Page 74 of Deep Cover

She turned and ran toward the crates that weren’t on fire.

“Ryss, we don’t have time for a full search!”

“I know.” She tore open wooden crates like a madwoman, yanking out the contents and piling items in her arm.

“Forty seconds, Sierra Four.”

He looked around for anything to grab before their time ran out.

Above them, something groaned, a long, low sound that vibrated in Rivers’s teeth.

He and Rome looked up to see the support beam sag and the ceiling tiles around it starting to buckle, bowing into rippling bubbles.

“Roof’s compromised,” he barked. “Ryss, now!”

“One more—”

“Now!” He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her back. The items bundled against her chest slipped to the floor, scattering. She jerked to grab them, but he half carried, half dragged her out as the groan overhead turned into a splitting crack.

“Leave them!” he bellowed, forcing her along.

Rome was one step ahead of them, his blistering cough exploding through the comms. They cleared the office doorway three heartbeats before the beam gave and the roof on the east collapsed in a shower of sparks and burning debris.

Caryssa screamed. Rivers didn’t slow down, didn’t let go of her. He propelled them fast through the main warehouse and the fog of smoke toward the door they’d entered through, with heat chasing them the whole way.

“Sierra Four, status!”

Cannon’s command seeped into his brain, but he couldn’t speak as he forced Caryssa to the exit. They burst out into the cold night air, all of them hunching forward as coughs racked them. Rome ran and Rivers followed hard on his heels, not stopping until he’d put twenty yards between them and the building.

Caryssa’s knees hit the gravel and she tipped forward, hands on the ground, chest heaving. He dropped beside her, lungs burning. He ignored it and checked her over, his hands shaking.

Shouts of “they’re out, they’re out!” filled his ear, but his focus was on the woman he loved.

She twisted her face to him, eyes dark and wild as she gulped for clean air.

Just then, the sound of gunfire burst from the darkness. Time seemed to slow for Rivers. It took minutes to swing around. Longer to lift his weapon.

Muzzle flashes lit the line beyond the fence—two, three, then a fourth, masked figures broke from cover and opened up on the team’s position.

Rome was already moving toward Cannon, and they threw themselves behind the bumper of the van. They returned fire in short, controlled bursts. Rorke’s voice barked over comms, calling for contact, demanding responses.

He didn’t have time to process any of it. He grabbed Caryssa by the shoulder and shoved her down hard behind a low concrete barrier surrounding the gravel lot. He angled his body over hers, weapon up and tracking the movement of their attackers.

A round sparked off the concrete inches from his head. Caryssa’s scream was drowned by his returning fire. He hit his mark and the shape crumpled to the ground and didn’t get back up.

Caryssa lifted her head.

“Stay down!” he snarled.

The real firefight tore through the next thirty seconds. Younger shouted for position. Townie lay down cover from the side of the building. Rivers shifted and found a new angle, putting two rounds into a masked figure sneaking too close to Rome. The man went down hard.

For one breath, the gunfire stopped.

“Running,” O said, breathless.

“Or regrouping,” Rivers ground out.

He glanced over to check on Caryssa—