CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Several things happened all at once, without time for Reid to process any one of them. The brakes on the red sedan shrieked as it came to a halt in front of them. Fitzpatrick’s body slid across the concrete. Reid dropped himself to the floor, landing painfully on his forearms but out of the line of fire. Two shots went off over his head—both pistol shots. The two Division mercenaries yelped and fell beside him.
He scrambled to his feet again as Maria and Strickland quickly knelt to relieve the downed mercs of their rifles. One man groaned and held his shoulder; the other gripped his thigh, hissing breaths through his clenched teeth.
The door of the red sedan swung open and a familiar woman emerged—a woman with short dark hair, swept across her forehead, and equally
