Chapter 16
16
In the blind, it was excruciatingly hot, the air still, seeming as thick as water, but frogmen knew all about how to breathe underwater. He turned his head, his eyes resting on Helen’s sweet, damp face. Darkness had fallen, and it was time for them to move. He wasn’t sure where the NPA were or where the government troops might be creeping, but he would have to get through all of that with his tough-as-nails wildcat and six lethal, much-sought-after, nuclear triggers. He was determined that they would get these devices to the CIA, come hell or high water.
He pushed up on his elbow and his attention got snagged by the woman again. She was one beautiful, blonde distraction. He had to wonder where Dragonlady had disappeared to, marveling at how she had taken matters into her own hands as his eyes roved over Helen’s sweet face.
He guessed the petite foreign operative must have been embedded with the twins for some time…for just a purpose such as this? Interesting that the Chinese were keeping tabs on the NPA, as their support had waned over the many decades the NPA had waged war on the Filipino government.
His gaze meandered down over her shoulders, slim but strong enough to carry some heavy burdens, down to her nipped-in waist, over her hip, to the tight curves of her rear.
“Are you done, there, handsome? Taking stock of my…ah…assets, are you?”
His gaze flashed to hers. “I’ll never be done,” he growled.
She gave him a soft, tantalizing grin. “Let’s hope we have time to explore each other's assets soon.”
He couldn’t think about the future right now and ignored the comment. Right now, they needed to be quick and nimble. He looked at his full pack. He reached over and dragged it to him. He hated to leave any essential gear behind, but they needed to move fast and in case of trouble, he wanted Helen to be able to carry the triggers. Which led him to another problem—her hair. It was so blonde that even the dappled moonlight would make it glow in the dark.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He told her his intention, while he shoved in the essentials, and the small, gray case. He pulled out his boondocks hat, boonie for short, designed to provide protection from the sun, rain, and wind with its wide, moldable brim, thoroughly effective in hot deserts and steaming rainforests, and the camo would cover that gleaming hair and reduce the silhouette of her head.
“Put this on,” he said, “and make sure all your hair is up inside it.”
Without comment, she pulled her flat braid on top of her head and covered her hair completely. He was satisfied with the result. “Am I now a proper SEAL babe?”
He reached out and rubbed his thumb over her soft cheek. “Yeah, darlin’, badass to the bone.” She giggled softly. “So damn adorable,” he murmured. His gaze combed her features, and suddenly, D-Day couldn’t move out, not yet. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her. The contact was always a sizzling shock, and trapped in this hot blind in the jungle, he tasted pure energy, a quick heat cracking down his body as her mouth rolled eagerly over his. His fingers slid into the soft hair at her nape, the intimacy of the touch electric. Her tongue touched his, and D-Day got a little lost. He devoured her with a ravenous assault, and she made a little sound deep in the back of her throat. D-Day absorbed it, knowing it was dangerous, with his senses clouded, a kiss could get them both killed.
He drew back abruptly. “Let’s get going, girl grenade,” he rasped out, and she gave him a wry grin, making her eyes light up and turn her expression from pretty to downright gorgeous.
“Wait here until I get the lay of the land. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, but she clutched his arm for just a moment, and he gave her a reassuring look before he tucked his head under their cover and did a quick scan.
Nothing moved, not even the trees. There was no wind, no sound, which only meant he and Helen would have to be very quiet.
In moments, he had her and the reduced pack out of the blind, slipping the straps over her shoulders. He turned toward the dense jungle, water dripping somewhere in a steady plopping sound. He didn’t have to tell her what she needed to do. He’d already explained that she was to do exactly as he said. He started moving. When he stopped, she stopped, standing as still as glass. He could feel her warmth on his spine.
They made good progress, until he sensed someone pacing alongside them. He yanked Helen to the ground, shielding her while he scanned every inch of the terrain in front and behind them.
There were three of them, but when he took them out, more would come. His keen eyes saw that they weren’t wearing uniforms, which meant they were NPA. He leaned close to Helen. “When I signal,” he said into her ear, “I want you to run and keep running.”
She gripped his forearm. “Alone? Without you?” Her breathing accelerated, and she squeezed her eyes closed, swallowing hard.
His chest tightened. “You have to, Helen. Everything depends on it.”
