Page 42 of Power Term

“My gut tells me we’re at the right place.” I incline my head back toward the warehouse.

“It could just be the two inside and that’s why we don’t hear anything. Maybe they killed off those who helped them this morning already. If I were them, that’s what I would do.” I raise both brows at Smith in surprise at his statement. “What? The fewer people involved, the less likely for things to leak or go sideways. If it were me, I’d only want me and the client to be breathing after this.”

“Fucking hell,” I mumble. “Ten, five, two—who the fuck cares how many are in there? We need to get inside now.”

“True. She might already be dead.” I lunge toward Smith, ready to snap his neck, but two strong hands grip my shoulders and hold me back. “Is the backup on its way?” Angling his head one way and then the other, he cracks his neck, the picture of casualness in this tense-as-hell situation.

“Ten minutes out. I asked them to hold back until we give the signal.” A worried look crosses Tank’s sweaty dark features. “I don’t want to risk them feeling cornered. Shit will go sideways real quick if they do. If it is Whit behind that door with Randi, he’s liable to kill her and then himself before surrendering.”

“Good pep talk,” I hiss. Moving the gun to my opposite hand, I flex my fingers in an effort to get the blood flowing from my white-knuckled grip. “Let’s be realistic here. If Whit sees me, he’ll immediately know Tank isn’t far behind.” The various potential scenarios shuffle through my thoughts. “But he doesn’t know about you.” I incline my head to Smith. “You take the window you spotted and lie low until absolutely necessary. The longer he doesn’t know you’re around, the better.” Turning on the balls of my feet, I face him square on. “Whit and the fucker who took her are mine. If you have to intervene, wound them, but do not take the kill shot. Understand?”

His light eyes search mine before he nods and slips back the way he came.

I wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to Tank.

“I’m going through the front door. You can come with me or find another way in. I agree about not making Whit feel cornered, and if it’s several of his hired guys against one, he won’t. There’s no way that fucker is in there alone, which means all their attention will be turned to me. That will give you a chance to slip in and get Randi somewhere safe.”

“You’re a fool.”

“You love me.”

He shakes his head. “For some fucked-up reason.”

“Again with the language. I really don’t want to get on your wife’s shit list.”

“How about I make you a deal, Playboy?”

Despite what we’re about to walk into, I smirk. “I’m listening.”

“I won’t tell my Sarah about you teaching me such foul language if you make it out of here alive today.”

The smirk turns into a full-on smile. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll let them bring you back to life just so she can kill you herself.”

I cringe. “Deal. No dying or I’ll die twice. Now there’s a motivational speech for you. You should cross-stitch that shit on a pillow.”

Not waiting for his response, I stand, suppressing a groan as my knees crack, then switch the gun back to my dominant shooting hand.

“I’ve got your back, Benson. But please, for everything that is holy, don’t do anything stupid.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I offer him a smile. “Same, bestie.”

“Gotta go and make it all weird.” He shakes his head, but a hint of a smile pulls at his lips.

This is what we needed. A beat to relax, forget about the potential death we’re walking into, to ease the pressure the task of saving the president has resting on our shoulders.

Brown weeds drape over the crumbling sidewalk and fill the thick cracks running along the cement as I walk along. I take the three steps in one leap, putting me directly in front of the door. On a burst of hot, dry wind, it swings open half an inch before squeaking closed once again.

I pause, trepidation filling my gut and turning it sour as I stare at the unlocked door. No one would be that careless unless it’s part of the trap, allowing easy access to the inside of the building so they can ambush whoever is dumb enough to walk through that door.

The heated metal burns my palm as I place a steady hand on the rough surface, but I hold it there despite the pain while I give myself a final inhale to focus every thought and muscle on what’s about to happen.

Thoughts clear, I step forward, inching the door open, when a loud curse from the other side has every muscle locking in place.

I know that voice.

Hatred and loathing infiltrate my earlier calm at the sound of Whit’s string of curses.

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