. “I love being one of the guys.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Grace cackles. “God, I miss the game some days.”
“Thank God, that’s over,” Kayla says. “I don’t have the stomach for murder and intrigue like those girls do.”
“Well…” I start.
Rhys turns to look at me and his face is murderous. “Hen?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“What aren’t you saying?” He’s quiet, almost calm.
When he’s like this, I know he’s barely hanging on by a thread.