Page 112 of Fixed Asset

Mason charged forward, popping rounds off, easily dropping the guards at the door.

“Clear,” Shep announced in my ear.

“We’re clear,” I told Mason as I ran after him.

The door to the building swung open. Mason zigged right, I zagged left and caught sight of a big-ass bear of a man taking up almost the entire frame of the door. Too big to be Pete. I fired a round. The wood next to the man’s head splintered.

It was now a game of who could pull the trigger the fastest.

Luckily for me, I was damn quick on the draw and trigger.

My second shot landed. The man pitched to the side and fell out of sight.

Mason veered back center and hit the door first, pointing his rifle down and to the left. He double-tapped the man I’d already put down.

I heard Shep chuckle in my ear, proving he was close enough to see what Mason had done. He followed up with, “Jack’s rounding the building now.”

I glanced to the side just as Jack appeared. I did a top-to-toe examination and saw he was unharmed and in one piece. He did the same and nodded.

“Go help Mason,” Jack ordered. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Shep’s got watch,” I told him but offered no other explanation before I stepped into the building. It was one open space with a single light bulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling.

Pete was hanging by his rope-bound wrists from a metal hook fastened to a chain, which was anchored into the ceiling next to where the wire hung down for the light bulb. I was pretty sure that was an electric-shock accident waiting to happen.

Pete’s murderous gaze came to me. Mason was next to Pete, digging in the front pocket of his cargoes. For once I read the room, which was filled with Pete’s felonious vibes, and did not comment on Mason playing pocket pool in Pete’s pants.

Mason’s hand came out of Pete’s pocket with a knife.

“You don’t carry a knife?” I asked Mason.

“Left mine back on Cedros embedded in some asshole’s throat.”

“Well, now I know what to get you for Christmas. Unless you like playing where’s the knife in Pete’s pants.”

Mason chuckled. Pete did not.

Other than Pete being restrained and hanging by his wrists, I didn’t see any blood or injuries—he was supremely pissed but unharmed.

“What the hell happened?” I queried.

“I’m gonna kill Tom,” Pete growled.

That explained nothing, I was pretty sure none of us would mind taking a swing at the man. His duplicity knew no bounds.

“Why now?”

Pete tipped his head to the side like I was dense.

“You smell like . . .” Mason trailed off and leaned closer. “Spicy. You smell spicy.”

“Bear spray in the face leaves a lasting scent,” Pete sniped. “Where’s Calista?”

“Long story, but she left with Tom.”

Mason sawed at the rope around Pete’s wrist until enough of it was frayed that Pete Hulked his wrists apart, breaking through the last strands of rope.

Oh yeah, Pete was pissed.