Forged in Steele (KGI #7)(3)

She bugged him. Got under his skin. Hell, it prickled anytime he was near her. Like ants under his skin, crawling from the inside out.

“As soon as we get to the chopper, get on the horn to our pilot,” Steele bit out. “Tell him we’ll be making an unscheduled stop.”

Dolphin slung his rifle over his shoulder, shoved his pistol into his holster and then reached down to carefully pick up the still-unconscious woman.

“Stay close,” Steele said tersely. “You hit the dirt if anything goes down. Don’t try to be a f**king hero with the girl in your arms. If she dies, we’re f**ked. I’ve never lost a subject and I’m damn sure not starting now.”

“You da boss.”

Steele rolled his eyes at the irreverence in Dolphin’s voice. Not that it was anything new. Steele would go to his grave before he’d ever admit that he was pretty damn fond of Dolphin’s attitude and his ability to lighten almost any situation with his quirky humor. Steele took ribbing from his team for having no sense of humor, but hell, why did he need one when he had Dolphin, P.J. and Cole? Between those three, they were more of a circus than a military ops team. But they got the job done and that was all that mattered to him.

They dealt with shit on a daily basis that normal people never even dreamed of. If this was their way of coping and staying sane, he was down with their shenanigans. Even if they pushed his buttons on a regular basis.

He pushed ahead of Dolphin and headed for the doorway onto the balcony. He ducked low, motioning for Dolphin to do the same as he examined the perimeter for any potential threat.

“Nine o’clock,” Steele said sharply. “Get down!”

Steele raised his gun and aimed through the slats in the railing, squeezed off two rounds and downed two men who were crossing the veranda by the pool. He gestured for Dolphin to pick up the pace and they scrambled down the stairway.

“Status,” he barked into his mic. “Dolphin and I are coming out the back. We have the subject. Need cover. Clear a path and get your asses in gear.”

“Way ahead of you, boss man,” Baker piped in. “P.J. and Cole have cleaned house. Renshaw and I are positioned at the back gate ready to blow this sucker. Give me thirty seconds. Maintain your current position until this shit blows.”

Steele and Dolphin both ducked, providing cover for the woman with their bodies as they crouched at the bottom of the steps, using the wall to shield them from debris from the impending explosion.

On cue, the blast bellowed over their ears. The ground shook and pieces of metal and stone rained down like a hailstorm.

“Damn, they know how to get it done,” Dolphin muttered. “They may have used a little too much C-4.”

“You think?” Steele said dryly. “Let’s move.”

Coughing from the cloud of dust and decimated concrete, they ran toward the gaping hole in the stone wall surrounding the pool area.

“Hope to f**k the others are in position so we can get the hell out of here,” Steele said in terse tones.

“Cool your jets. We’re on it,” P.J. snapped.

Steele shook his head. Temperamental woman. That much never changed, thank God. She was back where she belonged. He’d never said as much—he wouldn’t offer her that kind of disrespect or lack of confidence in her abilities—but she’d worried him coming off her solo mission of revenge. Besides overcoming multiple injuries, her emotional and psychological trauma had been off the charts. If it had been up to him, he would have grounded her another few months. Only she wasn’t having any of it, and if she was taken out it meant he lost Cole too. No damn way he was going to operate two team members short.

“Glad to have your cranky ass back, Rutherford,” Steele said in an uncharacteristic display of humor.

There was complete radio silence. And then, “Holy shit, did he just crack a joke?” Baker asked aghast.

“Hey, that’s Coletrane now,” Cole complained. “She married me, remember? Pretty damn sure the paperwork says she’s Penelope Jane Coletrane now.”

“I’m going to kick your f**king ass, Cole!” P.J. snapped.

“Penelope Jane?”

Steele couldn’t tell who said what because it all came in three directions followed immediately by hoots of laughter and instant jibes. Jesus Christ. They weren’t out of the woods yet and his entire team was acting like it was a night out in a bar.

“I need everyone to shut the f**k up and make the rendezvous point with the chopper,” Steele snapped. “You can bicker later.”

Steele set a rapid pace but was careful to keep Dolphin and his charge close behind him so he was shielding them both with his body. Baker and Renshaw fell in, closing ranks around Dolphin.

Blood dripped in a steady stream from Baker’s face, splattering the ground and leaving a visible blood trail.

“How serious is it?” Steele barked in Baker’s direction, his gaze never stopping its sweep of the terrain.

“Bleeding like a f**king pig. I have no idea,” Baker bit back. “Can’t feel a damn thing at the moment and my ears are ringing like a son of a bitch.”

“I told his dumb ass to get farther back from the blast zone,” Renshaw muttered. “I didn’t have the time to calculate the strength of the explosives so I went for more than I guessed was necessary.”