Outside, Deedee and Vincent glanced at each other as the suspicious van started rocking. Narrowing his eyes, the chef read the name of the catering business lettered on the truck's side. "That company's been out of business five years." Walking closer, he noted smears of whipped cream on the rubber bumper.

The hippie decided it was time to leave. Pushing his carriage of clinking bottles in front of him, he shouted over his shoulder. "It's a covert op, jackass. The Spooks have that rich ass bastard. Don't get involved, man."

"Breach!" Vincent yelled. "We've got Glowie infiltration." With his free hand, he ripped off his apron and made a circular motion with his index finger pointed up into the air next to his head.

Deedee's eyes widened at the infantryman signal. Running up to the van, she pounded her fists on the back door. "Open up," she yelled. "You're late with my delivery. I've been waiting over an hour for my fois gras. The mayor and his guests are gonna be here any minute. If you don't want your catering license revoked, you'd better open this door the hell up." She kicked the van's vulcanized rubber bumper with her kitty heel.

The vehicle's back door flew open. Neil stuck out his huge Neanderthal head and glared at Deedee. "Shut up, lady. You've got the wrong delivery van." He held up his gun and pointed it in her face.

"Look out! "Vincent yelled. Deedee stepped aside as the beefy chef spun like a decathlete and hoisted the crate of whipping cream canisters into the surprised spook's chest. The clandestine agent flew backwards like a rag doll. Jumping into the van, Deedee grabbed Karl by the throat and started throttling him, while Vince pulled Evelyn's boss from the back of the van.

"Come on." Vincent said. "He's going into cardiac arrest. We need to stabilize him." Deedee jumped out of the van. She grabbed the large agent's gun in one hand and then helped Vince carry Sinclair towards the shelter. A bullet grazed her shoulder and she dropped Sinclair's legs.

"Mother fucker!" Adrenaline pumped through her body. She spread her feet apart and locked her knees, then used the Isosceles stance to put a bullet in the center of Karl's chest. Blood dripped down her bicep and seeped through her silk dress.

"Nice shot," Vincent ducked beside a car as a bullet whizzed past his head.

Deedee ignored him. She returned fire as the van's driver clumsily dragged his injured companion into the back of the van and sped off. Boxes of pastries flew into the street as the truck's back doors swung open. Moaning, she ripped a strip from her dress's hem. "Fucker ruined my dress. I can't fix this." She applied a quick tourniquet to her arm and tightened it with her teeth. "Get the plate," she ordered.

"Already did." Together, they hoisted Sinclair off the ground and carried him into the shelter. The ex Navy Seal shot a curious glance at Deedee. "How'd you learn to shoot like that? Marines?"

She grinned, proudly. "Former Ranger—retired with honors after ripping my crotch open on razor wire while clearing a breach."

Her companion grunted, "That explains a lot, Lady Dee."