“Drew—” Their eyes met and between one heartbeat and the next, he felt her love like a beacon and knew that his heart would never beat as hard for anyone else. He forced his attention to the threat at hand. “Get ready.”
Helen eased away, and he took aim at his targets, adjusted his stance. Blindly, he reached behind himself, and Helen gripped his hand for an instant, quick and tight.
“Go,” he growled, taking out three targets in three successive shots as Helen bolted into the dangerous night.
Helen’s heart was pounding as the gunfire exploded behind her. Her feet pounded on the jungle floor. She batted away branches and prayed that he would survive. He had to come back to her. A hundred yards away or so, she stopped to catch her breath, then pressed on. She didn’t get more than a few feet when someone stepped into her path, grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a tree.
Helen fought against the small, but strong hands. “It’s me. Stop fighting,” Dragonlady’s breath hissed out.
Helen sagged against the back of the tree in relief. Chinese, foreign operative, the enemy, she didn’t care. This woman knew her way around a fight, and Helen could use her expertise.
“Where is D-Day?”
“I think they have him,” Helen cried softly, the horror of that statement sinking in like a hammer to her bones. She only had an inkling of what her brother did, but now she knew the full force of the man he was, and the ones he fought with, and she was humbled as hell. He and his brothers had a capacity for violence, but that was only part of the equation. Each of them was an individual fighting machine that made up parts of their team. Together they formed a lethal unit, and together they went into the bullets without flinching. But now she also had the benefit of knowing one SEAL intimately, every aspect of him rife with determination, courage—scads and scads of that, and a dedication that was part of every fiber of his body. He was a part of her, and even though she wasn’t in the military, there was no way she was leaving her man behind.
“The triggers?” She took a hard breath, cordite heavy in the air, mixing with a faint breeze of green, moss, and earth.
“I have them, but I’m not leaving him to die out here” she said, pulling the weapon he’d given her from the waistband of her pants. “I’ve already been forced to do that, and it’s not happening with the man I love.”
Dragonlady studied her face and sighed. “Definitely not just a pretty face,” she said, sighing more heavily. “You want to take the very weapons we’re trying to keep out of the NPA’s hands into whatever hellhole they are taking your man?”
“You take them, then. Get them safely out of here. I’m not leaving.”
“Give them to me.”
Helen slipped off the pack, pulled out the small case and handed it over.
“Just like that, huh?”
“You could have killed us numerous times, and you protected us from the NPA by getting us out of Lando’s compound. I trust that you are dedicated to preventing the kind of devastation inherent in those devices. So, yeah, I trust you out of desperate necessity.”
Dragonlady smiled. “You never cease to amaze me,” she said. She walked to a particularly thick area of foliage and started digging with a piece of sharp bark. When she had a hole big enough, she turned toward Helen. Holding up a thumb drive, she said, “This has all the intel you’ll need to track down the creator of those triggers. We don’t need him loose and making any more.” She released the latches on the case and dropped the device inside. “When we get your guy free, you can come back here and dig them up. That will keep them safe if something happens to us.” She ripped off a piece of her green T-shirt and tied it around one of the stalks, smoothing out the ground with the flat of her hands, then she set several rocks over the disturbed earth. She swiped her hands against the sides of her pants as she rose.
“I’m not buying that you’re doing this for China. What’s the catch?”
“My mom and sister live here. If the NPA uses those triggers…well, you get the picture.”
Helen nodded.
“So, can you fire that thing with any precision?”
Helen brought it up and pointed it at her, then fired. The bullet went past her and into the man sneaking up on them. Dragonlady whipped around, noted the neat head shot, even as Helen turned and released the meager contents of her stomach onto the rich jungle floor.
Helen swallowed the bile in her mouth, her stomach queasy, but settling. She’d just killed a man.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“Wyoming. I was raised on a ranch.”
“Hmmm, okay, cowgirl. Let’s saddle up and get operation petticoat started.”
“Okay, tell me that’s the last reference to my midwestern roots you’re going to use. I do have a loaded weapon.”
Dragonlady laughed softly.
