Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 95898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Everyone scrambled to get their shit and gear into the van. Stryker is the last one in the van, and he slams the side door closed. As soon as Chase turns the ignition key, I’m on Quinn. “When will we be able to get her voice signal?” I ask as Quinn starts setting up the electronics.
“Calm down, Trav. Trust me, you’ll be the first to know. You need to calm the fuck down and let us do our jobs,” he says with irritation lining his voice as he continues to work on his laptop. He was always able to play a game of chess, figure coordinates on a map, and fly an airplane, all at the same time, and yet be fully engaged in a conversation. I would never understand how the hell he did it. The man is a genius. “I’m pulling up her tracking signal right now.”
I move in behind Quinn, looking over his shoulder at the laptop screen. He points his finger at the bleeping dot on the screen and explains, “She should be showing up in this area here, but she’s not.” He turns to look over his shoulder at me, his eyes wide. “I think she’s in the fucking air.”
“Holy. Fucking. Shit. Are you sure?”
Stryker looks over at me and nods. “He’s right, man.”
“She had no I.D., no money, nothing.”
“Yes, but there is nothing her daddy can’t handle, right?” Quinn asks.
I close my eyes and sigh. “All right. Georgia it is.” That’s the best educated guess we can come up with, and if we just sit here, waiting for her to touch ground, we will be losing valuable time.
“Are you all on board with this?” I ask everyone.
“You know we are,” Stryker says.
It’s at least a six-hour drive to Atlanta. I would love to fly, but I think TSS would frown at the amount of weaponry we would be toting along.
Two hours into the trip, and I’m about to crawl out of my skin when Quinn announces Jules has hit ground. I sit on the edge of my seat, greedy for intel, but Quinn says nothing more. “Well, dude…where the fuck is she?!”
“I’m getting there! Hang on to your panties, woman,” Quinn replies while staring intently at the computer.
“Chase, I need you to make some phone calls. I have a feeling it’s time to pull in some back-up,” I order.
Chase glances back from the driver’s seat, giving me a quick nod in the rear-view mirror.
“Yep, just what we thought. She’s in Georgia. Private landing strip, no doubt owned by her daddy,” Quinn utters.
“Can you get a voice on her, yet?” I ask.
“Already on it. Might take a little time; we’re a little out of range, but I’ll work something out.”
“Shit, that’s not good enough,” I bite out. I’m so damn wired my gut feels as if it’s churning battery acid.
Stryker, the ever-knowing psychologist, leans in to whisper, “You’re not going to do her any good, not this way. Not to mention, you’re more apt to make mistakes, and one of us could wind up dead over it.”
I take a deep breath and lean away from him before I coldcock him. He’s right, but I’m not in the mood to hear his shit. I stare out the window, growing more anxious as I watch each mile go by in what feels like slow motion.
“Look, Trav,” Stryker cautiously starts off. He can’t help himself. He always has to give his two cents even though I know he’s only trying to help. “She’s not Clarissa. This is a different set of circumstances.”
“Is it really, Stryker?” I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “A marred soul is a marred soul, no matter how you slice it. Who’s to say what one person goes through is less significant than another? All because you evaluated and measured this shit out on the Stryker tipping scale?”
“Fair enough. I guess what I’m trying to say is maybe she’s a fighter. I don’t see her giving in.”
And that right there is my fear—Jules throwing in the towel, giving up on life.
I lean my head back against the car seat and close my eyes. Every single scene, every finite detail of my past, comes rushing in like a tidal wave to the forefront of my mind. There is no tamping down the raw emotions that have washed over me. Clarissa was the love of my life. Her family moved in across the street from Grant when I was in the fifth grade. Grant’s wife babysat for them a lot, and the little squirt grew on me. Every spare second of her life, she was constantly spending it in my space. By the time I left for the military, she was starting her freshman year of high school. She didn’t know it then, but I knew I was going to marry her.