“Then I’m going with you,” Turtle said, heading to the closet.

Helen took off her short sleeved button up, a white, ribbed tank top beneath. “This is something I have to do on my own, T.”

“Like hell,” he said, checking his snubbie for ammo.

Helen left her gear on the stand and walked toward her husband. “This is nothing, sweetie. I’m just checking up on one of our girls.”

“Which one?” T said, standing up after strapping on his ankle holster. He paused, eyeing his wife. Helen knew he appreciated her choice of undergarments, specifically anything small or tight.