D-Day kept his thoughts focused on one thing, holding his breath until they let him up for air again as they forced his head under water. He had been overpowered by the onslaught of NPA who had taken him down to the ground. He had killed a few, but there were too many. He’d been brought to this compound in the middle of the jungle, forced into a type of dungeon below the mansion. As he passed the cells, he caught sight of Zorro and Buck. Both of them had been stripped down to their skivvies. Zorro had blood on his side and Buck was sprawled on his back.
“D!” Zorro shouted, but the guard standing near the cage they were in hit his rifle butt against the mesh.
He’d been marched to this room with some kind of water trough along the back wall. His hands bound in front of him, he had no leverage, his head and shoulders under water. Pinpricks of light burst behind his eyes, his lungs filled tight and pushing against fresh bruises. He’d reached the point that his body had stopped fighting for clean air, his blood pounding between his ears. He didn’t struggle, didn’t strain to pull upright. It wasted precious air to the brain. Didn’t they know that SEALs were drownproofed, taught never to panic when they were underwater and in distress.
The man yanked him up, D-Day’s hair blocking his vision already swimming with stars. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
D-Day didn’t say a word. How the hell had they captured Zorro and Buck? Seeing them sprawled in that cell, bleeding…it took everything in him to keep quiet, and not yell his rage.
They dunked him again, and he wanted to fake them out, let them think he was unconscious, but there were three men in this room with weapons—he wouldn’t stand a chance. He would have to wait for an opportunity to surface. Over and over, they asked the question, then over and over they shoved his head underwater. D-Day felt like he was back on a SERE training op, only these weren’t instructors trying to break him, these guys were the real deal.
Finally, an NPA lackey pulled him to his feet, and D-Day stumbled against his captor, his weight pushing the man against the wall. D-Day closed his hand over the man’s knife and when he pushed D-Day back, the blade came with him. Attacking would be suicide, but defense was another matter.
With a rebel behind him, D-Day left the interrogation room and walked the corridor, his vision blurred from the strain of holding his breath, his breath hitching every so often. In the dim light, he tucked the blade between his sopping-wet T-shirt and his waistband. They brought him into the room with the four banks of cells, Zorro and Buck occupying one of the middle ones.
The man cut his bonds and, with a vicious shove, and kick, D-Day staggered into the metal cage and slid to the filthy concrete. He leaned against the stone wall, water dripping off his clothes.
The guards said something to each other, then they left.
“Welcome to the Four Seasons,” Zorro said, as D-Day’s head lolled to the side, and he could feel his heart beat in his teeth. “That’s our best room.”
He pushed off the wall and crawled over to the mesh. “How are you guys holding up?” he asked, cursing the mess of his face. D-Day eyed Zorro’s patched wound.
Zorro shrugged, trying to play it off. “A nick. Ricochet I think, but it still hurts like a mother.”
“So, the guys here aren’t appreciative of your special band of humor?” D-Day asked with a lift of his mouth.
Zorro chuckled. “No, and they get really mad when I go off in rapid Spanish.”
“Maybe you should shut the hell up?” It looked like they went for the hot spots—nose, eyes and jaw, probably his kidneys, too. A roadmap to D-Day’s future.
“Nah, where would be the fun in that?”
“How’s Buck?” D-Day asked, his gaze going over Helen’s brother, his gut clenching at the ashen tinge to his skin. He was so still.
Zorro’s face turned grave, a grimness reflected in his eyes. “He’s been in and out, and the only good thing about his head injury is that they’ve left him alone. Can’t get information out of an unconscious man.” Zorro hovered protectively over Buck. “He needs serious medical attention. I’m worried as hell.” He glanced toward the door, only buying time until the guards were out of earshot. “You’re not going to believe this, but Ziad Bannout is alive. Looks like he fooled our Tier 1 counterparts.” D-Day closed his eyes and let out a hard breath, a shockwave of dread coursing through him, thankful that Helen got away with the triggers. Bannout was a fucking nightmare and needed to be put down like the rabid dog he was. “The triggers were meant for him, not the NPA. Where are they, by the way?”
“Safe and sound.”
“That’s a relief,” Zorro said, shifting Buck’s head on his thigh. What worries me is that he still has those ballistic missiles. Do you think they’re here?”
“Yeah, I do. I caught a glimpse of a launch pad further down the road,” D-Day said. “There was no time for Lando to deliver the ones I sold him, but Bannout probably has sellers all over the place. He wasn’t going to wait around for ballistic missiles, and our CIA certainly weren’t going to allow the one’s I used as bait for Lando into anyone’s hands.”
