Trigger Man (The Girl in the Box Book 59) by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2025-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Sienna

Navigating without GPS was a special sort of talent, and one I only had the passing-est of acquaintances with. I was a younger millennial; I'd had a smartphone almost since I'd left my house. Why would I have ever needed to memorize street names, major thoroughfares, and the like?

Maybe because I was, ultimately, a cop, and a person who believed in eminent disaster. Which is why when I moved to Nashville, I spent a decent chunk of time just scanning street names and putting them into my memory.

I couldn't claim to know every street in Nashville. But I knew where Demonbreun (why did they pronounce it De-mum-bree-un instead of Demon-brewin'? No clue) was, and I jetted toward downtown and the Demonbreun exit like it was where my retirement party was being held and all I needed to do to start the party (and the pension) was to get there.

Nor did it take a genius of the first order to figure out which direction I needed to go on Demonbreun once I got there. The massive swarm of cop cars was a big hint, just down the road into the Gulch section of town, blocking the roads and intersections, blue and red lights flashing madly across the entire horizon.

As I landed just past the police cordon, a cop stood watching me land, his navy uniform flashing in the light of the cop cars, his white teeth standing out with his jaw hanging open. “You're back.”

“She's back,” came a deadly dull voice, repeating him. I turned to see a homeless guy standing there. He was weathered, gray hair and beard, wrinkles like trenches in his face, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, “I'm back.” And turned to charge toward the building they were swarming.

I was just about to crash in when a familiar face popped out at me from the crowd of uniforms closer in. “Sienna?” Ashley Aylor, TBI agent, short, almost lost in the crowd, her double braids over her shoulder, was standing on the street, hand resting on her gun. “What are you doing here?”

“AA,” I said, breathless, “you gotta call 'em back. These Chinese agents are blowing up everywhere.”

She didn't even hesitate, snagging the radio at her belt. “All agents: HOLD. Repeat: HOLD. Be advised: Chinese agents have been exploding. DO NOT PROCEED. Copy?”

“Copy that,” came a hard voice over the mic. “Please advise.”

“Get 'em out here,” I said, and she gave just that order. Moments later, filing out the glass-and steel, shiny new condo building, came Nashville's SWAT team, a couple TBI agents of my acquaintance, and–

“Augustus!” I practically tackled him, knocked him back into his brother, who was a step behind, and then got him, too, my arms wrapped around them both, refusing to let go. “Jamal.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Augustus said. Once I let him go, he straightened his suit jacket, which I might have wrinkled a little. “Kinda unexpected. Now what's this about Chinese agents blowing up?”

“They're going suicide bomber,” I said.

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