Chapter 8 Let's Go Home

"Impossible…" Maverick coughed, struggling to push himself up. His face was smeared with blood, looking like a complete mess. "That combat technique… and that kind of suppression…" He stared at Noah, and real fear began to creep onto his face. It was the instinctive terror of prey facing a natural predator. "Who the hell are you?" Noah didn't answer him. He calmly reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief, the cheap kind from the grocery store—three for one dollar—that even had two little yellow ducks printed on it. He carefully wiped the hand that had just touched Maverick, as if he had brushed against something filthy. Then, he casually tossed the handkerchief onto Maverick's face. "Oh, Cross," Noah muttered. "It's been three years, and you're still as testy as ever." He shrugged off the slightly ill-fitting black trench coat, and underneath it was a dark gray military uniform in its full gear. There were no flashy adornments, just a single dark-gold insignia pinned