“Oh, thank goodness. You are Americans. Please, please come in.” The man in front of her furrowed his brow. He was not expecting this welcoming greeting, nor an English-speaking woman. “I assume you are looking for Captain O’Brien, yes?” The man nodded. “The captain is inside. He is injured and will need help.”
“Jones,” he called back to one of the men behind him, “bring the medic. Ricci and Heffernan, keep watch.”
She held the door open. One soldier took a spot near the entrance; the other positioned himself in the kitchen, effectively preventing any possible surprise attack. “He is in the bathroom. Let me get him for you.”
She paused, studying the man in front of her. He was only a few inches taller than Greta. His hair cropped short against his scalp, his thick brows drawn together.
