Dean pulled up a minute later, pale and worried. He saw Dallas strapping a SWAT vest across his broad chest, and he shut his eyes for a few seconds.
Fuck. He’s really going to do this.
He reached into the back seat and grabbed the long black bag. He stepped into the fray of cops and SWAT and Dallas’ own people, and he felt a hand on his arm. He turned, saw that Chris and Jim were right behind him, and the three men approached Dallas slowly.
His blue eyes were carefully blank, and they recognized that look: they hadn’t seen it since Afghanistan, and they exchanged concerned glances.
Dallas reached for his rifle, unzipped the bag, pulled out his M24. Finn hovered nearby.
“Dallas, you sure about this? Why not use mine? If you haven’t used yours in three years, it’s not going to be in go
