Page 47 of Tactically Acquired

“We have a location,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Exit 63.”

“Who has her?” Thumper asked.

“No fucking clue. Rae just gave the location.”

He frowned, glancing over at me. “That’s kind of strange. She didn’t send along any other information?”

I shrugged. Yeah, it was freaking weird for her, but maybe she was fucking with us because she knew how badly we’d screwed up. How badlyI’dscrewed up.

Spencer leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “Any chance you guys could just stick me on a plane and send me home?”

“Not until we know the threat against you is gone,” Thumper answered.

“Right. That makes sense.”

I was a little surprised he didn’t argue with us. Most clients wouldn’t stop fighting until they got their way or until they were shot at for the fifth time in one day.

“That’s it? You’re not going to argue?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “I am one hundred percent on the side of staying alive. If you tell me to sit, I sit. If you tell me to run, I run.”

“I thought you were an action hero?” IRIS asked.

He shrugged. “I really prefer the theater.”

I snorted in amusement. “Don’t let him near Fox.”

“So…all this shoot ‘em up stuff…”

“I just got pulled into it,” Spencer sighed. “I fit the role because of my looks. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be put into a box because of your looks?”

“Yeah, we know a thing or two about that,” IRIS laughed.

“And the thing is, I have this great thing going for me. I’m kind and respectful. When I take a lady out, I show her a good time. I’m a gentleman, you know? But do they like that?”

“Fuck no,” I muttered.

“Nope, they want another version of me. They wanthim,” Spencer stressed. “The action star. The bad boy.”

Thumper snorted. “Fucking mechanics.”

“What’s that?” Spencer asked.

Thumper glanced in the rearview mirror at him. “It’s like with us. You’d think all the ladies would be after us, right? We’re good at our jobs. We’re protectors. We take care of our women.”

“The ladies don’t want you?”

“He has a woman,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That’s not the fucking point, and you know it,” Thumper snapped.

“What does your job have to do with mechanics?”

“Because they can carry tires!” Thumper shouted. “Fucking tires! They have the coveralls and the grease.”

“And the wrenches,” I added.

“Fucking wrenches,” Thumper muttered. “The ladies are obsessed with how a mechanic’s forearms look when they twist that wrench. And me? What am I, chopped liver? All I did was save her life, but that mechanic walks through the door and suddenly, she’s a puddle on the floor.”

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