Footsteps sounded against the concrete, and D-Day and Zorro looked toward the door. A man stepped into the room, cloaked in shadows.
“Fuck,” Zorro said. “Fucking goat fuck has us right where it wants us, amigo.”
Two men went around him and unlocked D-Day’s cell, and they dragged him out, pushing him to his knees. The man in the shadows walked forward and crouched down. “Graham Butler,” Ziad Bannout said, his voice a threatening rasp. “I believe you might be in possession of my property.”
“I don’t know what it is you think I have, mate, but you’ve got a whole lot of nothing. Maybe we can broker a deal.”
Bannout shoved the pistol in D-Day’s face, the muzzle pressed hard against his forehead. “This particular merchandise is irreplaceable, and the people at Lando’s compound said you were there right before my people got there…with a blonde bombshell, I’m told.” He slammed the weapon across D-Day’s face, pain exploding in his cheek and temple, his vision blurring for a moment. “My men are combing the jungle for her. When I find her, I will retrieve my product.”
He could only hope that Helen was halfway back to Manilla about now.
Ziad inclined his head, and the man on either side lifted him up and dragged him down the corridor. They dropped him onto the concrete floor with a grunt, then one of them punched him in the face, and the other kicked him, blood filling his mouth.
They dragged in a chair and Ziad went to a table filled with gruesome instruments. D-Day prepared himself for what was going to happen next. Ziad picked up and hefted a ball peen hammer, then turned to him. “First chance to tell me where the woman is, or the triggers.”
“You might want to ask Lando that information.” He refused to sell them to me. I don’t know what happened to the woman. I fucked her unwilling body and left.” He shrugged. “Look for her, don’t look for her, kill her or not. She is nothing to me.”
“We shall see,” he murmured, his smile almost fiendish. D-Day was never going to give up Helen. He’d endure any pain, walk into hell, and spit in the devil’s face. He would die for her, and that looked likely. Deep in his chest, he felt a devastating, hard pain. He held her face in his mind as the hammer dropped onto a small table in front of him. Whenever he went, it would be her face he saw until the last. “Let’s go for another swim, shall we?”
Carefully Helen and DL ran across the lawn behind the mansion. It seemed that DL’s instincts were sound. They encountered two guards. Helen killed one of them, and DL used a knife, throwing it at the second guy, hitting him in the throat. They stepped over the bodies as they made their way to a metal door.
“It’s locked,” DL said, sounding grumpy.
“Use your operative skills and get it unlocked,” Helen said, watching the woman’s back as she knelt with an annoyed expression. In seconds, the lock snicked as it released, and DL pushed the door open.
DL pulled a handgun from the base of her spine and started moving inside. “Wait here and let me see what’s going on.”
Helen nodded, turning toward the door, determined that anyone who came through it was going down. She was worried sick about D-Day, and she wasn’t going to stop until he was safely back in her arms.
After several long moments of excruciating waiting, the sounds of someone under duress echoing down the corridor, DL came back, making no sound at all. “God,” Helen groused, “how do you do that?”
“Tricks of the trade,” she murmured. “There are two men being held in a cage in the back.”
Helen stiffened. “Two men? What do they look like?”
“They were your SEAL’s backup guys.”
She sucked in a hard breath, her voice breaking in deep pain and fear. “One of those men is my brother.” She was suddenly filled with a cold-killing rage.
DL’s mouth thinned. “All right, there are three guards watching them.” She released her clip and checked the load. “I can take them out. Your man is being water-tortured in the room down that hall.” She pointed. “There are also three men in there, too.”
Helen nodded. “I’ve got it.” Pushing her innate fear down, trying to still the shaking of her body. She needed to be steady when she took her shots. She was the only thing standing between D-Day and death. That sent her feet moving forward as DL veered off heading to the back of this dank, dark, horrible prison smelling like old and…new…blood.
She moved through the shadows, the sounds coming from the room where wan light spilled out were guttural, filled with gasping, excruciating pain.
She slipped to the doorframe, took a hard, even breath to calm her nerves, then filled the doorway. Two of the men had D-Day by the arms, and another man had a ball peen hammer in his hand as he advanced.
“Where is the woman?!” he shouted.
