Free Danger That Is Damion by Lisa Renee Jones Page A

dog what it wanted, and then tossed Lev a wig and bellman hat.
    “We’ll warn the kennel when they get here,” he told Lev. “Put that on. When you exit the room, I’ll have a man in the hallway to your right pretending to struggle with a key to his room. You go to the left and out the door. The minute you step outside, one of my men will join you and give you the code word…” He eyed the dog, and said, “ Hotdog. That will let you know you are safe. He’ll put you in a car and let you talk to your wife and kids. You’ll connect with them a few miles up the road.” He hit the mike on his ear and gave his team the code word, then pushed off the dresser. “Ready?”
    “When will ‘Molly’ rejoin our family?” Lev asked in surprisingly perfect English, referring to the dog. “The kids are dealing with enough without losing her. We brought her with us.”
    “In a couple of days,” Chale said. “We’ll get her back to you. Right now, your safety comes first.”
    A knock sounded on the door—one, two, three knocks—a code. He and Houston exchanged a look, and Houston went to the door. He returned with Jesse Daniels, one of their own, dressed in the same uniform as Lev, down to the wig and hat.
    “I came in,” Jesse said, tossing the wig onto the bed, running his hand through his dark, rumpled hair and eyeing Lev. “Now you go out.”
    A few minutes later, Lev was on the move, headed toward several of Chale’s team members, while Chale, Houston, Jesse, and the dog were left in the hotel room.
    A knock sounded on the door, and there was no code. Just a knock. All three men exchanged a silent look and reached for their weapons. Even the dog went eerily quiet, as if it sensed what the men knew. Trouble wasn’t waiting for sunset.
    And while the Renegades enjoyed a good fight, avoidance was the plan when innocent human lives were at risk, as was the case now with every human in the building. Chale pointed to the ceiling, and Houston quickly hopped up on the dresser and moved a panel to a crawl space they’d discovered that led to the kitchen—an exit strategy, but one that required a drop from the ceiling smack into a burning stove.
    “Housekeeping!” came a female voice.
    “No thanks!” Chale called, not believing this was housekeeping for a minute. Jesse lifted Houston into the ceiling, and Houston offered Jesse a hand to pull him up.
    “Go!” Chale whispered to Jesse, and seeing his hesitation, added, “That’s an order, soldier! I don’t need a damn babysitter, but you will when I’m finished with you if you don’t do as I say.” Jesse hesitated again, but reluctantly disappeared.
    The door of the room burst open, but caught on a chain. “I said, no!” Chale yelled toward the door and fitted the panel back into the ceiling. He jumped to the ground, rushing to the door to slam it shut. “I don’t need service.”
    That was when not one, but three bullets silently slammed through the wood and entered his midsection. Chale grunted and bent at the waist, all too aware he’d been hit by the lethal Green Hornets, a top secret, Area 51 technology, and the only bullet that could penetrate the GTECH armor. The door opened again, and a pair of steel cutters appeared.
    Somehow, Chale hobbled down the hall, into the bedroom and out of sight, behind a wall dividing the room from the entryway. Flattening against it, he fell to the floor and drew his weapon. Molly whimpered and hid under the bed.
    “Smart dog,” he murmured, glancing at his injuries, unable to stop the gushing from his stomach. As it was, he was so weak, his arms felt like wet noodles, and his gun, a fifty-pound barbell.
    Too soon, before he was ready, a beauty of a woman, despite a bad blonde wig, sauntered around the corner, dressed in a maid’s uniform. He hadn’t even known when she’d entered the room, which told him he was in a bad way and fading.
    He grimaced up at her. “What happened to knocking before you