Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

presidential assassination. There’d been rumor of two others. He’d even headed a town raid—something she could never forgive.
    Fate was an evil witch, turning her soul’s savior into her target and sole link to destroying Devereaux Kendrick. She’d laugh at the irony, if she had time. Instead, she thought about the traits of the boy she’d known so long ago. Three words sprang to mind. Remarkable. Determined. Unpredictable. Those words slowed her jogging knees enough that when Ryan whispered over the coms, “At eleven now. I’m taking twelve,” a thrill quieted all the ramblings in her brain.
    “I’m on eleven. Moving in,” she answered, knowing Baine was somewhere beyond the heavy white door with the crackled black numbers one-one.
    Ryan answered, “On twelve. Moving in.”
    Her hand gripped the cool hard handle and the enemy’s channel crackled to life. In a strained whisper, Sloan barked, “Hold.”
    “Holding.”
    A crinkle in the static ushered a deep baritone, “Check.”
    The element of surprise took a swan dive off the roof and landed with a splat on the sidewalk outside. Damn. She’d hoped the enemy line would stay quiet. Then she’d hoped the voice would give something away. A nest position would be nice. Not that lucky. Ever. Without knowing the correct response code, answering was as good as picking up the radio and saying, “ Hold still. I’m about to look up your skirt .”
    Her partner knew it too. He spoke into her ear. “Radio silent. Move.”
    “Affirmative.” Sloan moved silently through the doorway. MP5 in hand, she took in the vacant hallway through its crosshairs. The fluorescent lighting above and rows of apartment doors nearly flush with the corridor’s walls made her an easy target. So, she moved quickly, looking for signs of the man and, as he had an entourage, the men she hunted. Her ears pricked to every noise. Some she dismissed. Kids playing. A couple screwing. The pre-game show blaring. Silence behind a door two-thirds of the way down screamed for her attention like a naked ninety-year-old running to catch the Metrorail.
    So much could be found in the silence.
    She visually inspected the door. Nothing stood out. No marks for forced entry. No blood from an unfortunate tenant who happened to have the best view. And by her judgment, this apartment provided the easiest shot. The quiet was absolute. The dishwasher didn’t hum, nor did any other appliance. With a mental fist to her shoulder and a settling breath, Sloan eased a steady hand to the knob. The door moved ever so slightly.
    The thing wasn’t latched. Having already tipped her hand for anyone watching, she flung it wide and inched back to the cover of the wall. One. Two. When the sounds of cocking weapons and firing bullets didn’t fill the air, surprise pinched her brow. Three. She darted into the room ready to crouch behind the nearest piece of furniture, but the empty room made it both unnecessary and impossible. One cloth covered-table sat at the center. To the left an open closet door revealed the fall line of a homeless person. Nada. To the right a partitioned wall and scrunched curtain displayed a meager bathroom and shower that hid no goons. Two well-worn pans hung from silver hooks above an old stove that jetted out from the wall.
    Warning tingled down her spine. Still, everything remained fixed as she cleared the room a second time. She eyed the apartment’s door curiously. No one stormed through it. Then her gaze swung to the table. Its polished wooden legs peeked out from under a canvas painting cloth. Stepping toward it, Sloan gripped the edge and pulled. A suppressor and hand-painted forest-camo barrel of a sniper rifle peeked from beneath the fabric. Quickly she moved toward the window. A groove had been cut around the frame. Paint chips lay scattered on the floor and sill. Through the glass in the great distance a large white structure stood out from the green park grass.
    The stage.
    A glance