Code Name Sentinel (Jameson Force Security 2)

God, I want to fucking laugh—bringing humor into such a dark situation—but I can’t. Knowing he tortured her with that cattle prod has me wanting to pump a few more bullets into his lifeless body.

“Come on,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulder to turn her toward the door. “I need to get you to a hospital—”

“No hospital,” she says as she pulls away from me. “I just want to go home.”

“Hospital,” I reply adamantly. “You need those wounds on your wrists treated, and we need to check out if that prod did any damage. You probably could use some hydration, too.”

“No hospital,” she replies adamantly. “I’ve got the betadine, bandages, and Gatorade at home. I just want my own bed, and… I want…”

Her words trail off.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“You,” she replies, her eyes locking on mine. “I want you beside me so I can be assured you’re real and I’m not hallucinating all of this. And I want a big fat burger and some onion rings. I’ll be fine if I can have those things.”

I stare a moment before giving a capitulated nod and a short smile. “Okay… I’ll take you home.”

I lead Barrett up the staircase and out of the basement. Our team had stormed Munford’s house not fifteen minutes after we’d arrived, the Marine One helo having landed about a half a mile east. We watched from a copse of trees about fifty yards away, but we really couldn’t be sure about anything. We saw two armed men patrolling the grounds, but beyond that, we couldn’t tell much else.

With the possibility Barrett was inside and being tortured, we simply couldn’t wait. Kynan made a command decision to breach someone’s private property without any factual evidence we’d find Barrett there. If he’d been wrong, we’d all face criminal prosecution.

As it stands, we still might. We’re a private agency not authorized by law to do what we just did, despite the fact we had FBI backup, but I’ll worry about those repercussions later.

Luckily, the two outside guards were easily subdued. There hadn’t been anyone in the house when we entered. Bebe had managed to provide the specs on the layout, so when we went in, I chose to go down to the basement, knowing that was the most likely place to find Barrett.

And I walked into a fucking nightmare.

I’ve never felt such rage before as when I saw Barrett bent over a table, her pants pushed crudely to her knees while a brute of a man unzipped his pants as he stood behind her. The feeling had overwhelmed me for a moment.

And then…

It focused me.

My eyes narrowed, my gun aimed, and there was a tiny imaginary bull’s-eye painted on the man’s forehead as he had whirled in stunned surprise when I kicked the door open.

I didn’t have a moment’s hesitation in pulling the trigger, my intention one hundred percent meant to kill.

I’d known it was wrong.

Known I’d saved Barrett from a terrible fate at his hands. Known I could have ordered him to move away from her.

Known that by killing him, I’d become a murderer. Yet, it was the only option I’d had. I’d never be able to live with myself if I let Barrett’s pain and torture go unavenged.

On the main floor, we’re met by FBI agents and local police as they start to fill the house for processing. No one stops us as I lead her out.

No one looks twice at us.

Until we make it down the front porch steps, my arm still locked tight around Barrett’s shoulders, and come face to face with Kynan and Willis Henry, the director of the FBI.

Both wear concerned expressions, which I know has everything to do with the dead body in the basement. That shooting happened less than five minutes ago, but they’ve already been informed I’d killed a man.

What else did they know about it?

“Mr. Britton,” Director Henry says gravely. “We’re going to need to talk to you about what happened down there. I’m going to ask you go with two of my agents back to our offices in Washington.”

I don’t dare look at Kynan, but I can feel the tension rolling off him. “Can this wait?” I ask, nodding to Barrett as I pull her in closer. “She’s had a very traumatic experience, and I want to get her home.”

“We’d be happy to help arrange transport for Ms. Alexander to either a hospital or to her home—”

“I don’t want to go to a hospital,” Barrett interrupts, her voice sounding a little shrill. “And I want Cruce to take me home. I’m sure you can appreciate what I’ve been through, and you can always talk to Cruce tomorrow.”

“This is a criminal investigation, Ms. Alexander,” the director answers cautiously. “I cannot begin to imagine what you suffered, and we’ll obviously need your statement, too. I can have an agent accompany you to save you a trip to our offices.”