Page 78 of Shane
Talk about tough. Everlee respected anybody dedicated enough to survive Hell Week, then tackle Cold Weather Training the way those guys had. By the end of the course, she’d been run ragged and she had pneumonia. But by hell, she’d kept up with those bigger, meaner, sturdier men. They’d good-naturedly nicknamed her Squirt, which she still hated. But one of them, Chief Petty Officer Nick Coletti, had at least slapped her back when they’d headed to their helo for the ride back to San Diego. He’d told her she’d done good. She’d told him she never wanted to see him or his team again. He’d laughed, but she’d meant that, too.
Everlee had slept the entire flight back to Seattle, she’d been so sick. She still thanked her lucky stars there were no women on SEAL teams—yet. Because then she’d have to prove she could beat those types of guys, anytime, anywhere, too. Ah, the story of her life.
As agreed upon prior to landing, they left Tuesday with Heston. He’d cut the engine the moment they’d touched down to reduce the raucous noise of rotor slap.
“We’ll be watching,” he called to Shane, who was also on the ground. “Try to keep it PG.”
“You bet,” he replied.
But Everlee doubted Tuesday would mind seeing Astor’s brains eject from the back of her head. She watched the silent guy-speak between Heston and Shane. The way they communicated with a nod, the thrust of their chins, or head bobs. Like the chin Shane had just directed toward Tuesday. “Keep her safe, amigo. She’s the target here, not the killer.”
“Copy that,” Heston answered with a swift two-fingered salute.
Shane closed the side door, hitched his gear bag high on his shoulder, and turned to Everlee. “You ready?”
“Been ready since this shit show started.”
Besides the helmets with cameras, they were both now armed to the gills, each with a McMillan bolt-action, TAC-338 sniper rifle slung over their shoulders and plenty of ammo. But this was no training exercise and the rifles were for just-in-case scenarios. Close quarter combat demanded pistols, Shane with a right nice pair of Browning Black Label 1911-380s, Everlee with two Glocks from Smoke’s vault. Between them, they’d preloaded a dozen magazines and were more than ready to end Astor and her goons. Anticipation was palpable, and Everlee was on high alert, ready for this sprint to the finish line.
But what the hell? Shane had just stepped into her, blocking her way with that big, squared-off body of his. She titled her head upward, intent on staring him down if he’d decided to go all alpha male on her and insist she stay behind too. Not. Happening.
“You got something to say?”
“Don’t forget our date once this mission is over.”
“You gotta bring that up now?” She was impatient to be done with this never-ending day, didn’t need the pleasant distraction he offered. Her head needed to be in the game and her reflexes sharp, not sluggish like they’d been since her encounter with Ringo and Bud. Shane needed to knock off the small talk. Multi-tasking took too much effort.
“Why not? I’m looking forward to it, Agent Yeager.”
“Me too,” she admitted grumpily.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So how do you want to go in?”
Everlee sucked in a lungful of the cold night air, her smaller body buffeted by the chilly wind raking over the rooftop. “Fast and quiet. Hard but without unnecessary roughness. No collateral damage. Alex hates that. Only one we take out is Astor and only if she shoots first. Watch your backstop and don’t get hurt again.”
He pursed his lips and blew her a kiss. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
She slugged his biceps, meaning it to hurt. Which it probably didn’t. “Stop yakking and move out.”
He gestured for her to take the lead. Which Everlee loved. She stepped out ahead of him and aimed for the only rooftop exit, grabbed hold of the metal handle, and damned near pulled her arm out of its shoulder socket. It was locked.Shit!That newbie move made her look stupid, which she wasn’t. Green and cocky, yes. But also smart enough not to challenge Shane when he dropped to one knee beside her and pressed a small shape charge—probably C4, something he’d obviously raided from Smoke’s place but hadn’t told her about—around the door handle and—
Poof!Open sesame.
Everlee wondered what else he had in those pockets. No time for that now. She clapped his right shoulder, then walked past him through the now open exit. Not much to see there, just the lighted stairwell. At the bottom of said stairs, Shane lightly tapped her shoulder, a signal for her to proceed through the fire doors ahead. Those should open to the private hallway that housed the penthouse entry and its private elevator. She hurried quietly, the Glock in her right hand, pointed down at the floor, adrenaline pounding through her veins at the audacious thing she was about to do. Into the hallway she went. Elevator to her right. Penthouse entry to her left.
Wordlessly, Shane stepped around her, reached one long arm up to the ceiling, and pressed a small glob of what looked likeSilly Puttyover the lens of the tiny security camera above the elevator.
Damn. Ev hadn’t thought to look for cameras. “Thanks,” she whispered guiltily.
“That’s why I’m here,” he answered easily, “and why we work in pairs. One is none, but two is one, Ev. Don’t forget it. Let’s do this. Ring the doorbell. See who’s home.”
“With pleasure,” she answered, kicking the doorknob out of her way like the hardass she was. The door banged open because she’d meant it to. Or, she thought, it hadn’t been locked. Or maybe, they’d been expected. Not a comforting feeling—all those doubts.
Once inside, she leveled her weapon and announced loudly, “Down on your knees! You’re all under…”