There was a filthy bundle on the floor, and King's heart actually stopped when he saw a tiny hand peeking out from the blankets. He kicked the door closed behind him and locked it, holstered his gun and ripped off the Kevlar. He crossed the room in three paces, fell to his knees next to the baby. Gently, so gently, he plucked Freddie from the stinking blankets, and settled him against his chest.
“Hey, little man,” he murmured. “Come on now... make a sound for me, OK?”
Freddie's face was scarily pale, his breathing deep and slow. King felt his pulse, noticing how huge his fingers were on the baby's delicate neck; it was sluggish and he felt his own heart rate spike with worry.
“Guys?” he said. “We clear?”
“Clear,” Tank said. “Me and Honey just did a sweep. We're good.”
“I'm coming out
