Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
She could deal with the tightness, and clearly the vest was supposed to be worn snug. She shook her head. “It fits just fine. The jeans fit fine as well.” That had surprised her. She had a small waist and full hips and butt. It wasn’t easy to find any kind of pants other than leggings that would accommodate her figure.
He handed her a belt. “You’ll need this. You’ll be carrying a gun and several rounds of ammunition. You have those loops on that vest for a reason.” He began handing her various objects. A small penlight. One a bit larger. A knife. Definitely a garrote. She wasn’t going to try using that, but she’d pass it over to him if he needed it. By the time he was finished weighing her down, she was a walking arsenal.
“What happens if a cop stops us?”
“We have a rabbit.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“If a cop spots us, Transporter takes off and leads them away. He stays just out of reach. When we’re safe, he loses them. He’s our rabbit.”
“What if he gets caught? Cops have a way of trapping runaway cars.”
“Not Transporter. No one outdrives him. In any case, Code would be telling him where every cop car was or was setting up to be. He’d also be wreaking havoc with their dispatch.”
His hands were suddenly framing her face again, thumbs wiping away tears. “You’re still crying, princess. You don’t have to do this. Killing a man isn’t easy, and it’s worse to live with. I don’t ever want that for you, and there’s never going to be that need, not as long as you’re mine. You decide I’m not the man for you, that’s a different story, but you want me as your man, princess, you gotta know, in our family, I do the killing. You back me up, but I’m always the one pulling the trigger.”
His dark eyes compelled her to answer. She understood what he was telling her. This was who he was. Her heart turned over. She just nodded her head because she did understand, and he was her man. She was going to back him up. But she was going with him.
* * *
The night was dark with very little moon. Ambrielle understood that the members of Torpedo Ink thought it was a good thing, although she didn’t think it was. Master handed her a pair of night vision goggles as they exited their vehicle about a mile up the road from the turnoff to the property where Walker Thompson had his private army protecting him. From there they’d jogged through an olive garden and then begun a mostly uphill scramble through brush and trees until they were above the main house, where their quarry was staying.
Thompson had rented a twenty-acre ranch that was used mostly for destination weddings. The property rented for thousands a day and had a vineyard and a small winery on it. There were several guesthouses, a main house, swimming pool and sauna and spa. She wanted to tear off the tactical vest and most of her clothes by the time they reached the hill overlooking the place. She was that hot despite the cool night air. She needed to work out more. To lose weight. Not a single member of Torpedo Ink appeared to be breathing hard when she was all but wheezing. And she’d always thought she was fit.
“I’m going to the gym the minute we get home,” she muttered to Master. “And I’m losing fifty pounds.” She lay stretched out next to him in the dirt and grass. “Can I take this vest off? I’m hot and sweaty.”
“No. And you don’t need to lose weight. You want to work out more, we can run together.” He put his hand to his ear. “We’re about to pick up live feed. Code is finally able to tap into his cell.”
Ambrielle waited, trying to control her breathing. She hadn’t enjoyed the way they installed the little gadget in her ear, but it was a miracle of perfect sound. She could hear everyone clearly when they spoke, yet the communication was only in her ear and didn’t go beyond it.
“Yeah, Crandell, I was careful,” Walker Thompson said. “I’ve got this covered. We’ve got another shipment coming in for the Billowses. They’re preparing to handle it. They can take up to fifteen and get them ready. They’ll move them fast for us.”
The other voice interrupted. It was nearly as clear as Thompson’s. “Why so few? Jonesy takes twenty, and don’t we send the same to Prosper?”
“So far, the Billowses have been the most efficient at training and moving the product. They’ve never lost any. The others aren’t so successful. We lose too many with the others. I’ve told you that before. It isn’t good business, Mike. You can send Jonesy fifty, but if he turns over ten, what good does that do you? And we get complaints later. I’d rather use him as a supplier than a trainer. He has no finesse.”