“I think J.T. might have actually liked the new drug,” her husband continued. “Do you copy, Zach?”
Yep, she did, too.
She was standing in the middle of the seventh-floor garage, looking across rows and rows of great American muscle cars, her gaze fixed on the high-tech garage door where Corinna, Roxanne, and Coralie had just disappeared. Angelina had gone down in the old elevator, but Skeeter didn’t have a doubt that Creed would catch up to the rest of them with the Chevelle. Kid had been the last one out in Nadine, his Porsche, but Dylan had turned right around and jerked that boy’s chain hard, telling him to get his butt back to Steele Street. Somebody had to stay in the building, and Dylan wanted Kid close. If things went bad out there, she knew Dylan didn’t want any showdown to be brother against brother. None of them did.
The garage smelled of burned rubber and exhaust—and frustration. A ton of frustration.
“Did we do anything right?” her beloved commander asked.
“No.” She wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything for him, ever.
His attention shifted away from her, and she could tell he was listening to his radio.
“Copy, Kid,” he said. “Check the freight elevator. Red Dog thinks Scout and her partner used it for their escape.”
Quinn was finishing a perimeter check of the seventh floor. Red Dog had reported another man on Con’s rescue team, a younger guy, fast, skilled, and armed to the teeth. He’d gotten away with the girl, rappelling over the side of the building—which was one more failure to add to the day.
Hell.
“Copy, Zach.” Dylan was still on his headset, and after another long moment, he signed off with an order for Prade to stay with the CIA’s car. He caught Skeeter’s gaze and swore once, very softly, very vehemently, then he put Zach’s intel out on the air for the rest of SDF to hear. “A Company car, a black Mercedes, just dropped off one of their assets at our back door. We’ve identified him as Sam Walls, five eleven, strong build, dark hair, brown jacket, khaki pants. He has a limp. The vehicle is cruising around the block. Do not let it get anywhere near Corinna or our target. Until we can identify the occupants of the Mercedes, no undue force is authorized. For those of you who were not on the seventh floor five minutes ago, we now have a hostage situation. Jane Linden was in Corinna when the car left the building.”
If there was going to be any worse news than that, Skeeter didn’t want to hear it. Despite the way she looked, Jane was a tough girl, street tough, but J.T. was a complete unknown, his memory gone. She’d seen him, had him dead to rights in the sights of her .22, and hadn’t taken the shot, something telling her that two shots of Shlox was one too many. She would rather he’d gotten away. She would just rather he’d gotten away without Jane. Lancaster was her target, and with SDF going after Lancaster, they could—
She suddenly grew very still, the lights seeming to dim as a veil of shadow slid along the edge of her consciousness, cold and malevolent, luring her attention away from the hustle of the garage and the sound of Dylan’s voice.
She shivered but held steady, her senses instantly alert, her mind searching for what was out there.
Lancaster, she thought, not knowing what else it could be triggering her psyche, not knowing where greater evil could lie than with what he’d done to so many and, for her, especially what he’d done to J.T.
The instant passed, but her readiness held at a higher level. Extrasensory perception was a natural part of her awareness, sometimes proving useful, more often than not proving to be a scramble of meaning that didn’t become clear until long after the fat lady had sung and everybody had gone home.
She’d see how it turned out this time. They’d just found out that Sam Walls was out there. She’d put money on Lancaster being in that Mercedes—and she was guessing it was their presence she’d felt so profoundly.
“Copy, Creed,” Dylan said, still talking into the radio mike. “Everybody get that?”
“What?” she asked.
“Creed’s picked up a tail,” he repeated for her.
Cripes.
“We need to know how many players Lancaster has on his team,” she said. Whether he was here in Denver or not, he’d have more than one guy working the mission.