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    Handoff Excerpt

    "If this goes on much longer, I'm going to have
to kill someone just so we can see some real action."
    Pitch looked like he wanted to cuff
Mouth, but even Pitch had to think twice before getting physical
with Mouth. It wasn't Mouth's appearance. Compared to some of the
mercs that routinely worked for the Lieutenant, Mouth was
practically a choir boy. Blond hair, blue eyes and a square jaw
that had been known to lure in girls who really should have known
better.
    It wasn't ever the surface that tipped people
off about Mouth, it was all the stuff just under the skin. Adam was
pretty sure Mouth was ex-military, but if so he'd never made it
through his tour to be honorably discharged. Anyone who'd spent
time at the front knew you could get away with a lot when it was
just you and your unit stuck in the middle of some forsaken bit of
swamp, but Adam had never been in any unit that would have let
Mouth pursue his more exotic vices, and Mouth wasn't known for his
self-restraint.
    Pitch, an ex-sergeant from the Marines,
apparently decided he couldn't let the comment pass without a least
making motions to rein Mouth in.
    "Quiet. You're supposed to be pretending to be
a hole in the night."
    "Whatever, Pitchy. This is just another milk
run. I signed on to get stuck in, not babysit abandoned train
yards."
    "I don't care what you signed on for, you
signed on. That means until the Lieutenant says otherwise, you'll
babysit whatever I tell you to babysit, or you'll be out on your
ass again looking for work."
    For a second it looked like Mouth was going to
respond, but he settled for flipping Pitch off and rolling back
over onto his stomach. It'd probably been that last bit that had
pulled him up short. Even a sniper as good as Mouth couldn't count
on a steady stream of jobs if he was stupid enough to piss of the
few merc's with the kind of contacts to put real work
together.
    Mouth likely had warrants out in every state on
the west coast. When you had money little things like the police
being after you weren't necessarily show stoppers, but Mouth spent
it faster than even he could bring it in. If he pissed off Pitch
enough for the wiry, black ex-Seal to convince the Lieutenant to
drop him, he'd have to turn to wetwork to pay the bills, and he
wasn't smart enough to get away with that for long.
    Satisfied that he wasn't going to have to worry
about putting a round into Mouth's back, Adam rested his cheek back
against the stock of his L115A3. The night sight currently letting
him pierce the darkness, had cost the better part of five grand,
and still was a fraction of the cost of the rifle it was mounted
on.
    It rankled more than a little that the
Lieutenant had brought Mouth in on this job. If someone else had
asked Adam along on a stateside mission he would have told them no.
There was just too much risk of getting tangled up with law
enforcement. The Lieutenant had told Adam more than once that mercs
made their living on the fringes of civilization, and smart ones
chose the fringes not in North America.
    The call asking Adam along on this particular
foray into lawlessness hadn't included an explanation as to the
reason the Lieutenant was breaking his own rules, but Adam hadn't
pressed. The Lieutenant had saved Adam's life six years ago when
there hadn't been an upside and Adam had been his man ever since.
He'd served as overwatch on the last half-dozen missions he'd been
asked to join, and he'd saved the team's ass more than
once.
    .338 rounds were more than capable of ripping
through light vehicles at the appropriate ranges. Bringing along
Mouth and his .50 Barrett was both overkill and stupid. Adam