“Dolphin, get your ass up here. Second level. Balcony entrance. Double time,” he barked into the mic.
“On my way,” Dolphin returned.
Steele backed toward the doors, turning so he could see clear to the entrance but also keep Garza in his periphery. When the man started to move, Steele halted and leveled his gun at Garza.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Steele warned. “I’ve got what I came for. I have no interest in killing you. Don’t give me a reason to change my mind.”
“I care nothing for the puta,” Garza bit out. “But I won’t suffer the insult of you trespassing and killing my men.”
“Do yourself a favor and forget any insult you feel,” Steele clipped out. “Don’t fuck with me or I’ll make you very sorry.”
Garza’s nostrils flared and his eyes glittered with anger and damaged pride.
Dolphin bounded up the stairs and in that moment, Christina kicked back sharply with her spiked heel, catching Steele right in the knee. She turned like a damn wildcat and stabbed at his eyes with her daggerlike fingernails and pitched backward.
Steele was forced to let her go or risk hurting her. As she ran back toward Garza, the dumbass pulled a gun, aiming toward Steele. As Christina whirled around, she saw Dolphin raise his gun and in an even dumber move than Garza’s pulling the gun to begin with, she flung herself in front of Garza right as Dolphin took the shot.
She screamed in pain and Garza was flung against the wall, blood spreading rapidly over his chest. Christina went utterly white and teetered unsteadily before falling into a dead faint. Right at Garza’s feet.
“Fuck a duck,” Dolphin swore. “What the hell did she think she was doing?”
Steele hurried forward, turning the unconscious woman over. His fingers ran up her side and came away with blood. Just a graze. Thank God. Her parents would be pissed if their daughter came home with a bullet hole courtesy of KGI.
Dolphin squatted beside Steele and put his fingers to Garza’s neck.
“Our exit has just been moved up,” he said grimly. “Garza’s dead. Word is he has the local police in his pocket. Shit’s going down all over this place. P.J. and Cole are playing ducks in a row, picking off assholes left and right. Baker and Renshaw just set explosives by the back wall because we can’t go out the front. We have three minutes until it blows and then we have to get the hell out, boss man.”
“She didn’t want to go,” Steele said, shaking his head. “He didn’t give a shit about her. Tried to use her as a shield.”
“What a dick,” Dolphin said in disgust.
“Yeah and she still tried to take a bullet for him.”
Dolphin glanced at Steele and frowned. “You’re bleeding. What the hell happened?”
“Tangled with a knife,” Steele said shortly. “Get the girl. You’ll have to carry her. I’ll cover you.”
“Well, fuck. We can’t take her home like this. Her parents will shit a brick.”
Steele sighed, knowing they weren’t far from Maren Scofield. Fuck it all, but the last thing he wanted to happen was to schedule an unexpected visit to the blond doctor.
She bugged him. Got under his skin. Hell, it prickled anytime he was near her. Like ants under his skin, crawling from the inside out.
“As soon as we get to the chopper, get on the horn to our pilot,” Steele bit out. “Tell him we’ll be making an unscheduled stop.”
Dolphin slung his rifle over his shoulder, shoved his pistol into his holster and then reached down to carefully pick up the still-unconscious woman.
“Stay close,” Steele said tersely. “You hit the dirt if anything goes down. Don’t try to be a fucking hero with the girl in your arms. If she dies, we’re fucked. I’ve never lost a subject and I’m damn sure not starting now.”
“You da boss.”
Steele rolled his eyes at the irreverence in Dolphin’s voice. Not that it was anything new. Steele would go to his grave before he’d ever admit that he was pretty damn fond of Dolphin’s attitude and his ability to lighten almost any situation with his quirky humor. Steele took ribbing from his team for having no sense of humor, but hell, why did he need one when he had Dolphin, P.J. and Cole? Between those three, they were more of a circus than a military ops team. But they got the job done and that was all that mattered to him.
They dealt with shit on a daily basis that normal people never even dreamed of. If this was their way of coping and staying sane, he was down with their shenanigans. Even if they pushed his buttons on a regular basis.
He pushed ahead of Dolphin and headed for the doorway onto the balcony. He ducked low, motioning for Dolphin to do the same as he examined the perimeter for any potential threat.
“Nine o’clock,” Steele said sharply. “Get down!”
Steele raised his gun and aimed through the slats in the railing, squeezed off two rounds and downed two men who were crossing the veranda by the pool. He gestured for Dolphin to pick up the pace and they scrambled down the stairway.
“Status,” he barked into his mic. “Dolphin and I are coming out the back. We have the subject. Need cover. Clear a path and get your asses in gear.”
“Way ahead of you, boss man,” Baker piped in. “P.J. and Cole have cleaned house. Renshaw and I are positioned at the back gate ready to blow this sucker. Give me thirty seconds. Maintain your current position until this shit blows.”
Steele and Dolphin both ducked, providing cover for the woman with their bodies as they crouched at the bottom of the steps, using the wall to shield them from debris from the impending explosion.
On cue, the blast bellowed over their ears. The ground shook and pieces of metal and stone rained down like a hailstorm.
“Damn, they know how to get it done,” Dolphin muttered. “They may have used a little too much C-4.”
“You think?” Steele said dryly. “Let’s move.”
Coughing from the cloud of dust and decimated concrete, they ran toward the gaping hole in the stone wall surrounding the pool area.
“Hope to fuck the others are in position so we can get the hell out of here,” Steele said in terse tones.
“Cool your jets. We’re on it,” P.J. snapped.
Steele shook his head. Temperamental woman. That much never changed, thank God. She was back where she belonged. He’d never said as much—he wouldn’t offer her that kind of disrespect or lack of confidence in her abilities—but she’d worried him coming off her solo mission of revenge. Besides overcoming multiple injuries, her emotional and psychological trauma had been off the charts. If it had been up to him, he would have grounded her another few months. Only she wasn’t having any of it, and if she was taken out it meant he lost Cole too. No damn way he was going to operate two team members short.
“Glad to have your cranky ass back, Rutherford,” Steele said in an uncharacteristic display of humor.
There was complete radio silence. And then, “Holy shit, did he just crack a joke?” Baker asked aghast.
“Hey, that’s Coletrane now,” Cole complained. “She married me, remember? Pretty damn sure the paperwork says she’s Penelope Jane Coletrane now.”
“I’m going to kick your fucking ass, Cole!” P.J. snapped.
“Penelope Jane?”
Steele couldn’t tell who said what because it all came in three directions followed immediately by hoots of laughter and instant jibes. Jesus Christ. They weren’t out of the woods yet and his entire team was acting like it was a night out in a bar.
“I need everyone to shut the fuck up and make the rendezvous point with the chopper,” Steele snapped. “You can bicker later.”
Steele set a rapid pace but was careful to keep Dolphin and his charge close behind him so he was shielding them both with his body. Baker and Renshaw fell in, closing ranks around Dolphin.