Page 89 of Welker

Everlee cut in. “I’m one step ahead of you, Welk. I put two and two together as soon as I heard there were only hostages inside and that the perps had taken off on bikes. I called Moira. She didn’t answer, so I contacted the only person I trust who’s got boots-on-the-ground near her.”

Hayden, Welker thought, and Everlee confirmed it.

“I just got off the phone with Hayden, and it’s not awful, but it’s not good, either.”

Welker couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He waited for Ever to continue, gulping in air while his heart raced.

Everlee laid out exactly what had gone down, and that although they didn’t yet know if Moira would be able to get the evidence she sought, it was still a goddamned cluster fuck. What the hell was Moira thinking, going in while she wasn’t at full strength?

Mason took over.

“Welk, you and your squad head out. Units J, G, and F, cover his ass. The rest of us will be right behind you as soon as we hand this situation over to the local PD. We have to believe that Moira’s plan is sound, and that between her, Hayden, and Boone, they’ll have the situation under control by the time we arrive. Now go.”

Welker’s feet were already moving.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Welker was half way back to Margaret’s house, and after repeated calls, he still hadn’t heard a fucking thing. He knew the op Hayden had described necessitated radio-silence, but not knowing what was going on—what was happening to Moira—was killing him.

And speaking of killing, if anything happened to her, nothing would stop him from going after those involved.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Mick,” Pidge whined. “I’m tired of smelling that dog’s farts.”

Moira seethed inside. The asshole was more worried about the noxious gas than he was about dragging her off somewhere to stage her death. Once they got outside, she’d beat the crap out of him.

Nope. She took a look at both her adversaries.

It figured. Pidge was the taller of the two gang-members, which meant Hayden would have him in her sights, and Moira would be dealing with Mick. Moira could only hope Hayden would be aiming at a sensitive spot on Pidge. The guy needed to writhe in some well-deserved agony.

Mick gave Pidge an annoyed look. “Shut the fuck up and stop whining,” he said, then grabbing Moira’s arm, he tipped his head toward the door. “Get moving,” he told her. “And remember, if you try to run, I’ve got a gun pointed straight at your back.”

He let her go and stepped back.

“Oh really?” Moira taunted, unable to help herself. “And how’s that going to work out for you. If they find my body full of holes, Gladstone’s strategy will be blown all to hell, and he won’t be happy.”

“Fine,” Mick replied with a sneer. “I can deal with you another way. You want to know how?”

“Do I have a choice?” she muttered.

Mick swaggered forward, and without warning, reared back and punched Moira square in the chin.

“You got that?” he glowered. “Cross me, bitch, and I’ll knock you out. Painfully. Because bruises won’t prove anything to anybody who’s looking, since you’ll have way more than that from your fall at the falls.” He laughed at his own play on words.

Moira grimaced and flexed her jaw.

What a prick.

Luckily, she’d seen his fist coming and had rolled with the hit. But damn… The blow, when it had landed, had radiated all the way down to her shoulder, and up to her brain.

Moira held in her snarl. The man would pay.

“Now move,” Mick barked, then addressed his minion. “Pidge, you follow, and if she tries anything, tackle her.”

Great. Just what she needed. Pidge’s fat ass bringing her to the ground while Hayden attempted to take aim.

For that reason only, Moira would behave herself. For now.

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