Page 54 of Talk to Me
“You don’t like quiet much,” McQuade commented, never taking his gaze off the building. “Do you?”
“Civilian,” Remington stated as if it were the answer to everything. That snagged McQuade’s attention and the pair shared a look of commiseration.
“Kiss my ass, Lord Rochester of the Household Cavalry Blues and Royals. Not all of us signed up for the honor guard.”
Okay, probably a bit snappier than it needed to be, but Remington merely smiled. McQuade’s snort of laughter rubbed me the wrong way.
“What are you laughing at? You could have been Delta Force until you received an ‘other than honorable’ discharge.” Which beat the hell out of Dishonorable Discharge. Course, I only knew the bare facts.
“You trying to swipe right on me, Locke?” McQuade’s tone remained unruffled.
“Nope. Just letting you know, I do my homework.”
“So do I,” Remington commented, the clipped British accent in no way disguising his humor. “You don’t care that we’re military, you just want to see how we’ll respond to disdain for the profession.”
“Were,” I corrected him. Neither was on active duty of any kind. McQuade may go into every kind of hellhole he could find, but he wouldn’t be doing it on Uncle Sam’s dime. As for the good Lord Rochester, he wasn’t in it for Queen—or King for that matter—and country anymore.
“Were, are,” McQuade said. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is we all do our jobs tonight. That we get Patch back.”
“And after?” Because mercenaries and assassins didn’t usually stick around after a job.
Then again, neither did thieves. Right now, there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.
“Let’s get her back first,” Remington said. “Deal with the problems, get her secure, then we see.”
Or not, I would suppose. Once we had Patch in the clear, there was no reason for us to work together. Probably better to keep it that way.
“You good with that?” McQuade asked, sparing me a look.
“Yes. I want her back.” I slapped another goddamn mosquito. “I’d also like to not catch malaria.”
That earned me a huff of laughter from both of them. Then we went quiet and watched. The quiet grated. Because I wanted to move. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and get in there. Break in and steal her back…
I didn’t want to compromise her though. Our odds were better after dark.
Didn’t make waiting any easier.
Not much coming and going for the next couple of hours. As sundown crept closer, a handful of people left the facility. Not many, but a few.
A couple in suits. Nearly everyone else looked more like a lab rat or tech.
They’d climb in their cars, the vehicles would start, and they’d keep doors open or windows for a couple of hot minutes to let the sweltering air out while their air conditioning kicked in.
Then they would leave.
All in all, by the time the sun had painted the western sky a burnt reddish-orange, and highlighted the scattered clouds in shadows, of the forty some-odd vehicles in the lot, about twenty-five were still there.
“I’m moving,” Remington said. “Comms in, but keep them off for now until you’re on your way out.”
“Copy,” McQuade answered. I ignored them both. I got not using comms until we were in the clear or needed clearance. They didn’t need me to respond.
Sweat soaked my shirt and I swore I was going to have swamp ass for days. There was no way anyone would miss smelling us if we tried to stay out of sight. Lowering the binoculars, I glanced to where Remington had vanished.
The growing darkness and the ruffling of the grass in the breeze betrayed nothing.
“Get ready to move,” McQuade said in a low voice that barely seemed to achieve whisper. “You stay on on my six until we’re at the doors. You’ll open them, but I go through first. Clear?”
“Clear.” No sense in provoking him.