restock his go-bag after his rookie scrounged through it and took his because he didn’t have wire cutters.
Being met with silence was all Reese needed. “Seriously? You don’t have them?”
What a completely stupid mistake. How many times had he berated his team for not being adequately prepared? Sure, people forgot things—gas masks, vests, a weapon—but for Gabe to do it? Unacceptable. Particularly now.
“On our last hit, my rookie didn’t have his so I gave him mine. Then I jumped on a plane here and didn’t have time.” Bullshit . “I’ll check with the owner.”
Jo in an attempt to keep her body still, bugged out her eyes. “You can’t. Martinson might be down there. You said he had to be close. They did something to Mrs. Jenkins or they wouldn’t have her key.”
Slowly, using controlled movements that wouldn’t bump the chair, Gabe rose from the floor. “I’ll be fine. They probably tied her up and one of them is somewhere close. Someone definitely saw me enter the hotel. The timer told us that much.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Not an inch.”
“I’m trying, Gabe, but my legs are asleep.”
He turned back, fought the urge to waste precious seconds by going back to her and…and…what? Offer comfort? The woman had a fucking bomb strapped to her leg. Comfort from him meant getting her free of said bomb. “I’ll have you out of there soon. Do not move.”
“Be careful. We don’t know…”
Gabe didn’t wait for her to finish. Time was literally ticking. He tore down the steps, .45 aimed and at the ready. At the bottom, he cleared the parlor, sticking close to the far wall as he made his way to Mrs. Jenkins’s office at the end of the hallway. Closed door. He halted, listened. From behind the door came a muffled cry. Alive .
He shoved the door open. When a hail of bullets didn’t fly at him, he peeked in and spotted Mrs. Jenkins gagged and tied to her desk chair. Surveying the room, he swept left to right. Nothing. Go. Gun raised he checked behind the door. Clear. Under the desk. Go . No Martinson. He re-holstered his weapon, went to work on Mrs. Jenkins’s gag and the half-hitch knot keeping the woman hostage. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Good. They’re gone. Do you have wire cutters?”
Mrs. Jenkins rolled her shoulders, rotated her hands to loosen the tight muscles. “I don’t know. The tool box is in the shed out back.”
Gabe worked the remaining ropes loose. “Show me. Fast. Jo has a bomb strapped to her.”
“What?”
He grabbed the woman’s elbow and helped her out of the chair. “No time to explain. Let’s roll.”
Four minutes were lost searching for the wire cutters, but they found them buried at the bottom of a rusty toolbox in the even rustier shed. In Gabe’s estimation, that shed should have been condemned. And if he didn’t get his ass moving, it might get blown to bits. “Stay out front. As far away from the building as you can get. If the sheriff or the bomb squad arrives, send them up. Everyone else stays out.”
He hauled ass back upstairs, found Jo sitting, staring at him with wild eyes that screamed of fear and panic. Like him, Jo always, without fail, wanted to do something, anything, to move an operation forward. Being bound was slowly destroying her.
“I’m back,” Gabe said to Reese, who was hopefully still on speakerphone.
“Okay. Jo gave me her email address. I’m dialing you up for video conference now.”
Jo’s laptop sat on the desk and Gabe stood in front of it, waiting for the call to connect. “How do I work this thing?”
“The little phone icon will pop up, just click it.”
Yep. Phone icon. He clicked it and Reese’s red hair and freckled face appeared onscreen. Gabe squatted so he’d be at eye level with the computer. “Can you see me?”
“Yeah. Show me what you’ve got.”
We’re on . Moving fast, Gabe unplugged the laptop and dropped to the floor again.
“Hang
Being met with silence was all Reese needed. “Seriously? You don’t have them?”
What a completely stupid mistake. How many times had he berated his team for not being adequately prepared? Sure, people forgot things—gas masks, vests, a weapon—but for Gabe to do it? Unacceptable. Particularly now.
“On our last hit, my rookie didn’t have his so I gave him mine. Then I jumped on a plane here and didn’t have time.” Bullshit . “I’ll check with the owner.”
Jo in an attempt to keep her body still, bugged out her eyes. “You can’t. Martinson might be down there. You said he had to be close. They did something to Mrs. Jenkins or they wouldn’t have her key.”
Slowly, using controlled movements that wouldn’t bump the chair, Gabe rose from the floor. “I’ll be fine. They probably tied her up and one of them is somewhere close. Someone definitely saw me enter the hotel. The timer told us that much.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Not an inch.”
“I’m trying, Gabe, but my legs are asleep.”
He turned back, fought the urge to waste precious seconds by going back to her and…and…what? Offer comfort? The woman had a fucking bomb strapped to her leg. Comfort from him meant getting her free of said bomb. “I’ll have you out of there soon. Do not move.”
“Be careful. We don’t know…”
Gabe didn’t wait for her to finish. Time was literally ticking. He tore down the steps, .45 aimed and at the ready. At the bottom, he cleared the parlor, sticking close to the far wall as he made his way to Mrs. Jenkins’s office at the end of the hallway. Closed door. He halted, listened. From behind the door came a muffled cry. Alive .
He shoved the door open. When a hail of bullets didn’t fly at him, he peeked in and spotted Mrs. Jenkins gagged and tied to her desk chair. Surveying the room, he swept left to right. Nothing. Go. Gun raised he checked behind the door. Clear. Under the desk. Go . No Martinson. He re-holstered his weapon, went to work on Mrs. Jenkins’s gag and the half-hitch knot keeping the woman hostage. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Good. They’re gone. Do you have wire cutters?”
Mrs. Jenkins rolled her shoulders, rotated her hands to loosen the tight muscles. “I don’t know. The tool box is in the shed out back.”
Gabe worked the remaining ropes loose. “Show me. Fast. Jo has a bomb strapped to her.”
“What?”
He grabbed the woman’s elbow and helped her out of the chair. “No time to explain. Let’s roll.”
Four minutes were lost searching for the wire cutters, but they found them buried at the bottom of a rusty toolbox in the even rustier shed. In Gabe’s estimation, that shed should have been condemned. And if he didn’t get his ass moving, it might get blown to bits. “Stay out front. As far away from the building as you can get. If the sheriff or the bomb squad arrives, send them up. Everyone else stays out.”
He hauled ass back upstairs, found Jo sitting, staring at him with wild eyes that screamed of fear and panic. Like him, Jo always, without fail, wanted to do something, anything, to move an operation forward. Being bound was slowly destroying her.
“I’m back,” Gabe said to Reese, who was hopefully still on speakerphone.
“Okay. Jo gave me her email address. I’m dialing you up for video conference now.”
Jo’s laptop sat on the desk and Gabe stood in front of it, waiting for the call to connect. “How do I work this thing?”
“The little phone icon will pop up, just click it.”
Yep. Phone icon. He clicked it and Reese’s red hair and freckled face appeared onscreen. Gabe squatted so he’d be at eye level with the computer. “Can you see me?”
“Yeah. Show me what you’ve got.”
We’re on . Moving fast, Gabe unplugged the laptop and dropped to the floor again.
“Hang
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