“I’m right here,” she answered. All four of them turned toward the door at the sound of her voice, and D-Day’s borrowed weapon retorted three times in quick succession as she tagged them all with head shots.As they dropped, he fell back against the trough, his breathing labored.
Suddenly, someone stepped up behind her, and she turned to find an automatic muzzle in her peripheral. She brought up the pistol.
But someone grabbed her wrist, and a familiar voice said, “Stand down, Helen. We’re the good guys.” Joker. She turned to find him, Gator, and Blitz standing in the doorway.
Gator popped his head inside and saw D-Day. “How’s it feel to be saved by a girl?” he taunted. Helen made a beeline for D-Day, passing Gator, and she skidded to her knees beside her battered warrior.
Gator walked to the bad men she’d shot, and his mouth dropped open. For a long moment, he stared down at one of the men and did a doubletake. “What the fuck? I’ll be damned. She bagged herself a terrorist, LT,” he scoffed. “Way to go, chere .”
Unable to speak, Helen sobbed his name against his neck, and dragging his hand free, he wrapped her up in a powerful, enveloping embrace. Cuddling her tightly to him, blood and water soaking into her clothes, he tucked his head against hers and began to stroke her back, groaning softly.
Helen tried to shift her position to absorb more of her own weight from causing any more pain to his already brutalized body, but he tightened his hold on her, his voice strained when he whispered against her temple. “Don’t. Just let me hold you.”
Too emotionally raw to make a response, Helen tightened her arms around him, tears matting her eyelashes.
Inhaling unevenly, D-Day leaned his full weight against the trough, and she looked at him, cupping his beloved jaw, peppered with bruises. “You were supposed to run, Helen. Get away from here, not fucking kill three men, including one of the most notorious terrorists in the world.”
She absorbed the wonderful tenderness in his eyes. So thankful that he was here with her. “So, I hear. All I know is that he was beating and drowning you, and no one treats someone I care about like that.”
“Time to go, lovebirds,” Gator said as he and Blitz slipped their shoulders under D-Day’s armpits and helped him to stand. “Good to see you almost in one piece.”
Blitz looked at Helen. “You need any help, Rambo?”
She laughed softly. “No, I’m good. I’ll just pass out when we get to safety.”
Blitz narrowed his eyes at her, then glanced at D-Day. “Is she serious?”
Gator laughed and said, “Yep…definitely Tigger.”
She looked at D-Day with a frown. “I’ll explain it to you later,” he said with a painful chuckle.
When they got to the door to the outside, there was no sign of DL. But her brother and Zorro were lying on the lawn. She ran to them. “Sam,” she whispered, “Oh, God, Sam.” She dropped down, softly, touching her brother’s ashen face, noting the dressing on Zorro’s heavily muscled torso. She had to contact Mari as soon as possible. She would want to know that her husband was injured.
“Who was that woman who saved us?” Zorro said, every word laced with pain. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”
“A friend,” Helen said, realizing that DL had melted into the shadows and was gone.
The sound of blades beating the air sent an almost euphoric feeling through her. It meant a ride out of this horrible place where she’d bagged a real live terrorist. Her, a cowgirl from Cheyenne, Wyoming, and saved the lives of millions. She had to wonder if that would be enough to satisfy her sense of adventure. She looked over at D-Day, bloody, bruised, tortured. Probably not.
Once inside, Joker spoke through the radio to the pilot. “Blow it.” The chopper banked and flew over the tarp-covered missiles. The guns blazed, a roaring, metallic sound that rent the air. Everything below them exploded sky high. Helen gave them the coordinates as best she could, but smiled as a flare flew into the dark sky. Just one more act by DL to make sure the triggers were retrieved. The helo hovered over the area, and Gator fast-roped down, retrieved thetriggers, and muscled his way back up the rope.
“Helen,” D-Day said, his voice strained. “What am I going to do with you?”
She shrugged and gave his hand a squeeze while Gator attended to his face. Professor was working on Zorro, and Buck had been moved onto a stretcher to be offloaded at the hospital. He was still unconscious. “I know I was supposed to do exactly as you said, but guess what?”
“What?” he asked. She loved the warm glimmer in his eyes.
