Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Adam scrubs his jaw and settles his hands on his hips. “She makes a point. I need to call Blake. He needs to take a look at the satellite images and the security system.”
My mind races, filling with one moment, after another with Kurt, all of which guide me to my next conclusion. “He wouldn’t allow himself to be tied up if we were about to be attacked. He could get caught in the crossfire.”
“He didn’t exactly allow it to happen,” Adam replies.
“We didn’t surprise him,” I argue. “He was waiting for us.”
“We don’t know that,” Adam counters.
“I do,” I say. “He was waiting for us.”
“In that realm of thinking,” Adam presses, “are we really saying we didn’t surprise him but Parker did?”
“Unless he didn’t,” Luke contemplates. “I’m guessing here, but somehow Kurt found out about our meeting, probably because Parker told his people, whoever they are. And Kurt had an inside man who leaked it to him.”
“It makes sense,” I agree. “He expected Parker. Parker didn’t expect him. Parker was a problem he knew he’d end. Which he did. And we can speculate all day long on all of this but it’s just that—speculation. I need to talk to Kurt.” I hold up a hand to both of their impending objections. “I’m always the soldier he made me, more so now than when I was downstairs, reeling from his appearance and the gun he held to my head. And I strongly believe that before we make a move, I need to feel him out in a way only I can do. I’m ready to do that now.”
Luke steps closer and in doing so lends his support for my decision. “I’ll go with you.”
I rotate and press my hand to his chest, holding him in place. “It needs to be me and him.”
“I’ll stay in the kitchen, Ana, within arm’s reach, but I won’t leave you alone with him.”
“I can live with that.” I try to pull my hand away.
His long fingers curl around my forearm and he steps into me. “He wants something, Ana.” His voice is low, a foreboding hum beneath a tight band of perfectly punched words. “Maybe it’s to protect you. Maybe it’s the package, but if it’s the latter—”
“Then he wants to disappear again and he can’t do that if we’re alive. I’m aware of how this plays out and that we won’t know his true colors until we’re at the end of this story, whatever this story truly is. But we also need the package. It’s the ticket to ending all of this. And if we have to use each other—him us and us him—to find it, we have to do what we have to. We need this to just be over. We need this over.”
“And if he wants us dead?”
“We make sure we kill him before he kills us.”
Chapter Eleven
Ana
Ten years ago…
The cake says “Sweet Sixteen” and as I sit with a group of ten friends around the long table in their family dining room, I watch Lara Callahan’s mother attempt to light the candles. When she fails, Lara’s father rushes to the aid and finishes the job. He’s a handsome guy, a banker, I heard from someone I think, and he waves his hands for everyone to applaud his efforts. We comply, of course, happily cheering, and while I am giddy with delight for Lara, there is this gnawing sensation in my belly that I cannot deny.
There are simply moments in life when I feel the loss of my mother and father more than others. I have Kurt, I do, and I’m thankful for that, but my sweet sixteen was me attempting to complete a drill to get to my cake.
Everything is about life or death, not just life.
Because he’s the reason my mother was killed. He told me that himself. His enemies killed her. His enemies could come for me one day. The way they came for her.
It’s hours later when I return to The Ranch and walk into the kitchen to find Kurt sitting at the table, drinking coffee, and working on his MacBook. My agitation at him is an abrupt punch that transforms into a choppy sensation of anger. I round the counter and grab a protein drink from the fridge, because God forbid I drink a soda. At least I had cake and ice cream tonight.
I shut the fridge door and he’s standing there, big and intimidating as ever. “Please don’t tell me I have to pay for the party with a four-mile run. I ran five this morning.”
“Someone came home with attitude.”
“Who killed my mother?”
His eyes narrow and his energy pops but his expression never changes. “We’ve had this conversation. My enemies.”
“Who were the enemies?”
“They’re dead, Ana. That’s all you need to know.”
“Then why are you still so afraid they’ll come for me?”