Tyrell wiped his sweaty palm across the denim of his jeans before shifting the gun in his other hand to the one he had just wiped so he could do his other one. He glanced at Helen. She looked like she was ready to go shopping instead of climbing aboard a huge ass cargo freighter with armed guards.
“Okay, how are we supposed to get on that thing without being seen?” Tyrell asked for the fifth time, glancing around the cargo container that they had slipped up behind. “I see two gangplanks going up to the deck and they both have guys with bigger guns than we do.”
Helen glanced over her shoulder at him and shook her head in amusement. What she could find so amusing at the moment was beyond him. Personally, all he could think about was he hoped he didn’t piss his pants. He’d been in some scar
