Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Slade eyes him over the roof of his car with the driver’s door open. “I can’t let you die. I really, really want to, but I can’t. So stop a half mile from Sanford’s place and have a plan or be ready to follow mine.”
Jackson frowns and mumbles, “We’ll never follow yours, dipshit.”
When he parks his car off the road by a cornfield, Jackson stares at his phone, bringing up Jessica’s contact.
Jackson: I love you. Tell Livy I love her too
Before he finishes typing the text, he deletes it. As much as he wants to say goodbye, he can’t give her a chance to panic and text Slade.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Jackson glances out his heavily tinted window at Slade waiting for him. He leans back and closes his eyes, blowing out a long breath. Maybe his last long breath.
“Is she a voluntary hostage?” Slade asks when Jackson opens the door.
“What are you talking about?” Jackson pops the trunk.
“Did Frankie go willingly to his house, or do you think she was taken?” Slade slips on his sunglasses. “And how the hell are you not tracking him?”
“I am, but I was with her right before she went to the cemetery. I didn’t check his location because I …”
He was grieving her and preparing to leave this earth for the women in his life to have the chance to live. He dropped the ball when he should have had his eye on Archer and ensured Francesca got out of town safely.
“Doesn’t fucking matter. He has her and knows I’m here, which means he knows I’m responsible for recent events.”
“Well,” Slade starts trekking through the field to get closer to Archer’s property, “this isn’t ideal.”
Jackson follows him, not saying a word.
“You have to pretend she’s nobody,” Slade says. Jackson doesn’t respond, so Slade stops and turns. “Where’s your head?”
“Fuck you—”
“No!” Slade shoves Jackson.
Jackson grabs Slade’s vest.
“You can play the disgruntled father who hates his daughter’s husband another time. You can make a list of regrets about that woman.” Slade points toward Archer’s house. “But I need to know your head is in this. I need to know you’re detached from everything but your weapon and target. Or you need to get back in your car and wait for me to finish this.”
Jackson keeps a tight grip on Slade, jaw clenched. But he knows Slade was trained by the same group who trained him. He knows he’s saying what Jackson would say if the tables were turned. Slade’s not Livy’s husband. He’s nobody’s son. He’s a soldier with his weapon and a target. And he’s that way because his goal is to get home alive.
“If this is your suicide mission, let me spare you the work. I’ll snap your neck right now. Today’s not my day to die, you grumpy old fuck. So get your head straight, or say your last prayer.” Slade shoves Jackson, so he’s forced to let go.
Jackson brushes past Slade. “I am the lamb.”
“We don’t need—”
Jackson whips around. “My fucking head is in this. There has never been a day that my head wasn’t in this. That’s why this grumpy old fuck is still here. But we both know there is skill, finesse, and luck. There’s always luck. So I am the lamb. Understood?”
Slade knows because he was the sacrificial lamb who saved Livy’s life. He nods once.
Jackson’s shoulders relax. He’s resolute in his mission and resigned to the possible outcome. And as much as he hates the circumstances that brought Slade into his life, there isn’t anyone else he’d want to have his back. Slade is a young Jude Day.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FRANCESCA
I’m unsure how long it’s been—maybe an hour or two. The door to the library opens, and the chandelier lights illuminate. After spending so long in the dark, shades drawn, I wince at their brightness, while gagged, wrists and ankles tied.
“Sorry. It’s extra dark in here since I have to keep all the shades in the house closed,” Archer says, ungagging me.
I cough a few times.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“I don’t need water.” I scowl at him.
He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt before shrugging off his jacket. “You’ve put me in an impossible situation.” He tosses his coat and tie over the back of a floral upholstered chair, one of several in this two-story library filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves. “Molly’s my daughter, and while parents don’t condone everything their children do, I’m hardwired to love and protect her.”
I continue glaring at him unblinkingly.
Strolling the room's perimeter like he’s looking for a particular book, he sighs. “I realize you don’t have children, so you don’t know what that’s like. But for what it’s worth, I apologize on behalf of my daughter if she wasn’t there for your nephew in his time of need.” He pulls a book off the shelf and thumbs through it.