Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I swim toward the shore, which wastes precious moments, but there’s the minor matter of fire and boat fuel I need to navigate around in the water. My shoulder hurts like a motherfucker where I’d taken a bullet, but it feels like it went all the way through. It takes me at least ten minutes to make it to the beach, and I spend another few moments trying to catch my breath and stay upright against the dizziness caused by blood loss.
Hissing through my teeth, I gently poke at the entrance wound in the front of my shoulder, just below my shoulder blade. Hesitantly, I do the same on my back, feeling a slightly larger hole there. I’m relieved the bullet is out, but I’m worried I might die from blood loss.
However, that’s not an option since Barrett is in the hands of people who are deranged and sophisticated enough to pull off a very quick assault and also had the intelligence means to find us. Gritting my teeth, I jog up the path toward the main house.
Once inside, I walk over to the large rectangular fire pit that sits in the middle of the living area. We hadn’t touched it yet as we hadn’t spent a lot of time in here. It’s not designed for heat but rather ambiance as the flames are gas generated and more of the simmering type—meant to cause a romantic glow more than anything.
Without much thought, I turn the gas valve on and use the push button to ignite it. I then head straight to the guest bathroom where I remove Barrett’s laptop and notes from the vault behind the painting over the toilet. Whoever struck us tonight didn’t have the time to get this. I’m sure they looked for it on the way in and out as best they could, but since I pursued them after recovering from the flash-bang grenade they’d tossed in the room, I had obviously pissed on those plans.
The laptop is crucial—not just for the research but because I have a feeling the answer to how we were found is on it. The words Barrett’s had screamed from the boat still echo in my ears.
I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.
I make a quick detour into the master bedroom to grab the satellite phone that had been on the bedside table. There’s a faintly acrid smell from the flash-bang grenade they’d used to incapacitate us when they’d entered, but the room is otherwise unscathed. I grab a pair of shorts out of a dresser drawer and slip them on, groaning from the pain it causes in my shoulder.
I don’t bother with a towel for the wound. To temporarily staunch the flow, I’d need to lean up against something for pressure to the back while I held it to the front with my hand. I just don’t have time for that.
Instead, I head to the kitchen and press the speed-dial button for Kynan on the phone. He answers on the second ring.
I don’t waste time on formalities. “They have Barrett. It was a blitz attack. I need you to get Bebe on the line and into Barrett’s computer, so we can figure out what happened. Barrett did something to compromise our location.”
“Are you okay?” Kynan asks.
“I’ve been shot, and they have Barrett,” I snap as I open cabinets in the kitchen in search of one thing in particular. “No, I’m not okay. It would help if you can get a chopper headed this way to pick me up, though.”
“Call you back in five minutes with chopper details and Bebe on the line,” he replies before he disconnects. I’m glad he didn’t want to waste time talking about my wounds or what happened.
“Aha,” I mutter with profound joy when I find what I’m looking for.
I grab the heavy cast iron skillet from a shelf, a hand towel off the counter, and head into the living room. Shoving the satellite phone into the waistband of my shorts, I set the skillet face down on the stone ledge of the fire pit, placing the handle directly into the flame.
While that’s cooking, I pull Barrett’s computer onto my lap, lift the top, and press the power button. I know I’m going to be perturbed over what Bebe will find on here, but that’s going to be far outweighed by the sickening anxiety I feel over the fact Barrett is now in extreme danger. I absolutely cannot lose her.
Not because she’s a client, but because she and I have something together.
Something real and something that will last far beyond all of this.
So, I need to get her back.
Once at her login screen, I easily fill in her credentials. I made her give them to us before we left Jameson, so we could have access to it in case something happened to her. It was a smart move—one I fucking hate I had the foresight for.