Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) by Jack Lively (reading well TXT) 📕

guy had been staring into, which had drawn his attention. I couldn’t see anything in there. A figure emerged from the darkened brush. Slim, tall, blonde hair. Chapman moved slow and cautious to the edge of the woods and crouched low. She was wearing a blue dress beneath a black tactical jacket that she must have looted from one of the Wagner mercenaries. I loped across the dirt and pushed into the growth. Chapman had also taken one of the Tavor assault rifles and her feet were bare against the soil.

Just like old times.

Fifty-Four

Chapman stepped back into the trees. I followed. Once we were away from the open yard, she stopped and examined me. The cold moonlight filtered in through leafless branches. I could see her very clearly. Her sharp profile and large, wide-set eyes, blue, and cutting.

She said, “That was really quite something, Keeler. I knew you had game, but I never expected anything like that.”

I said nothing.

She said, “I was stuck here waiting for the guy to stop staring in my direction. I was hiding in the shadow and I think he couldn’t quite see me. I didn’t want to shoot him because of the other one. I knew the second one was out there, but I didn’t know he was coming through the factory. Well, first I thought you were him when you came out.”

“But then you noticed my style.”

“You were like a berserker, Keeler.” Chapman said this in an admiring tone, like being a controlled psychopath was the best thing you could hope for, which made her part of my world.

I said, “What are we looking at?”

She said, “I sent people up to the gate. I guess you met them.”

“I did, and I called it in. There’s a welcome committee coming.”

“There are more here. People who couldn’t walk so good.”

I looked around. It was deadly silent. I said, “Pretty quiet here.”

She said, “The opposition has gone to ground. When I got out of the house, they were in the middle of an operation. Moving those people out on the bus. I took down two of them over there. Then another guy coming out of the house. Now there are at least a couple more inside the house protecting the VIPs.”

“I figure they’re cutting losses. You get that impression?”

“Big time. The clown was nervous. He said that the bosses had flown in and were cleaning up. Seemed to me that he was getting ready for the chop.”

“Like they’d kill him?”

Chapman was nodding. “The guy was a creep, but an intelligent one. Like he knew the score but didn’t know how to face it. He was going hard tonight, like it was the last night.”

I said, “How did you get out?”

Chapman was crouched close to me. The blue dress was thin for the temperature, but her metabolism was going hard. I could feel her warmth.

She said, “Second floor, back side of the house. I was in there with another girl and the bald clown guy. Some kind of bachelor pad fantasy room. Guard outside the door. The clown spiked our drinks with Rohypnol. She was drinking, I was faking it, pouring it into a potted plant."

“And?”

She shrugged. “The clown tried to do his thing and I did mine.”

I looked at Chapman. She didn’t look away. Her bright eyes were clear and uncomplicated by doubt.

I said, “Where did that happen?”

“What?”

“You, doing your thing.”

“The bathroom. You want the full picture. Marble tiled floor. Right next to the shower. Guy was wearing a kimono, like he was a samurai or something.”

“And?”

She said, “And I broke his neck.”

“In that dress.”

Chapman looked down. There was a tear in the dress. She looked up at me and shrugged. “Yes.”

I pictured the scene. The Mister Lawrence guy on the floor by a shower in a very uncomfortable-looking position. Dead and half naked in a silk kimono that had come undone. I pictured his neck, black and blue and misshapen. An image populated my mind of Chapman’s powerful swimmer’s thighs wrapped around the guy’s neck, squeezing patiently, pulsing with muscle. I could see the guy trapped, red-faced and flailing. He would have been in a state of disbelief, wondering how this could have happened to him? Like an over-confident rat who find himself in the embrace of a constricting snake. No need to wait, Chapman would have gone in for the kill, a quick shake of the hips and a twist of the knees.

I said, “Good work. Let’s go.”

She looked at me, and her eyes travelled to my torso. “You got hit.”

I lifted up my jacket and shirt. Nothing but blood and shredded flesh. Chapman bit her lip and moved closer. She felt around with her fingers, probing. It hurt. But I knew that the loss of blood was minimal.

I said, “Flesh wound. I got lucky. Let’s get this over with so I can put a Band-Aid on it.”

Chapman was now very close. Her hair brushing my neck as she moved. She explored my wound with expert fingers. It was painful and pleasant, stimulating. Until she pressed hard into my side and made me pull away involuntarily.

She made a shushing sound. “Keeler, you are a lucky man. A graze. One centimeter closer and I would be so sad.”

“Yeah, just don’t make me laugh okay?” I pulled down my shirt and the jacket. Felt better that I was wrapped in clothing. The pain made me impatient.

“Let’s do it.”

She shook her head. “There’s something you have to see first.”

Chapman didn’t wait for me to agree. She took off through the woods. Barefoot and silent. Assault rifle up and ready. I followed. We arrived around the back of the second production facility building. Identical to the first. Another back door. Chapman paused at the side of the door. She removed a chrome cylinder from her pocket and held it up for me to see.

I said, “Hagen told me about your hidden Geiger counter.”

“Good. But it isn’t a Geiger counter.” Chapman flipped the top off on hinges and twisted