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“We’ve lost Benson!” Tate yelled.
Bree lifted her rifle from the ledge and folded the bipod against the underside. The crowd beneath her had swelled. Their anger reached a fever pitch after the gunfight, and they were destroying everything in sight.
Rocks went through windows. Cars were flipped and set on fire.
“Do you have a visual on Benson, Manning?” Tate asked.
“Negative.” Bree had seen the crowd to the left of the building react to something, but she’d never seen who or what had caused it. “I can’t see any of you.”
Bree moved along the length of the ledge, looking down at the people below. If Benson were down there, she would have spotted him. It wouldn’t have been difficult to see a giant man dressed in black from head to toe. And the crowd would have swarmed him already.
Jack Shea said, “I can’t stay here much longer. The natives are getting restless.”
The op had unraveled quickly. Bree didn’t know what to do. Her teammates had left the apartment building, and she didn’t have an angle on anything behind it. She wanted to run across the street and see if she could locate them, but that meant braving the crowd below and she knew that wouldn’t work in her favor. They were looking for someone to take out. A disguised woman holding a rifle was a big target.
“We’re on foot.” Tate’s voice came in quick huffs. “The protestors are chasing us across Hood Street.”
Nelson finally responded, his voice calm and calculating. “Can you circle around to find Benson?”
“Negative. There’s no chance we could get around these people even if we engaged them.”
Manning’s stomach twisted. If Benson were caught by the mob, they’d likely kill him. If Smith’s men got to him, they’d probably kill him. She struggled to imagine how he’d become separated from the others.
“Regroup with Shea and await further orders.” Nelson said it in the matter-of-fact tone of a man reading baseball statistics.
“No!” Detective Lloyd’s voice sounded distant, as if he wasn’t standing by the microphone. “You can’t leave him out—”
The feed cut off.
Bree stood there for several seconds, waiting. Nelson had given the order, but the horrific idea of leaving a man behind cemented her feet. He hadn’t outright said they were pulling out, but if they fled even a few blocks, they might lose Benson for good.
“Regroup with Shea,” Nelson repeated a moment later. “We’re getting our surveillance back online to see if we can locate him.”
Hearing that, Bree turned and ran for the stairs. She hoped she wasn’t abandoning Benson to torment and murder.