Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I hit 9-1-1 on my phone to get this ball rolling.
With any luck, we’ve done enough to keep Dylan safe … if he’s not already dead.
My hand shakes as I finish up the call with the first responders and then hit Dylan’s number for the phone I gave him. Then I hold my breath as I wait for him to answer.
He doesn’t.
It rings, and rings, and rings, and every time I hear a new one, my heart sinks deeper and deeper.
He has to be okay.
Because I don’t know what I’ll do if he isn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dylan
My heart is in my throat the closer we get to Wilmington. We don’t know what we’re going to find. No matter how prepared Trav was, I get the feeling he was walking into a trap, not the other way around. Walker had planned for those guys to show up at Iris’s house at the perfect time, and he knew I was going to be there and not at the warehouses.
I’ve worked with Walker for years. I should’ve anticipated it. I should’ve done … something.
Then again, I know Trav, and if I’d protested, he would’ve done whatever he wanted anyway.
I just have to hope he’s more competent than Walker.
It’s as if I can hear his voice in my head. “Please. I’m me. You know I’m fine.”
Then, when we get close, an ambulance cuts us off, lights and siren on, and I suck in a breath so sharp Princess lifts her head to give me a dirty look for disturbing her nap.
“It’s fine,” Iris says. “It’s not— Oh, fuck.” The ambulance turns into the same street we need to go. “No, no. It’s still all good.”
Iris pushes the gas to catch up, but as we round the corner, it’s not all good. It’s not fine.
The ambulance disappears into the abandoned warehouse lot, where there are already flashing red and blue lights everywhere.
I need to get to Trav, and I need to get there now.
Iris follows the ambulance, pulling up to the entrance, but it’s obvious we won’t be getting through the chaos, so he quickly reverses and parks on the street.
I jump out of the car and run toward the sea of officers and people I don’t know, frantically searching for the one face I need to see.
The first face I see is not Trav’s but Domino’s. And then he smiles, and I catch sight of the body in front of him with their back to me. The military haircut, the wide shoulders, strong back, down to the narrow waist and delectable ass I want to make mine.
And when Domino points to me and Trav turns, his relief mimics my own.
I suddenly don’t care who’s around or what went down here. All I care about is that Trav’s alive.
I run toward him, weaving through police, my gaze never leaving Trav’s, and when I reach him, I tell myself to slow down, but my body doesn’t listen.
I jump and wrap my legs around his waist, and he doesn’t miss a beat. His hands are all over my ass, my arms snake around the back of his neck, and without even saying a word, our lips find each other’s.
He tastes like relief and adrenaline, and I sigh into his mouth.
The kiss lasts for an eternity, and I don’t give a shit that everyone is seeing and that neither of us will live it down with his team.
I. Don’t. Care.
Trav’s alive, I’m alive, and I’m praying all these cop cars means it’s over.
Fuck, what about—
“Walker.” I wrench myself away, and Trav drops my legs.
I only barely catch my balance and save myself from landing ass-first on the hard ground.
“You kiss me and say his name?” Trav growls.
“Need to keep you on your toes somehow.” I grin.
“You’re going to be the death of me, I swear.” Yet, he can’t help smiling back.
“No. No death to either of us for a really long time.”
Trav wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. “Or until you get sick of me and go rogue by killing me and hiding my body.”
“Or that. Though, you’re the one who actually has a ‘cleanup crew’ like you’re the CIA.” Wait … “Holy shit. Is Mike Bravo a division of the CIA?”
Trav leans in and whispers in my ear. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
A throat clears behind us. “Agent Rodriguez?”
I practically flinch at the deep and authoritative voice. It’s an unfamiliar voice, and when I turn, there’s someone I’ve never seen before.
“I’m Gordon Scarborough. I’m from the Office of Professional Responsibility.”
Oh shit. This is it. The OPR is a part of the DEA investigation division. They’re the ones responsible for bringing corrupt DEA agents to justice. They not only have the power to fire me but to put me in prison for a very long time.