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Bree took the stairs two at a time. Her legs strained under the weight of all the gear, ammunition, and her rifle, but she pushed herself to climb even faster.
She had to go up three flights in the amount of time it took the guys to reach the other side of the garage. Judging from the aggression of the rioters outside, she figured her partners would need all the cover they could get.
The din from the crowd in the streets quieted as she sprinted up the steps. Their rowdy protests were barely audible above the footfalls from her combat boots and her heavy breathing.
“Where are you?” Drew asked in her ear. “It’s taking you too long to come out the other side of the garage.”
Tate responded. “Exiting the garage now. Manning is on her way to the roof.”
“Affirmative.”
You’ve got this, Bree thought. This is what you’ve been training your whole life for.
During her time with SWAT, she’d encountered some heavy situations. The nervous energy that flowed through her during standoffs and drug raids had been closer to a high for Bree than stress. She’d known she was an adrenaline junky even before she’d ever heard of the phrase.
But this was different.
The men in her group had done things she couldn’t even dream of. And now, just hours after being picked up while at a gun range, she was storming the streets of Washington, D.C. like some kind of vigilante.
She reached the top of the stairs and burst through the door leading to the roof.
The crack of rifles immediately reached her ears.
Shit! she thought. I’m too late.
Bree sprinted across the top of the garage and weaved through the dozen cars parked sporadically around. When she reached a three-foot ledge that surrounded the roof, she glanced over the top and spotted the apartment building across the street.
Even more protestors filled the street between the garage and the building.
Things were getting ridiculously messy for their first operation. They hadn’t even trained together for the simplest of missions, let alone for one with so many complications.
With a practiced grace, Bree lifted her rifle onto the ledge with one hand and deployed the bipod with the other. She placed the legs of the stand on the top of the concrete ledge.
As fast as she could, Bree adjusted the scope on top of the rifle, shortening the zoom distance because the building wasn’t far away.
She looked through the scope and fine-tuned the focus.
Everything was in place.
“I’m in position,” she said into her mic.
Then she took a deep breath and watched the exit of the parking garage below her. The rest of her squad would enter the street from that spot.
“Exiting the building,” Tate replied.
They appeared a moment later, moving in a tight line with Tate in the lead.
Several of the protestors walking down the middle of the road spotted the armed men coming and backed away. They shoved each other aside as they tried to move out of Tate’s path.
Through the scope, Bree saw Asher glance up at her and wave.
“He’s a freaking lunatic,” she mumbled.
A tall, lanky man approached the group as they neared the entrance to the apartment building. Tate backed him off by shoving the barrel of his shotgun in the man’s face. He threw his hands up and backed away in a hurry.
They paused in front of the door. Tate kept his attention straight ahead. The rest of them turned and watched the crowd, ensuring no one snuck up on them.
“Entering the building,” Tate said.
“Be careful,” Drew replied.
Bree said a small prayer as her team disappeared through the front door.