“I’m not talking about Mrs. Bauman’s sex life,” Sloane hissed. “Would you stop for a second and listen?”
“Listening.”
Sloane silently moved around the apartment, his eyes up at the ceiling. There was another creak. “Mrs. Lloyd spends the day with her mom on Sundays, right?”
“Yeah, while her wife is at dance practice. Why?”
Sloane lowered his voice to a whisper. “Because someone’s upstairs in their apartment.”
“On my way.”
“Don’t blow your cover,” Sloane warned, and he hurried to the door. Cracking it open, he peered out into the hall. It was empty. After slipping out of Brian’s apartment, he edged toward the stairs and took them two at a time until he was on the second floor. The old brownstone, like countless others around the city, had been converted into apartments, with three apartments occupying the structure. Sandra lived up on the third floor, and Mrs. Lloyd and her wife on the second.
Sloane reached back into the waistband of his jeans and removed his tranq gun. Sticking close to the wall, he approached the apartment. The door was closed, but that didn’t mean it was locked. Reaching across the door, he silently wrapped a hand around the doorknob and very gingerly tested it. It was unlocked. Would an enemy operative leave a door unlocked? Unless they were so completely certain they wouldn’t be found, or they were confident they wouldn’t get caught.
Slowly, Sloane pushed the door in, remaining on the other side of it in case someone decided to shoot through the open door. When there was no gunfire, he leaned in closer to peek through the opening. He didn’t see or hear anyone. Gun in hand, he slipped inside the room and quickly scanned it. The apartment was long and narrow, the living room tastefully decorated in creams and browns. It was also empty, which made sense seeing as how there was no place for anyone to hide. One wall had a fireplace and across from it a couch with a glass coffee table in the center. Next to the fireplace was a bookshelf, and from where he stood, Sloane could see partially into what looked like a bedroom.
“Sloane, I’m at the front door. It’s open.”
“It was unlocked,” Sloane replied quietly. “I’m in the living room.”
Dex was at his side seconds later. Sloane motioned to the bedroom and then nodded toward the kitchen. Dex nodded back, and with his tranq gun lifted, he headed for the kitchen while Sloane silently made his way toward the bedroom, making sure to stay close to the walls and away from the open doorway. When he reached the bedroom, he glanced down at his watch. Twenty-five minutes until extraction. Shit. They needed to find this agent soon. If the agent wasn’t in here, they were screwed.
Sloane carefully checked the bedroom. He checked the obvious places—behind the door, in the closet, and under the bed. As he got to his knees to stand, he found himself staring at a pair of Chucks. His gaze traveled up, and he frowned.
“Austen?”
Austen winked at him before kicking him in the chest, knocking the wind out of Sloane. He fell onto his back, sucking in a lungful of air as he held a hand to his chest. Austen jumped off the bed, and Sloane scrambled to his feet.
“What the hell?” Sloane wheezed.
“Sorry, Sloane. This is going to hurt you more than it does me, but if it’s to make you a stronger operative, to make sure you’re prepared, then I gotta.” Austen launched himself at Sloane, and Sloane dodged, slapping away Austen’s fist when it came at his ribs.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sloane said, deflecting Austen’s blows, but Austen was much quicker, his training far exceeding Sloane’s.
“That’s your first mistake,” Austen growled, using Sloane’s bent knee to hop up and wrap his legs around Sloane’s neck, twisting and using his weight to throw Sloane off-balance.
“What’s going on?” Dex ran into the room, tranq gun in hand. His eyes went wide, and Sloane hit the bed, front first, and bounced off. He managed to regain his balance and grabbed Austen’s leg with one hand while wrestling him with the other. Dex aimed his gun at them.
“Damn it, I can’t get a clear shot.” Dex threw himself at Sloane, and the three of them went crashing to the floor, their guns skidding across the wooden floor bo
ards. Austen released him, and Sloane scrambled for his gun while Dex got to his feet.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dex asked, fists up, as he faced Austen.
“Teaching you boys a valuable lesson.”
“And what’s that?” Dex asked.
Sloane spun, tranq gun in hand. He aimed it in Austen’s direction but hesitated. Did Sparks really want him to tranq one of their own? Austen wasn’t just a friend; he was family. Sloane had watched the kid grow up from a gangly street punk into a fearless operative. Austen met Sloane’s gaze from across the room.
“You need to be prepared to do whatever is necessary to complete your op.”
Sloane swallowed hard.
“Sloane, shoot him.”
Sloane aimed but didn’t pull the trigger.