Page 112 of Over the Edge

The others exclaimed under their breath around him.

Lily commented, “Well, now we know for sure this is Haddad’s place. And Kenny must be here.”

Exultation exploded in his gut, but he tamped it down hard. There was no guarantee that Kenny or Haddad was here. Until he had eyes on one or both, he was going to cool his jets and focus on the job. Which had just become backing up Trevor and Anna and praying like hell they came out of that compound with Kenny in tow.

“Can we go down there and join them?” Leo asked eagerly. “What I wouldn’t give to be the one to kill Haddad.”

“Let’s work our way down into close sniper range. We’ll need to be careful about sneaking up on our people, right now. They’re liable to shoot us before they identify us. If nothing else, we can provide overwatch and cover fire without having to coordinate with them.”

As one, the team rose to a crouch. “Slow and easy, gang,” he murmured. “And watch your footing.”

That warning was as much to himself as to the others.

Hang in there you two. We’re coming to help. If it came to a fight, Trevor and Anna’s odds of surviving had just gotten considerably better.

Anna slippedinto the mysterious building twelve right on Trevor’s heels and looked around eagerly. Huh. It looked like a storeroom and nothing more. Wooden crates lined one wall, and assorted cardboard boxes lined the adjoining one. Nothing resembling a cage or a prison cell was visible in the space.

She signed, “Why did that man and then the kid spend so long in here when they came in? There’s nothing to do.”

Trevor shrugged.

Personally, she thought her theory that they came in here to do drugs was looking good. To that end, she scanned the wooden plank floor for needles, wrappers, matches, spoons, or anything else that might indicate someone was doing drugs in here.

Nothing. Either the people shooting up in here were meticulous—which was not her experience with drug addicts in general—or they were doing something else in this space.

As she scanned the floor, she noticed an unusual seam in the floor boards. It looked as if several planks had been cut across the grain and bulged upward a bit.

She touched Trevor’s shoulder and, when he glanced at her, pointed at the oddity in the floor. He moved over to it swiftly and bent down, running his fingers along the seam.

All at once, he grabbed something and pulled, and a whole section of the floor lifted slightly.

A trap door.

He gestured her over to lift the hatch while he positioned himself to see—and shoot if necessary—whoever was below.

She eased the hatch open a few millimeters. When Trevor didn’t react, she lifted a bit more. Inch by inch, she raised the heavy hatch. When she had it about halfway open, Trevor stepped forward all at once and helped her lift it the rest of the way. A dark hole yawned between them.

A wooden ladder leaned to one side of the hole, and it appeared to go down into some sort of underground room.

He leaned close and breathed in her ear, “Make the call. Once we go below ground, we won’t have any reception.”

She nodded reluctantly and pulled out the satellite phone. They’d eventually agreed to call his brother directly. William was most likely to believe them when they made their final position report. And, because Trevor was his brother, he would be more motivated to pass along a call for help than some stranger who heard a radio call in the blind would be.

She verified that she had a strong signal and dialed the number.

William Westbrook said jovially, “Calling again so soon, little brother? Did you get lost?”

She spoke as quietly as she could and still expect him to hear her. “This is Anna. We are on target and about to engage.”

“Roger,” William replied abruptly terse and all business. “Be advised, storm inbound. ETA thirty minutes.”

“Roger,” she breathed. By “storm,” he obviously meant the airstrike.

“Good hunting,” Will said grimly.

Indeed. She cut off the call.

Thirty minutes till contact, she relayed in hand signals to Trevor.

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