Forged in Steele - Maya Banks

Maya Banks - KGI #7 - Forged in Steele

Forged in Steele (KGI #7)
Maya Banks


“STATUS,” Steele said in low tones.

His receiver crackled in his ear and P.J. Rutherford’s response was immediate.

“No shot yet. Repeat, no clear shot. Give me two minutes to reposition. I’ll get him.”

Steele’s gaze swept the guard towers and simmered with impatience. They were fifteen minutes past go time and the extrication chopper would land in forty-five. Which gave them almost no time to get in, grab the girl and get out.

He wasn’t entirely certain this chick wanted out, but her parents were paying KGI a mint to go in and wrest her from the grasp of Matteo Garza. During three days of round-the-clock surveillance, it had not appeared to Steele that Christina Westlake was in any sort of distress. She’d pranced around in a thong and bikini top and five-inch heels, laughing and smiling and looking smugly content. He just hoped to hell she was wearing sensible shoes today because running would be a bitch in the stilettos and he needed her steady on her feet.

“Make it fast, P.J.,” Steele growled. “We’re on a timetable here.”

“Cool your jets, boss man,” Cole drawled. “My girl will get the job done.”

Steele rolled his eyes, and he knew damn well P.J. was doing the same. He’d suffer more bickering from the two newlyweds as soon as the mission was completed. P.J. would remove Cole’s balls for that remark.

“Any sign of our target?” Dolphin broke in. “I haven’t seen her in half an hour. Thought she was supposed to be sunbathing at this time?”

Miss Westlake had a routine. It was one thing Steele could say for her. Dolphin, Baker and Renshaw had eagerly volunteered for the afternoon surveillance shift so they could see the leggy blonde in her thong. Not to mention she always took her top off when she sunbathed.

She was a looker, no doubt, but she didn’t do a damn thing for Steele.

“She’s late,” Baker muttered. “Which means we’ll have to find her ass when we go in.”

“I’ll go get her,” Renshaw said, an evident grin in his voice.

“Quiet,” Steele ordered. “I want radio silence until I say differently. Get the damn shot, P.J. Waiting on you to take out the guards so we can get this show on the road.”

“Done and done,” P.J. said curtly. “Both front towers are clear. Giddy up, cowboys. Let’s rope the goat and get back home.”

Cole’s chuckle echoed in Steele’s ear. “That’s my girl!”

“Move in,” Steele barked. “I want a clean in-and-out.”

Steele slid out from the blind he’d constructed, hoisted his rifle and crept through the thick shrubbery that surrounded the palatial home.

Usually for a retrieval mission, he’d go in under the cover of night, hit hard and fast and get the hell out. Garza, however, doubled his security at night, almost as if he anticipated a night raid. During the day, he employed few security men and those he had were lazy and inattentive. This should be a piece of cake.

Should be.

He’d learned better than to actually utter those damning words, and he didn’t have a superstitious bone in his body.

He was heading in a direct line to the back of the house when gunfire erupted in the distance.

“Goddamn it, what the hell is that?” he barked into his mic.

“Sorry, boss man,” Dolphin said, a huff in his breath. “Couldn’t be avoided. They know we’re here now.”

Judging by the shrieks that filled the air, Christina Westlake knew they were here too. She wouldn’t have a clue they were here to help her. She just knew bullets were flying, as was blood.

“Give us