Annoyance simmered in him that he had made it this far without being waylaid. He didn't bother keeping his movements stealthy. Apparently, he had to announce his presence to the special agents if he wanted to face their resistance. Granted, he was a Navy SEAL sniper, and he'd slithered behind her apartment building on his elbows, six inches at a time over the course of the last two hours. But these men, working for Doug Castle, most likely, were supposed to be experts in the area of security. If they hadn't noticed Brant yet, how could he trust them to protect Rebecca from ruthless mobsters who would let nothing get in their way? Obviously he couldn't. And it was up to him to point out their shortcomings in the hopes that they'd make the changes necessary to keep their witness safe. As he'd noted before, Rebecca's back door was the obvious entry point for an intruder. The flimsy lock was already yielding to the stiffness of his plastic coated driver's license.
