Page 2 of Rogue Mission
He mutters something garbled as I slip into shadow behind a eucalyptus tree, the rough bark catching on my tactical vest.
The building looms ahead like a sleeping giant.
Five stories of glass and steel, housing who knows what kind of corruption.
Patrick Westerly the CEO—also the father of Truck’s woman—has been using this place for criminal activity. Including kidnapping Rosalie because she analyzed a soil sample that revealed something he wants kept secret.
I crack my neck, call up a vision of her adorable smile and let the anger simmer hotly.
“JT to Falcon One," I rasp, keeping my volume low enough that it won't carry. "Radio check. Still got two bodies on ground level. One on four. Over."
"Falcon One," Beast replies from headquarters, his voice steady in my head, "All interior and exterior cams are offline. Proceed to breach. Over."
I flip my ball cap backward, moving on autopilot. Old habit. Keeps my peripheral vision clear.
"Moving in now. Over."
Cake. This is gonna be so damned easy. We'll be eating donuts in?—
My boots halt mid-stride, brain clicking into high gear as I track movement on my heat detection gear that's not supposed to be there.
A mass of moving color—orange, red, and blue glides along on the fifth floor. Movement that was not there a second ago is very much there now.
My blood thickens, my hands going cold. Someone's heading toward her floor.
“Truck, hold. Over.”
As I watch the image play in realtime, adrenaline punches through me, sharp and familiar. But this time it’s edged with something I don't usually feel on ops: fear.
Not fear for myself. I stopped being afraid of dying a long time ago. Fear for her, and it’s so stark, I’m knocked breathless.
“We have a situation.”
"Holding. What've you got?" His voice shifts immediately from casual to tactical. He knows that tone.
I adjust to another vantage point, squinting into the dark toward the building, my enhanced optical binoculars cutting through shadow.
“There’s an unknown mover, fifth floor. Must've been in the elevator during the last thermal sweep. Big one, too. Either he's a Clydesdale or Yeti. Moving fast."
Toward Rosalie.
Night air presses in, humid and tight around me. Everything else fades. Nothing matters except the heat signature moving with purpose through that building.
"JT, we still green?" Truck's tone carries an edge now. He knows I'm locked on.
I scan again, hoping I'm wrong, knowing I'm not. No mistake. The signature is real. And he's heading down the stairwell.
Right toward where my girl is being held. Fuck protocol. Fuck the careful timeline we planned.
This needs to happen fast. Leaving my hide, I advance to the next copse of trees. “Falcon One, confirm. Any additional intel? Over."
Please have something. A janitor. Anyone but what my gut is screaming it is.
"Negative. All surveillance was killed seven minutes ago. We're blind."
Fuck. Not good.
My heart rate kicks up another notch, but my hands stay steady. SEAL training kicking in when I need it most.Breathe. Assess. Act.
