Free Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4) by Monette Michaels Page B

looked all along the rear of the building to find her roof exit strategy. When she spotted the closed trash bin, she dropped back to her stomach and belly-crawled toward the back corner of the station, closer to Ma’s.
    Once there, DJ looked over the side again and did the mental math—approximate height of the building minus the approximate height of the bin equaled approximately her almost six feet height plus or minus half a foot. “Easy drop.”
    Before she exited the roof, she ejected the old magazine from her rifle and put in a fresh one and then slung the rifle over her back. She pulled her Beretta and made sure it was in ready position then slid it down the front of her jeans, leaving her jacket unbuttoned. She took several deep breaths and then held one to listen for sounds of movement from the other side of the station.
    Hearing nothing but the wind, she whispered, “Evacing the roof.”
    Rumbles of male pissed-off cursing were white noise. The only thing that pierced DJ’s focus was Keely’s calm, “Go, DJ. Your ass is covered.”
    DJ lay on her stomach, close to the edge. Then she swung one, then the other leg over the edge. She wiggled back until her upper body was braced on her forearms at the edge of the roof with her legs dangling down the back wall. She then slowly shimmied off the roof, allowing her body to slide down the wall until the only thing holding her to the building were her hands gripping the roof’s edge.
    “Looking good, DJ. Drop.” Keely’s encouraging words were all she needed.
    DJ let go and took the impact of landing on the bin’s lid with bent knees. The boom when she hit the bin sounded as if a cannon had gone off. Heart racing, mouth dry as a desert, she didn’t mess around and dropped to her ass and scooched off the lid. She wouldn’t get any points for grace, but it was effective. The deep snow behind the trash bin absorbed most of the shock to her legs and butt. She stood up and shook the snow off then checked over her rifle.
    “You okay, DJ?” Keely asked.
    “Yep, other than feeling like a human snow cone. See anything? They had to hear me hitting the bin.” DJ had her rifle in the ready position as she peeked around the edge of the thick metal of the trash container.
    “Nada. What’s your plan?” Keely asked.
    Before she could answer, a man crept around the back corner of the gas station.
    DJ took a quick shot. It chipped some brick off the building at the man’s shoulder height. He dove back around the corner. “Dammit. Missed him.”
    “Bad angle. But you scared the hell out of him.” Keely snickered. “He won’t be popping around the corner again anytime soon.”
    “Good,” DJ said, “’cause I’m heading into the trees to get closer and above the last two bastards.”
    “Good plan,” Keely said. “I’ll keep them pinned down.”
    “Me, too,” Callie said.
    DJ had spotted the tree she wanted from the roof. It was huge and had excellent climbing limbs. She slipped silently through the spindly, new growth trees at the edge of the forest. Her gaze kept touching the corner of the gas station where the two mercs were trapped and the one she and Keely had shot lay, alive and still armed.
    When she reached the tree, she muttered, “Climbing.”
    “Anyone so much as twitches. I’ll shoot.” Keely sounded as if she wanted them to twitch.
    DJ licked her dry lips, then slung her rifle across her back, grabbed a branch, and pulled herself up. Once on the lower branch, she began climbing swiftly—reminiscent of the innocent and eager tomboy she’d been for the early years of her life before she’d “blossomed” as he mother had called it. Her teen years had been hell and a constant battle to keep hormonal teen boys—and other male predators—at arm’s length. She paused in climbing as dark images of the one time she’d failed threatened to—
    Shove that shit away. It’s over.
    Then the sound of a chopper came on the breeze, bringing her fully