“When it comes to brass balls, I gotta hand it to you.” Edwin gave Chief Raven his widest grin, a feeling of absolute joyous abandon charging his muscles. He’d always loved taking chances, especially when the odds should have been stacked against him.
He couldn’t help but note Raven’s saucy ass as she preceded him, a lunch tray balanced in her left hand. The hall lights cast blue tones in her mane of midnight-black hair.
She ought to grow that out even more. Thick like that, spilling down her back . . . ? Oh man.
“What’sa matter you?” he whispered under his breath. Any man wanting to screw with Raven had the distinct chance of coming to in a hospital bed with parts of his anatomy missing.
He laughed at himself, knowing full well that not only was Cat Talavera safer, but that in the end she’d be alive long after Karla Raven self-destructed. And when you could say that about a person who’d attempted suicide . . . ?
It sure as hell didn’t bode well for Raven.
The security door blocked the end of the hall like some impregnable fortress gate. A buzzer and keyboard, along with a card swipe, were under the noses of two security cameras.
Karla never hesitated, she swiped the card she’d lifted from that asshole Daniels, and brazenly turned the knob with her right hand.
Opening the heavy metal door, she glanced back at Edwin and raised a “who knew” eyebrow before leading the way into the command center.
Edwin stepped in just as Corporal Hatcher spun in his chair, eyes wide with disbelief. “What the . . . Chief Raven? Edwin? I mean, how’d you get in here?”
“Major Daniels,” Karla said, carefully placing the lunch tray on the counter. “He sends his regards and wanted you to . . .”
Hatcher’s eyes began to change, his expression shifting from disbelief to dismay.
Edwin, though anticipating, almost missed the blur of Karla’s movement. One minute she was straightening from setting the tray, the next her right hand was around Hatcher’s throat, her knee in his middle and pressing down as she rode his chair backward into a panel.
“Easy, Corporal,” she told him softly, using her weight to pin him in the chair. “You’re panicking, using up oxygen faster.”
Edwin gaped in horror at the terrified expression on Hatcher’s red face. “Damn, don’t kill him!”
“Relax. I’ve got plenty of practice,” Raven replied reasonably. “Believe it or not, SEALs do this for fun. It won’t take long. Driving my knee into his belly that way forced the air out of his lungs before I clamped down on his trachea. There, see how his eyes are rolling and he can hardly claw at my hands anymore?”
“Woman, you are one sick—”
“Edwin? You really want to go there?”
“No, ma’am.” Edwin Tyler Jones’ mama hadn’t raised just anyone’s fool.
“There we go,” Karla said gently as she eased Hatcher from the chair to the floor. She checked Hatcher’s pulse and glanced at Edwin. “You got that tape?”
Edwin slipped a roll of gray duct tape from under his shirt. By the time Chief Raven was done, Hatcher was conscious, bound like a mummy, and staring in wide-eyed horror.
“The headache only lasts for a couple of hours,” she told Hatcher as Edwin slipped into the chair and cracked his knuckles.
He scanned the system, a spike of euphoria charging his veins. Then he laid his fingers on the mouse the way a maestro caressed the ivories. “All right, let’s see what we got.”
After pulling up the main menu, Edwin scanned the programs, and clicked. Five clicks later, he winked at Raven and grinned. “I love the army. Standard security program here.” He glanced up at the clock. “Hatcher’s shift is over in five and a half hours. Either we’re rolling by then, or you gotta come knock out his relief.”
“Got it, Edwin.” She turned. “You all right here?”
He grinned and pointed to the lunch tray. “You kidding? I even got a sandwich!”
As Raven stepped out the door, he was already lost, tapping keys, checking code. Through the cameras, he watched Karla reenter the common room, then buried himself in the not-so-intricate quirks of the program.
“Inmate, my ass,” he whispered as he began neutering systems.