Shadow Strike by P. R. Adams

Author:P. R. Adams [Adams, P. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Promethean Tales
Published: 2019-05-12T06:00:00+00:00

18

Going back as far as Benson could remember, she’d hated being locked up. It could be real, like when Sargota had a rare parenting moment and sent her mouthy child to her room and closed the door “until you come to your senses.” Or it could be symbolic, like the many times at the Academy where instructors or senior cadets took away Benson’s voice. Either way, she would stew. She would grind her teeth. She would glare. And she would fight against the painful pressure that built in her head when blatant idiocy reared up.

That pressure was building now, as she leaned against the bunk of her cell—her “protective” cell. She massaged her forehead to push back the throbbing pain.

Grier leaned out from the bottom bunk where she lay, hands clasped behind her head. She was down to T-shirt and pants, both of them clinging like paint to her muscles. “You okay, ma’am?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Silence getting to you?”

“No.” Benson hadn’t actually noticed how quiet it was. When she paced, her boots echoed off the bare, gray concrete floor and walls of the cell and hall outside.

“Bored by the decor?”

“Reminds me of the Pandora. A little.”

“Ouch. It’s not really so bad, is it, ma’am? Reminds me of boot camp, but a lot more comfortable, and it doesn’t stink like a hundred recruits stuffed into a little barracks. Hell, they’ve got a good air conditioning system, right, Clive?”

Halliwell sat on the bottom bunk on the opposite wall, hunched over, studying his fingers. Like Grier, he was down to his T-shirt and pants, but his brooding was painful to watch. A small patch of his brow glistened where fresh skin had been sprayed over a gash. Once again, he was blaming himself for something outside his control. “Sure.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss.”

His dark eyes came up, then dropped back to his fingers, which he slowly interlaced and straightened. “Sorry.”

“Oh, man. You’re looking at it all wrong. It’s a paid vacation. Without the booze.”

“You’re off the booze, Toni.”

“Sure. But you find the right guy, get him smashed, no telling what happens.”

Benson grinned. “I seriously doubt you need to get someone hammered for a good time, Corporal.”

“Nah. For a great time, though…”

Benson stretched her leg, which was bugging her again. A week at the Academy had meant access to an excellent gym, a chance to rehab. Now everything felt stiff and sore again.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe she’d pushed too hard.

She paced a bit, then leaned against the bars that made up the wall that kept them penned in. Protected.

Six hours.

Six hours of “protection.”

Six hours while order was restored and everything was sorted out.

But what was there to sort? The prime minister was dead. Most of her strongest allies were as well. And Sargota…

Benson came around, head throbbing, ears ringing. Blood trickled down Halliwell’s face. His eyes were a little glazed, but there was enough focus in them to see the concern in their depths.

“Faith? You okay?” He squeezed her.

She longed for the feel of those

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