Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 72561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Yeah?” I asked.
He exhaled roughly. “It’s bad, whatever he’s gotten himself into. He called and asked for money a few weeks ago, and I told him no. After the way he’d treated Channing, I just couldn’t bail his ass out anymore. I hadn’t heard anything from him until last night when he called to tell me his friend, one that he’d just helped get out of a bad situation, wanted him to take him somewhere. He was asking the best ways to get there to avoid the busiest roads. Speed traps. He wouldn’t tell me who the friend was, either.”
A sick feeling started building in my gut.
“Where was he going?” I asked reluctantly.
“Florida.”
***
Three hours later.
“That’s too suspicious. He had to know his dad was going to say something to you.” Parker said warily.
“Maybe. Maybe not. What we need to plan for is him coming. We can’t count on Andrew being on our side. Varian’s been using him for months, feeding him the information he wanted. Andrew’s not innocent in all of this,” I said warily, scrubbing my hands over my tired eyes.
I was tired.
I’d planned on a nice romantic evening, and that had gone to shit with one single phone call.
Eighty-five dollars to have Minnie overnight my present and I didn’t have shit to show for it.
She wasn’t engaged to me. She wasn’t wearing my patch. She wasn’t even fucking awake anymore for me to ask.
“He’s had a little over five hours since he called Colton. Colton gave him every checkpoint road in between here and the Louisiana line he could remember. That won’t matter, though. He’s on his way. I can feel it in my bones. This is all just a sick fucking game to him,” I told them.
Silas stood, removed the Glock he kept at his hip at all times, and checked the chamber out of habit.
The sound of the slide sliding back, and the magazine being released and then re-loaded was a calming sound that soothed me down to my very core.
“Well then, we’ll just have to beat him at his own game,” Silas confirmed as he sighted down the barrel of his Glock, flipped the safety back on, and holstered it.
***
“This is bad news. I don’t want this shit on my doorstep. I still have to live here after you’re gone,” my stepfather growled at Silas.
The two older men were snarling and snapping at each other like they were old junkyard dogs fighting over the same bone. Or in this case, the jurisdiction.
“This is federal. It’s crossed over state lines. It’s always going to be federal,” Silas snapped.
“It ain’t federal. You don’t know if he’s coming or not. I’m chief of police in this town, not you. You’ve got no recourse yet. No crime, no claim,” Zeth barked back.
Jesus Christ.
“Y’all need to stop fucking around and figure this shit out. There’s a fucking psychopath on the way here, and y’all old biddies are too busy chirping at each other rather than planning to get the job done. Get the fuck over it, or get the fuck out,” Cleo said calmly.
Cleo was probably the only one who could say that to Silas and not get his teeth handed back to him. Via his asshole.
However, Cleo was very calm; it took a lot to get him riled.
Like now, for instance, he was standing rather than sitting.
Which was big for him, considering he barely ever looked anything but relaxed and at ease.
Adrenaline junkies did it that way. Calm through the storm. They had to be.
That was why he was a damn good flight medic.
It took a lot of balls to do what he did.
“Thank God somebody said it,” Parker mumbled to himself.
Sterling seconded his comment with a grunt.
“Fine. Just don’t get in my way and I’ll be happy,” Silas growled.
“How about you don’t get in mine,” Zeth snarled back.
Here we go again.
We were at the precinct while a couple of Zeth’s most trusted deputies were watching the house. One from the water and the other from the front of the house.
We were all down at the station formulating a course of action. However, it didn’t seem to be going anywhere because the two old men couldn’t seem to pull their heads out and work together.
I did get the answer to a long time question, though.
Silas was CIA. Still active CIA.
I didn’t know how far his reach went in the company, but it was obviously far enough for him to do what he wanted and take what jobs he felt like taking.
He also had a lot of firepower at his back, and I fucking loved him for it right now.
“That’s enough,” I said to them both. “I agree with Cleo. Either stop fucking around or get out. We don’t have time for this bullshit.”
They probably would’ve fought about whose dick was bigger if the radios hadn’t started to explode with chatter.
“Medic 4, you are needed at 2499 West Palm Rd. Single victim. Suspected rape,” one dispatcher said.
It was only seconds later when another page went over the airwaves. “Unit 4. Respond to 500 Doral Drive. Neighbors complaining of screaming.”
Then another.
“Engine two. Respond to structure fire at 663 Jumper Way. Neighbors reporting smoke.”
And on it went. Medic after medic, officer after officer, engine after engine was called out to respond to this or that, here, there and everywhere.
“They’re getting everybody out,” I said as I came to the sickening realization. “They’re getting everybody out: either A, to get us alone, or B, to get us to go where they want us.”
The station phone rang, pulling Zeth’s attention away from me.
I kept talking, ignoring him until the tone of his voice changed.
“No, Poole, I can’t come. I don’t have any to spare. Every last one of them was called out not even seconds ago. Yes. You’ve got to be kidding me. Alright, I’ll keep you updated. 10-4,” Zeth said before hanging up.
His look was ominous, “The counties surrounding ours, every single one of them, have the same calls going on right now. There’s no available backup for over fifty miles in all directions.”