Page 35 of Draco's Fire

The hunch was enough to set her teeth on edge, but even tense as she was, Shayla was still grateful to be here in the thick of things. Being shut out, without knowing what was going on, and helpless to act in any meaningful way was dead last on her list of preferences.

If Phil had won the argument over assignments, she’d probably be stationed somewhere far out on the West coast. Or stuck sifting through some low priority cold case files for the day—just to be well on the safe side. But Tyson had insisted she be brought in, as a consultant at the very least.

The brass couldn’t argue that she’d been ineffective before and if one of HOPE’s founders asked for her by name, they couldn’t exactly refuse. And since she was going to be on the scene, they reasoned, she may as well be active.Never waste a resource—that’s the PEACE way.

Shayla frowned. It seemed no matter what she did, her thoughts insisted on returning to Tyson. It was annoying as hell, and he’d probably be incredibly smug if he knew about it.

Damn. There you go again. Tyson, Tyson, Tyson.

“Everything looking good from where you’re sitting?” Chetna asked. She nudged Shayla with an elbow and grinned.

The move popped her out of her reverie. She nudged back, and replied, “Far as I can tell, yeah. It’s tough to get a true feel for the crowd from inside this tin can, though. Maybe the perimeter watch will have a better take on the situation.”

She checked the time and was pleased her internal clock had correctly synched up. Another successful perimeter check would surely chill her out.

Shayla clicked on her mic, selected the first channel, and said, “Status. Check in, One.”

“One, clear. Situation normal,” the voice she recognized as Agent Wash responded. She could picture him clearly and it was a comfort.No shenanigans there.

She moved to the next. “Status. Check in, Two,” she said.

Section Two promptly responded and Section Three followed suit. The rally was revving up, but the agents were all confident and in control of the situation.So far, so good.

“Status. Check in, Four,” she said.

No response.Don’t panic. Doesn’t have to be a worst-case scenario.

She repeated her call, “This is Control. Check in, Four.”

The silence held, thick and unbroken. Not even background noise filtered through.This is bad.

She tried one more time and said, “Reyes! Can you hear me?”Shit!

She switched to main, and shouted, “Cover Tyson, now! Priority one. Perimeter Four gone silent, agent possibly down.” She launched out of her seat, heart pounding from the mammoth surge of adrenaline slamming into her system.

Chetna’s voice carried strain, but remained cool as she said, “I’ve got Control handled. Go!”

Shayla slammed the van’s door behind her and hit the ground running. “En route to Four,” she said. The answering radio chatter hummed in her ear as she put on speed.

All the preparations had successfully embedded the rally ground’s layout in her memory. She didn’t need to pause for even a second to recall either directions or details. All she had to do was run.

Shayla kept her eyes focused, ready to react to any obstacles up ahead. Most people instinctively stepped out of her way as she barreled through the crowd. She’d seen footage of herself in the middle of action and was confident her “I will end you” expression spoke louder than the few times she was forced to shout, “Move!”

She pushed into a full out sprint. Her muscles burned and she was sucking in air, but her conditioning allowed her to maintain speed. “Almost there,” she gasped.

She slowed her pace only once she’d closed in on the designated post. As she’d feared, the spot stood empty. Despite the alarm coursing through her, Shayla didn’t falter in her mission and scanned the vicinity.

She saw the body first. Agent Evie Reyes lay sprawled on the grass a few yards ahead—either unconscious or dead—she couldn’t tell. Shayla took an instinctive step forward just as movement on her periphery caught her eye.

Her long training kicked in and she stilled to assess the scene. The salient details registered in immediate, sharp flashes.

Man.

Full body armor.

Gun.

Twenty-Three

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