Steele’s hands stilled on the equipment. “Did I tell you what a good idea it was that you made me the sound guy?” His voice dropped to a murmur as he stepped even closer, using his body to shield them from the crew’s view.
Her breath came in faster puffs. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle watching some other guy run his hands over me…even for something as innocent as audio setup.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He clipped the transmitter to her belt with efficient movements, then slid his hand under her jacket to find the bottom of her blouse. His knuckles rubbed against her warm skin as he fed the wire up along her ribs.
When his fingers found the edge of her bra, he let them linger for just a moment longer than necessary, his thumb stroking across the swell of her breast as he positioned the tiny microphone.
Izzy’s eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back slightly as a soft sound escaped her throat.
“You had issues with me just speaking to Sinner.” Her voice was breathy.
“You think I’m threatened by the pizza guy?”
“Yes, I do.”
He snorted. “Please. He’s not that important.”
Steele’s hand was still under her blouse, still touching her in ways that were making it hard for either of them to think straight.
She gave him a pointed stare, the look in her eyes smug because, yeah, she read him so perfectly it was almost unsettling.
The moment was broken by the pop of his earpiece coming to life.
“Charlie Five, this is Base. How’s our perimeter looking?”
Steele touched the nearly invisible communication device in his ear, his other hand reluctantly leaving Izzy’s warmth as he stepped back to a professional distance.
“Copy, Base. All as clear as it can be here.” He scanned the crowd again. He was trained to pick out anything strange or outside of the norm, but he didn’t like the size of the crowd.
Through his earpiece, he could hear Mason’s voice reporting from his position across the square. “Charlie Six, southeast corner. No unusual activity. Crowd’s staying peaceful.”
The area did look like organized chaos, Steele had to admit. The rally had claimed its corner of the famous intersection, where a woman with graying hair stood on a portable platform near the steps, her voice amplified by a crackling PA system as she spoke passionately about healthcare access, though her words were nearly drowned out by the rumble of traffic and the electronic jingles from the towering digital displays.
Around her, protesters held signs reading Healthcare is a Human Right and Fund Community Clinics, but they were vastly outnumbered by clusters of unconcerned tourists speaking a dozen different languages, street performers in costume and vendors selling everything from hot dogs to knockoff purses.
NYPD officers in riot gear were posted at strategic points throughout the square, their presence both reassuring and ominous. The Naked Cowboy strummed his guitar in his underwear twenty feet from a group of activists chanting about medical funding as a family took photos in front of the giant M&M’s store, completely oblivious to the demonstration happening around them.
Still, a chill iced down Steele’s spine, because despite all their preparation, despite the drones overhead and Charlie team positioned throughout the crowd, there were still too many variables.
Too many people, too many blind spots, too many ways for someone determined to slip through their net to get to her.
“Base, this is Charlie Five,” he said quietly into his mic. “Any movement on our suspect profiles?”
“Negative. Facial recognition is running, but with this crowd density, we’re getting a lot of false positives. Also, the woman giving the speech has been arrested nine times.”
He glanced over at the gray-haired lady wearing a thick quilted coat. She looked like she belonged at home with her cat instead of courting another arrest.
If he wasn’t so nerved up, he might have chuckled. “You never know who you’re really looking at.”
Steele felt his unease growing. It was the same feeling he got before missions went sideways—a prickling at the back of his neck, an instinctual awareness that something was wrong even when everything looked right.
He’d learned over the years to trust that feeling. It had kept him alive through more close calls than he could count.
Something was coming. He felt it in his bones, in the hyperaware state that his mind used to prepare him for whatever would happen.
He only hoped to hell he was ready when it hit.
* * * * *
