Page 67 of Deadly Force
"Reese. What's your sitrep?"
He comes back immediately. "Just leaving Eliza's apartment complex. It was locked down tight. Couldn't get in. Too big a risk."
Figures. If we're going to go in, nighttime would be better anyway.
"Copy that. Change of plan—new objective. Get to theTucson Times. Now."
"Ten-four. I'm fifteen minutes out."
"Get inside. Eyes on Brooke. Do not let her leave. Not for coffee. Not for air. Not for anything. Understood?"
"Understood. You want her to know I'm there?"
"Not unless she moves. Keep it low profile. Let her work."
I hang another right, down a side street lined with half-dead citrus trees and cinder block walls.
I fake a left, signal blinking, then punch it through a yellow light just as it turns red. Tires chirp. Suspension bucks. The sandwiches slide. My seatbelt locks hard across my chest.
A pedestrian steps off the curb—a middle-aged guy in a golf shirt. "HEY!"
I slam the brakes. The car fishtails, stopping inches from his knees. Great. Now I'm the guy who almost flattened someone's dad over a deli run. Brooke's going to love that story if I live to tell it.
Another sharp right. Then a third. Into a cracked-up strip mall where businesses come to die. An old payday loan place. A taqueria that probably hasn't served food in a year. Phone repair shop. Every sign's missing letters. The pavement's split open from heat, littered with broken glass and crushed soda cans.
I slip behind a dumpster. Kill the engine. Let the heat settle in.
My sidearm, a Staccato P, rests on the passenger seat. Not subtle, but dead accurate.
The Ford drifts past the lot entrance a beat later. They don't pause. Don't double back. Don't even slow.
They're not following.
They're confirming.
I tap my earpiece again. "Reese. You with her yet?"
"I've got visual."
"Good. Don't take your eyes off her. Someone just pulled me off target for a reason. Keep her in the building. Keep her safe. You move with her."
Another pause. I can hear him shift, alert now. "Copy that. If they're keeping you busy, someone else might be moving."
Exactly. Classic misdirection. Keep the protector running in circles while the real threat comes in quiet.
I watch the road through the windshield, engine cooling with a soft tick-tick-tick.
They don't want a confrontation.
They want me parked behind a dumpster, chasing shadows.
While they go after her.
Same playbook. Same tactical error I made before: getting pulled away when she needed me most.
Whoever these guys are, they’re smarter than I thought.
Brooke
