Shadow Unit 8 by Emma Bull & Elizabeth Bear

Author:Emma Bull & Elizabeth Bear [Bull, Emma & Bear, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fbi, bau, behavioral analysis unit
Publisher: Emma Bull
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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They rolled up to the front of Sam’s grandmother’s pre-fab with the headlights off, but the light spilling between the front window curtains was enough to show the Honda civic parked out front. Spencer killed the engine, but held up a hand to Brady and Spears. “Hold on.” She pulled a mini-maglight off her belt, held it against the windshield, and clicked it on. It spotlighted the license plate. She clicked it off again.

“Tabor’s car.”

Brady squinted through the darkness at the front of the house. “Door’s ajar.” Just a hairline of light around the frame. He remembered that living room, the layout, obstacles between the front door and anyone inside.

“I’ll call,” Spears murmured, taking the radio from Spencer. While he studied the house, Brady listened to her saying, “Unit One to Falkner, suspect’s vehicle outside one-twenty-seven BIA Road Four. Suspect may be inside. Over.”

He didn’t have to listen to the response. They were going in. Because sitting outside and waiting for Tabor to finish killing Sam Fredeaux before they shot her just wasn’t happening.

Spencer slid out of the driver’s seat, with Spears a second behind on the passenger side. Brady came out behind Spencer. None of them needed to remind the others not to shut the doors. They approached the house in a loose triangle, weapons at low ready. Spencer stopped outside the door, and Brady and Spears flanked it.

Inside the house a female voice demanded, “Tell me! Is anyone else here?” The voice wobbled, as if the speaker was doing something physical.

“Fuck off!” That was Sam Fredeaux, his voice cracking into childhood treble halfway through.

Hang on, kid. Keep fighting.

How were Spencer and Spears at marksmanship? Brady was good, but good enough to take the head shot past a hostage, if they needed to? Hafidha is. He kicked the thought behind him, hard.

He held up three fingers to Spencer and raised his eyebrows. She shook her head and pressed her left hand down, palm toward the ground. Go in soft.

And Brady cursed himself, because he should have worked this out before they arrived. He’d forgotten how much Spencer didn’t know. He frowned at her, but she shook her head again and turned toward the weather-scoured front door.

“Felicity Tabor,” Spencer called, carrying but easy, no threat implied. “It’s Winona Spencer. Don’t be alarmed, Ms. Tabor, I’m going to open this door now.”

Brady leaned in, preparing to shove Spencer out of range if Tabor hit the panic button. If Tabor’s panic button didn’t work faster than Brady’s reflexes.

Spencer pushed the door lightly with her left hand and let it swing open as she resumed her two-handed grip on her pistol. She didn’t raise it from low ready.

Brady’s heart beat so hard he could barely breathe. He edged up to the doorframe and got the living room in his peripheral vision.

A skinny woman—a girl, really, though malnutrition was sucking her dry of youth—with ragged black hair and sunken, bruised-looking eyes stood pressed against the back wall. She wasn’t tall, but she still had to crouch to hold Sam Fredeaux in front of her.

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