Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Another cold, bitter wind swept along the street, cutting through his clothes as if he were wearing nothing at all. Will tried to huddle into his jacket farther. He should have grabbed something heavier, but the walk from his rental house to the restaurant was only a few blocks. He hadn’t thought he’d be outside that long.
As he turned the corner and headed down the block, his steps slowed as he saw a man lingering outside of his house. There was also a car parked near his house with what looked to be a couple of people inside of it. Not good. This did not feel good.
The rental was a small, single-story place with some large old trees out front, offering shade from the summer heat and too much cover for potential intruders. He lived in the house alone. There was no reason for anyone to be lingering near his place.
With his heart lodged in his throat, he stopped and very carefully turned around, trying to make sure his sneakers didn’t make a sound on the sidewalk. Luckily, the street wasn’t incredibly well lit. The thick shadows offered him some cover.
He watched over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t spotted him yet as he slipped his cell phone from his back pocket. But who was he going to call? The cops? They didn’t feel like they would be the biggest help.
Charlie?
No, he was just thinking that Charlie and the others had left town. He couldn’t—
His phone lit up in his hand, flashing Charlie’s name across it as the call came in. Thank God his phone was kept on silent. And that he’d bothered to program Charlie’s number into his phone. He’d cursed himself a thousand times for doing it in the first place, but now it seemed to be paying off.
Will answered the call with a swipe of his thumb and picked up his pace.
“Don’t go home!” Charlie shouted before Will could say anything.
He winced and glanced over his shoulder at the house, but it was too late. Someone had spotted him. One of the men shouted and pointed in his direction. The two men standing outside his house started running down the street while a car engine roared to life.
Fuck!
Will ran, holding the phone pressed to his ear. “Too late. I’ve been spotted,” he replied. He wanted to know how the hell Charlie knew that someone was waiting for him at his house, but that was a question for when his life wasn’t in danger.
“I’m already on my way,” Charlie stated, his voice hard and surprisingly calm. “West and Ed are also moving to back us up.”
Charlie made this sound like a damn military operation. Will was so in over his head. He was a fucking doctor. Not some soldier.
“Charlie,” he said and turned sharply onto another street. He just needed to break their line of sight, right? Then he could hide from them. “Charlie, I can’t do this. I-I don’t know—”
“How many are there?” Charlie interrupted.
“Four, I think. Two, two are on foot. Two in a car. But maybe more. I don’t know.” It was fucking hard to run with a phone pressed to his ear. He needed to hang up and find a place to hide. Or maybe find someplace busy. Lots of people. They wouldn’t try to grab him or kill him in front of a crowd, right?
“What street are you on?”
“I-I don’t know.” He kept running, catching a glimpse of a street name on a sign. He read it off as he passed it and Charlie immediately repeated it.
“Good. I’m not far. You still run every day, right?”
“Yeah. But—”
“You keep moving. Don’t stop. I’ll be right there. You shout out when you pass a cross street. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
Behind him, gunshots rang out, shattering the silence of the night and rising about the beating of his heart in his ears. His footsteps stumbled and he instinctively ducked his head. Every muscle in his body tensed, expecting to feel the tear of bullets as they ripped through his flesh.
Somehow he kept his feet moving, driven by the sound of pounding footsteps behind him and the squeal of tires. They were getting closer.
“Charlie!”
“I heard it. You keep moving!” Charlie shouted. “A moving target is harder to hit. They aren’t going to get you.”
“Please, Charlie. I can’t do this,” he panted. Panic was squeezing his lungs, making it impossible to drag in a breath. He shouldn’t be winded after only a few blocks, but his heart was racing, he was light-headed, and his leg muscles were trembling. He didn’t want to be shot. He didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not—
“Baby, I won’t let them touch you. I swear it. You just need to get to me. One more block,” Charlie bargained. “At the next corner, turn left. I’ll be waiting.”