Page 2 of Stealth Mission

I move the phone back to my ear and force my clenched jaw to open. “Fuck.Thatjust happened. So to answer your question, Camile, I’m not sure yet.”

There’s no cover, but I move to the edge of the bank building. Stucco scrapes my back as I press against it.

Beast's voice barely reaches me over the blaring alarm. “Were those your shots?”

“Yeah. I gotta go. The bank just got robbed. Pretty sure the getaway car is the same one Scout and I chased the other night when we saw our missing woman. I want to clear the bank.”

I don’t know how much he can hear.

All I catch is, “Report in ASAP. Over.”

“Copy. Over.” As I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket, I hustle forward.

My indecision and anxiousness is gone. I’m in go-mode now.

The bank alarm suddenly goes quiet.

Thank god. The street turns quiet as a graveyard. No one in sight. No cars moving.

Just the sound of pumping blood in my ears and a familiar hum of adrenaline in my veins.

When I approach the door, only a portion of the lobby is visible through the tinted glass. I can’t see anyone from this angle. Taking a second, I steady my breath. When I’m centered, Ireach for the handle. The door swings open with a whoosh when I pull.

No gunfire.

So far so good.

Until…a woman slams into my chest.

With a huff, I spit out a mouthful of long hair. “What the?—?”

She screams in my face. Loud as hell.

The ear-splitting sound freezes my body, but my mind catalogs all the sensations. The sweet scent of citrus hits my nose. Warm skin brushes my bare arms. Curves press against my chest.

She’s gasping for air and spitting mad as I set her aside.

Focus: clear the bank of any more bad guys.

But I don’t make it inside the building.

A small fist connects with my belly button. “You monster!”

That’s just the beginning—the warning bell.

She punches me three more times in my stomach—a tornado of bright red fabric, long, shiny black hair, flashing eyes.

“Hey. Hey!Whoa, now.”

Whoa must mean go in her dictionary because two seconds after that, I catch a purse to the side of the head.

Gawd almighty.

Rhonda Rousey would be proud of her.

I snatch the offending bag out of her hand, throw it to the ground, and with the same hand snatch her to me. She’s squirming when I lock my arm around her back.

“Damn! You got an anvil in that thing?”

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