Page 35 of Trusted Instinct
What didn’t make sense—and what was a “what in the actual hell are you thinking?” response was what Auralia and Doli were doing right now.
They’d emerged from behind their tree, and there was Auralia, reporting like it was a day in the life, and Doli was recording.
And, yeah, it was just a day in their life. They were a hot-spot reporting team.
But seeing it in real time tied Creed’s guts in a knot.
Did he want to race over there, tackle them, and get them clear?
Hell to the yeah.
Even though it was the wrong damned thing for him to do—interrupt their work—was he considering it?
Must be, because he’d grabbed up Rou’s lead and slid a foot forward.
Who the hell was he? What the hell did he think he was doing?
The command in his ear was to hold his position while Jack, who had commandeered some kid’s drone, searched the area for the shooter.
Creed wasn’t some kind of macho shit running in to save ladies in distress.
Flip this around: what if she ran in and interfered with his work?
Yeah, that would go down badly.
Creed sent his gaze three-sixty until it landed on Gator. Creed sent his thoughts out like an arrow, the way they’d done on the battlefield. Gator was pulling children into his arms as their mother scrambled to her feet. But he stopped to meet Creed’s gaze.
Creed turned in the direction of Auralia, with her mic in front of her face.
Gator assessed the women and then turned back to the children. He must sense that they were fine. Good call on the ballistic vests, though.
Had he and Rou missed anything? Had they let a gun into the crowd?
The thought cycled again, only to be discarded when Creed heard Striker come over his comms. “Strike Force. The shooter was on the roof of an adjacent property. Now that he sees the drone, he’s climbing down. Jack is tracking the shooter's progress, but has only about fifteen minutes of battery time. Let’s make sure that there’s only a single shooter. In a minute, once everyone’s nervous systems settle down, there’s going to be a stampede for the cars. Creed, stay in place at the security gate and try to get folks moving slowly to avoid causing injury. Over.”
“Creed. Wilco.”
“The rest of the team,” Striker continued, “those who are frail or have low mobility, along with children, are to go into the woods until the agile have dashed out. We need to protect the kids from getting trampled or separated from their adult. No one is going to be thinking clearly. I’m heading to the parking lot, that’s about to become a traffic jam if not a pile-up. You have your assignments. Over.”
The comms filled with “Copy, moving. Out.”
Since Creed was in position, he took a moment and sent a quick text to Auralia.
Creed:Get out of the parking lot now before the stampede.
And that was it.
Creed wanted to be in action. But here he stood babysitting the sheriff’s deputy who was leaning against the tree, wheezing and grabbing his chest.
“Hey man, you’re not looking good,” Creed said, not taking his eyes off Auralia as Doli pointed behind Auralia, and Auralia spun her head to follow the finger.
There were three men in suits and two women running.
Auralia and Doli fell into step behind them.
Shit.
He preferred not knowing.
