“West.” Ham’s tone carried warning.
“What? I’m just saying. She gets the shots out here. We’ll grab inside.”
Ham studied her for a long moment. The kind of assessment that made her feel like he could see through her, right to her underwear.
Creepy.
“Fine. You stay behind the primary team,” he said finally. “You document from cover positions only. And if anyone—anyone—tells you to move, you move. No questions, no delays, no getting the perfect shot.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it, Silver. One step out of line?—”
“She’ll stay back.” Skeet’s voice cut through Ham’s warning. His eyes on hers held something that made her chest tight.
Trust.
Complete trust that she wouldn’t betray him.
Or almost.
“Don’t do anything... crazy,” he said quietly, pulling her away. He’d grabbed a tactical vest and shoved it over her head, strapping it on, pulling it tight. His voice was gentle now, almost vulnerable. “Because I really like where this is heading with us, and it’s hard to date someone from prison. Or a morgue.”
He tried to smile, but his words were in his eyes.
“I’ll stay back,” she said. Andaw,she meant it.
He wasn’t the only one making choices because of emotion.
“Promise?”
She nodded.
“Let’s go,” Ham said.
Chloe’s heart hammered as she fell into step behind them. The Chao Phraya River stretched beyond the facility, its dark water reflecting the city lights.
The warehouse loomed ahead. The place was a so-called shipping facility with modified ventilation equipment and a truck parked in the back.
Betcha there isn’t rice in that truck.
“Stay here while we breach,” Skeet said. “I promise I’ll be back for you.”
He parked her behind a stack of cargo containers.
Through her viewfinder, she watched Ham’s team move in. North and West approached from the river side while Skeet and Ham moved to the back.
The warehouse’s main doors stood open, spilling yellow light across the loading area where workers loaded trucks.
Chloe’s blood froze when she spotted Leonid Volkov standing near a modified truck. He’d traded his expensive resort wear for tactical clothing—black pants and a dark shirt—that made himlook less like a pharmaceutical executive and more like what he really was.
A terrorist.
Ham’s team would breach from three points, overwhelming Leonid’s security before they could destroy evidence or trigger any chemical releases.
Simple plans, in her experience, rarely survived contact with reality.
The assault began with a subtle hello from West—an explosion that took out the warehouse lights.