Ricochet
““Out? What do you mean you’re out of detonation cord? You’re an explosives supplier, how can you be out of one of the most basic elements of blasting?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman on the other end of the phone said, her voice growing terse with Rachel’s increasing impatience. “The manufacturer had an issue with the supplies to make the cord. It’s on backorder until—”
“Forget it,” Rachel said. “I need it now. Thanks anyway.”
She hung up, annoyed at herself for being rude. One of the stockyard managers pounded into Rachel’s office with dirty boots trailing mud across the carpet. “Hey, Rach, you seen Ryker?”
Her hands curled into fists. “That is about the twentieth time someone has asked me that today, Ken No, I haven’t seen him. He’s been up on the bridge all day.”
“Still up there?” Ken asked, his face twisting in disbelief.
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