Page 57 of To Hunt A Wolf
“This must be the infamous Mac.”
I look over as a woman I’ve never seen before strides up with two male guards close at her heels. One of them is the redhead from earlier, Burnett. I recognize the other male from the van-grab. The one who managed to wrestle me into submission. My expression tightens at the sight of him, but I force myself to focus on the woman who obviously outranks the two men, judging by their formation behind her. Her gray-blonde hair is cropped short and combed back to reveal a pair of steel-blue eyes that don’t waver from my own. Her uniform is less “military” and more “manager” with black pants and a matching jacket. But her posture and stance don’t fool me.
This chick can fight.
And she dares anyone to make her prove it.
“And you are?” I say, not in the mood for bull shit power plays.
“Frankie Dyer.”
She doesn’t offer any other greeting than her name.
Fine by me.
I don’t bother to reply.
“Frankie,” Levi prompts because she’s clearly come with a message. When the woman hesitates, he adds, “You can speak freely here.”
She doesn’t look particularly agreeable to that idea, but she does it anyway. “The teams are on their way in now.” Her gaze flicks to me. “Where should I have them debrief?”
“We’ll meet them in the hangar,” he says.
She looks even less thrilled about that, but she doesn’t argue. When she walks off, her two shadows follow.
“She seems friendly,” I joke.
“You want her trust, earn it.”
His response is clipped.
I glare at him. “I don’t want anyone’s trust. I want to save my friend.”
He hesitates as if putting aside whatever he really wanted to say. “Fair enough. First, don’t you want to see what’s in the hangar?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. Hopefully, it’s an armored vehicle I can use to run you over with and then make my escape.”
“Without me?”
“Of course not. You’re in the trunk in this scenario.”
“Naturally.”
He holds my stare, and for some reason, I have to make an effort not to smile. Asshole.
“Come on,” he says, and this time when he leads me through the halls, I can at least feel my feet again.
“So, what team was she talking about?” I ask. He glances at me knowingly. “What? Just trying to make conversation.”
“No, you’re trying to gather intel while also counting doors and mapping exits.” He points at a door before I can argue and says, “Let me help. That one leads to the roof.”
“I wasn’t—”
“And that one leads to the basement.”
“You’re an ass—”
“Oh, don’t forget the janitor’s closet.”