“I’m nothing but an unruly hellion,” she said, repressing a grin. “So, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Everyone in the chopper laughed. D-Day shook his head. “I guess I don’t, and I’m okay with that.”
When they touched down on the roof of the hospital, Dr. Aquino, Dr. Bacunawa, and Monique rushed toward the chopper. Monique hugged Helen hard, crying and laughing that she was all right.
They took Buck’s stretcher out first, then helped Zorro into a wheelchair, but D-Day insisted on walking. His body had taken a beating, but he could move on his own steam, nothing was broken, and the pain was slight compared to his teammates. All he needed was a couple of painkillers and he would be fine.
Helen squeezed his arm. “You don’t have to be so strong,” she whispered, but he shook his head and walked past the wheelchair.
She looked longingly down the hall where her brother had disappeared, and D-Day said, “Go, Helen. Be with your brother.”
Her torn expression told him she didn’t want to leave him. “I need to find out what’s wrong with him, call his wife and—” Her expression contorted as she swallowed back tears. “My family needs to know.” Her tears spilled over, and each one was a slice to his heart. She was so damn strong, resilient, and he admired the hell out of her and hated that this mission had brought her to this point.
He cupped her face and said, gently, “Of course you do, darlin’. Go. They’ll patch me up and we’ll talk.”
She covered his hands, and said fiercely, “Promise me.”
He nodded. “Now go.”
She brushed her mouth across his and he groaned, sinking into her kiss, reality fading away. One touch and he was oblivious to the rest of the world.
Helen rushed off and a nurse took her place. Professor, Gator, Blitz, and Bear all looked at him.
“He’s got it bad,” Gator said.
“Our little D-Day is all grown up,” Professor said, like a proud dad.
“Buck’s sister,” Blitz said. “Wow, you’ve got some balls.”
Bear clasped his shoulder. “Ah, you are almost aligned, my friend.” He said something in his native language, musical and beautiful, then translated for him. “The spirit and the heart are one, but the mind is discordant. You must find your path and eliminate the uncertainty and the darkness that troubles you. Worthiness is not earned. It is inherent, and anyone who cannot see that is just not worthy of your attention.”
D-Day blinked a couple of times. “Sometimes, Bear, you scare the living crap out of me.”
“Hoo-yah to that,” Blitz said. “But, damn, he’s so freaking cool.”
He was directed to an exam room, and he went inside, the guys following. A nurse just looked at them and opened her mouth, but Blitz beat her to the punch.
“We’re not leaving without our teammate, ma’am.”
“Just stay out of the way, then,” she murmured with a soft laugh.
They removed his wet, bloodied clothes and set a flimsy paper napkin over his dick. Everything else was exposed. The nurse, her face impassive, examined, bandaged, butterflied, and stitched up what needed to be handled. “Shockingly, the bruising is minimal. You have some tough, thick muscles.” Her only indication that she was affected at all by him was in that one little breathless hitch in her voice. His teammates were up to their old antics behind the nurse’s back. Gator fanned himself, Blitz pretended to swoon, Professor put his hand inside his shirt and pressed out the fabric, pantomiming his beating heart. Bear was the only one who didn’t do a thing, except smile at his ridiculous teammates. It took all his willpower not to laugh. About halfway through the process, Joker entered the room.
He swore he could hear a pin drop because the room was so quiet. From the look on his face, it was time to face the music.
“Give us the room,” he said.
Gator bared his teeth and swung his head back and forth. Yeah, it was going to be ass-chewing.
Joker looked over his shoulder, and the guys moved a little faster, giving him hang-in-there looks, and filed out solemnly.
His LT’s features were pulled taut, his shoulders squared. And with a pang of regret, D-Day noticed how haggard Joker looked: dark circles under his eyes, that look of the world on his shoulders, as if he’d just dropped all the glass balls he’d been juggling.
“Are you aware, Petty Officer Nolan, that I am in charge of your every move?” He tapped his lieutenant bars. The formal address was subtle, calling to D-Day’s sense of duty. “I tell you when to eat, when to sleep, when to train, and when to fucking get your ass back to base. I own you.” He stepped forward and the nurse looked at D-Day.
“Um, you’re good to go,” she said, hurriedly, looking at Joker’s face and blanching a little. She pressed a bottle of painkillers in his hand. “I think you’re going to need these.” Then she skedaddled out of the room.