Page 164 of The Wild Charge

“Sorry, sir.”

The door shut with a metallic clang. A low grunt of effort, sound of an exhale, and then footfalls, three sets, heading toward Evan’s hiding place.

He pressed back against the wall, made himself flat as possible, dizzy from holding his breath.

Three men dressed head-to-toe in black walked past. The figure in the lead had close-cropped gray hair, and when he turned his head – oh God, had he been spotted? Wait, no – to bark another command at his followers, Evan couldn’t quite believe his face. Hisfamiliarface. He’d seen it through a night-vision scope on the rooftop across from Smokey’s.

Two younger men followed him. The one in the middle carried a fourth man slung over his shoulder. Black hoodie, jeans, hands dangling, lifeless. A curtain of pale blond hair shielded his face from view, until the man carrying him hiked him higher up, and his head lolled to the side.

The unconscious man was Reese.

Evan clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound.

That was Marshall Hunter. And he had Reese! What the hell had gone on at the gallery? And Fox had said he’d screwhispart up!

The trio marched down the hall without noticing him. Evan had one last glimpse of Reese’s slack, bruised face before he was hauled through the white door, and he wanted to throw up all over again.

If these guys could get Reese of all people, who couldn’t they get?

Hands shaking anew, he scrolled through his contacts, and finally settled on calling Maverick.

~*~

“Yeah. Understood.” Fox hung up with Ghost and let his phone drop to the coverlet at his hip. It felt like his whole body was made of concrete, crushing his lungs from the outside in.

“What are they doing?” Tenny asked beside him, toneless. Robotic.

Fox spared him a glance and saw that his face, still damp with tears, had completely shut down. He’d locked Tennyson away tight, somewhere deep, and he was just Ten, now. The same eerie, emotionless boy Fox had first fought in a skyscraper in London. No personas, no acting, only the unvarnished truth of what lay beneath what Pseudonym had made him.

Self-preservation.

He didn’t blame him. Was – despite the pain of realizing much life there truly was in him – grateful to be dealing with an asset right now, rather than a distraught, heartbroken boy.

“Ghost says they’ll handle the feds on their end.”

Tenny stared at him, expressionless, unconvinced.

“My guess is he’s gonna sic Mercy on some people.”

Tenny regarded him another moment, then nodded once, and faced forward. His pulse beat slow and steady, visible in the side of his throat.

If they couldn’t get Reese back, they’d never get Tenny – the real Tenny – back either. Of that Fox was sure.

The sound of rushing footfalls gave the briefest warning before the bedroom door flew open.

Tenny was on his feet in one smooth motion, a knife appearing in his hand as if magicked.

Maverick paused on the threshold. “Whoa, whoa, hold up.” He lifted both hands, one empty, the other clutching a phone. To his credit, his gaze touched only briefly on the knife, composure intact. He looked at Walsh. “Don’t you answer your phone?”

“What?”

“Your sniper boy called. He laid eyes on Reese.”

~*~

“I want to say, for the record, one more time, that this is a terrible idea,” Maddox said. He looked a little waxy and pale under the security lights…under which he was standing like a dumbass.

In the shadows of the Holiday Inn, tucked in the sweet spot between two shrubs and out of reach of the cameras, Mercy offered one of his worst grins. “Duly noted. Now go.”

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