Red Zone (Red Zone 1)

Striker’s eye shot to the window as he heard the low hum of an approaching hover-vehicle. “Don’t move.”

He strode over and glanced out. Mace. He headed to the broken door to let his teammate in, checking the street behind the big man. It was empty. “Where’s your other half?”

“She’ll be here soon. She’s busy spreading misinformation.” He held up a thin scanner. “I brought this. Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah.” Striker motioned into the room. “Friday, this is Mace, he’s is gonna scan you for trackers.”

“I told you it’s impossible for any electronic device to work in me right now.”

“Humor him.” He was seriously beginni

ng to regret his decision to take the woman, and her many problems, on.

“Arms out, honey.” His second-in-command grinned down at Friday. At six-and-a-half-feet tall, Mace towered over her. And yet, she clearly wasn’t intimidated. In fact, she seemed more interested in the scanner than the man.

“That’s a DC-120.” She pointed at the scanner. “There’s a more up-to-date model. You need to get one.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Mace ran the scanner over the curve of her waist.

“You’re doing it wrong.” She frowned. It was cute.

With an irritated growl, the big guy glared at her. “There’s a right way?”

She huffed out a breath. “Yes, there’s a right way. That scanner works best when you work your way down in a circular motion rather than a straight line. It has a limited field of operation, which means it can sometimes miss items. A circular motion ensures there isn’t any chance of skipping even an inch of skin. Do you want me to show you what to do?”

“No, I think I got it.” He shook his head, then resumed the scan. Making sure to do it properly this time. “Clear,” he told Striker when he’d finished.

To her credit, Friday didn’t point out that she’d told him so. Although the look she gave him was the same one his kindergarten teacher had given him every time he’d tried to eat the paste.

“Could just be luck,” Mace said, referring to Enforcement knowing their whereabouts. But his face made it clear he believed in luck about as much as Striker did.

“They’re getting information on her whereabouts from somewhere. There’s no such thing as a coincidence.”

“She tell anyone what she was doing?”

“She is standing right here. Wondering why you’re talking about her instead of to her. And no, I didn’t tell anyone.” Friday folded her arms over her ugly jumpsuit and glared up at Mace, who seemed bewildered by her.

“She told Freedom,” Striker felt the need to point out.

It was his turn to be on the receiving end of her glare. “They don’t count. They would never sell me out to CommTECH or Enforcement.”

“Freedom?” All amusement drained from the big guy’s face. “You have got to be kidding me?” He railed at Striker. “She’s a terrorist. They’re never going to stop hunting her. Or anyone who helps her. You need to cut her loose.” He looked back at Friday. “You’re on your own.”

“No.” Striker strode forward, unconsciously positioning himself between Friday and the man who had the dubious honor of being his best friend. “We have a deal. I promised my help. We need her.”

“We can get someone else. Genetic scientists are a dime a dozen. We can get one who doesn’t have the entire Enforcement organization on her ass.”

“It’s not that easy. You know how hard it would be to get one we could trust.”

Mace barked out a mirthless laugh. “Trust? Are you listening to anything I’m telling you? She’s in league with a terrorist organization. She sells secrets. She spies. She’s the last person on the planet we can trust.”

Friday pushed out from behind him, trying to get to Mace. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side, uncertain why he felt the need to protect their client from his teammate, but unable to stop himself from doing it anyway. Mace watched the move with narrowed eyes.

“I’m standing right here,” she snapped. “She is perfectly capable of talking for herself. And she has a name. My name is Friday.” She struggled, clearly wanting to face-off against Mace—a man who was more than a foot taller than her and had at least four times her bulk.

“Okay, Friday,” Mace growled. “You want to tell us how we can trust you? How you’re not going to put our whole team at risk? How you wouldn’t sell our secrets to the highest bidder? Or spy for Freedom, if you thought anything you found out about us would help the cause? Tell me, Friday, tell me exactly why we should trust you. Why we should help you.” He didn’t wait for an answer before looking back up at Striker, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “Cut her loose. This is a mistake. We can’t take the risk.”

“I don’t sell secrets.” Friday’s outrage made her voice rise.