Page 12 of Raven's Curse
Greer sighed. “As long as you acknowledge that I’m entitled to do the same damn thing.”
“You’re trying to give me an aneurism, aren’t you?” He moved in beside her as they slipped through the gate and headed for the main door. “You know, in all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve never mentioned what you used to do for the bureau.”
She tensed, the muscle in her jaw jumping a few times before she blew out a harsh breath, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him. Hell, maybe if she could tell him. “I started in counterintelligence. Worked a number of fugitive recovery task forces to gain more tactical experience, until one went…”
She drifted off for a moment — what was obviously a story she wasn’t quite willing to share yet — then glanced at him, her green eyes slightly shadowed, what looked like a world of weight on her shoulders. “I shifted to counterterrorism focusing on behavior analysis of extremist groups. Spent most of my time in various JSOC units, a lot of that in the field.”
Chase stopped, staring at her when she turned to look back at him. “Christ.”
“What did you think I did?”
“I don’t know, but that…” He whistled. “Maybe I should let you jump in front, next time.”
She rolled her eyes, then jogged up the short set of stairs to the main entrance. The glass on the doors had holes punched through them, spiderweb cracks running the length of the panes. A thick chain hung off one handle, a broken lock kicked to the side.
Greer reached for the right side, then froze. Hand almost touching the chrome handle, gaze focused on the matching silver panel above it. “Chase.”
He moved in beside her, his senses kicking into overdrive at the bloody print smeared across the surface, the marks trailing toward the edge. “Still think this is frat kids?”
She removed her weapon, holding her flashlight beneath it in her other hand as she entered the abandoned building, the door creaking shut behind them. Chase stayed at her side, gun at the ready, constantly scanning every corner, every recess. Memories scratched at the back of his mind, images of missions gone wrong. That he couldn’t afford to miss anything with Greer’s life potentially in the balance.
Scraps of garbage littered the floor, years’ worth of dust and grime smeared across windows and walls. Thread-worn furniture emerged in the circular beams, like soldiers standing watch over the resident ghosts. Old books filled a few shelves, the air thick with decades of decay.
They moved down the hallway, clearing each room before heading to the next. Branching corridors snaked out in every direction, the hallways bleeding into black.
A scuff.
Not much. More like a hint of a step. How his footsteps sounded. Like someone accustomed to moving silently. Someone trained.
Greer obviously heard it too, because she picked up her pace, muscles primed, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. They moved in unison, narrowing in on the sound when the hairs on the back of Chase’s neck prickled. An eerie déjà vu playing in the back of his mind.
He stuck out his arm, stopping Greer as they reached a junction. Something about the way the room opened up on one side while the hallway continued into darkness had him on edge. As if he’d already lived this scenario and knew it ended poorly. He crowded her over to one side, motioning for her to wait as he inched forward, gaze focused on the shadows at the end of the corridor.
A tread.
Not even as loud as that scuff. A whisper of sound that barely reached him. What could be his heightened senses playing tricks on him. The building simply settling. He held firm, feeling the way the air moved, how the shadows played in the beam when a boot shifted into view.
Black.
Battle worn.
He reacted. Turned, grabbed Greer and took her to the ground a heartbeat before three sharp pops shattered the silence, slicing through the wall above their heads, raining bits of plaster over them.
Chase rolled, Greer firing off a few cover rounds until he got them clear of any obvious sightline before springing up, backs pressed into the wall, weapons raised at their shoulders. He inched forward, ready to dive out, when more bullets filled the hallway.
Greer tapped his shoulder, nodding toward the far side. She mouthed the countdown, slipping out when she reached one — going through half her mag while Chase dove across the open space, getting off a couple shots before the asshole returned fire. Bullets punched through the plaster, casings clattering to the floor in the background, the constant rattling sound sparking more memories. All the missions that had gone sideways — brothers he’d lost in the fallout.
Greer waited for a lull, then popped out, again, sliding back when she needed to reload. Chase took point, listening for any indication the bastard was heading their way — thought he could flank them — when a canister skipped down the corridor, bouncing past them, then spinning to a halt by the wall.
Chase lunged across the opening, catching a round in his vest before he tackled Greer — covered her head as he braced for impact. Everything froze, that eerie calm choking out all the air, before the grenade exploded, filling the space with sound and smoke — the kind of ear-piercing shrill that made the room spin. Had everything shifting left and right.
The voice inside Chase’s head had him fighting through the pain, rolling partway off her as he covered their six. His Sig shaking in his hands, the smoke blurring in and out of focus as his stomach threatened to heave. He blinked, nearly tumbling onto his ass, but he maintained his vigil, waiting for some asshole to materialize out of the white cloud.
Greer groaned beneath him, then gave him a light shove, stumbling to her feet when he jumped off. She tripped against the wall, staggering with him as he backed them up to the next corridor. Scanning it with his flashlight before turning and focusing on the junction.
He counted the time in his head, looking for a swirl or shift — something that gave their tango away. Constantly checking that adjoining hallway, when Greer inhaled, tossed him sideways as she twisted and fired toward the entrance. He took a couple stumbling steps, the flash bang still messing with his equilibrium before regaining his balance as heavy taps raced down the corridor.
One step, and he was zeroed in. Had that asshole’s silhouette in his sights, Greer watching his six. He hauled ass down the hallway, bouncing off the wall a few times when the floor tilted, but he kept running, slowing enough to clear those other corridors — sneak a quick glance in any open room — as they raced through the building, following the guy through one branching wing after another.
