Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Does she have a name?”
“Yes, she does. My woman, who I haven’t seen in a long time because you keep me busy.”
“Didn’t know you had a woman. And why would you say someone you knew instead of just that she was your girl?”
“I don’t share my life with you. Like you point out all the time, there is work and there is family. Right now, I’m on the work side.”
That woman he had identified, well, she was something all her own. A woman he would be smart to forget even existed.
And she was a piece of work for sure.
Jasmine Hoyer.
Someone was watching her again. She wasn’t sure who it was. Yet. Jasmine pushed her hands into the pockets of her white jean shorts after she tucked some hair behind her ear. Moving slowly, she paused to look at some postcards. You could always find these items along a beach, even though it seemed they were dying in this modern age of doing it all on your phone. Seemed the art of sending a card was going the way of the dodo. Or her. Old and outliving her usefulness.
Personally, she loved them. The photos on them, the thought of just sending a little something to a person you cared about. She used to collect them.
A bemused snort fell from her lips and she shook her head. I used to do lots of things I haven’t done in years.
Because it was too dangerous for anyone she remotely gave a damn about to be in contact with her, given her past and current situation, plus her husband wasn’t exactly her number-one fan, she sent postcards. Never words on them but a photo. A large collection of them so she could send different photos from anywhere. And yes, while they could check the postmark, she wasn’t overly concerned for her own safety. But for her twin and her family, she would deal with precautions.
She hardened her heart over the sister she’d just started knowing when she’d had to leave again. Jasmine had skipped witness protection because it hadn’t been good enough for her the first time—she’d survived and she’d do so again. Plus, those government types were more apt to stab her in the back then actually help her. They’d done so before, why would she expect anything but the same the next time around?
“Can I help you with anything?”
She blinked and looked over to the small blonde in a teal bikini top and a deep peach floral sarong behind the counter. The color combination was stunning, in her opinion. And the blonde wore them well.
“Just trying to decide on the cards I want.”
“Okay. We do have a few others on the rack by the other side of the tent.”
Pulling two of her favorites, she put them on the counter as she moved to the other postcard stand and took another look. She didn’t have the visual advantage from here, but she would still be able to see if she’d picked up a tail.
She didn’t want to be here longer than necessary but a person could only spend so much time in a dingy room. If she was pinched, either by the locals who ran the area or the law, she had a card to play. Didn’t want to, but could if needed.
With three more cards in hand, she went back to the counter and paid for the five cards and stamps as well as a pen. Waving off the need for a bag, she walked out into the sun once more and beelined it straight for a vacant table.
Staring over the cards, she picked her favorite and wrote down an address. One she duplicated on three of the other four. She walked away and put one in a blue mailbox as she moved by, dropping the pen in as well.
Angling herself in the direction of the larger crowd, she moved seamlessly with them, blending in and becoming one of the faceless enjoying the day on the beach and the boardwalk.
Jasmine fought a yawn and made a wide turn to head back to her place, having exhausted her daylight hours. She needed to hole up before the worst predators showed up. Finding a shortcut, she took it and bypassed a woman and her man who were about to do something for probably twenty dollars in the alley. Hopefully the woman had kneepads. Not that she would be there for long, he didn’t look like a man who would last.
Hands shoved in her deep pockets, she had one curled around her ASP collapsible baton just in case. She had moved by a dumpster and neared the end of the alley when she was grabbed from behind and slammed against the wall, a hand over her mouth.
Her panic lasted all of five seconds, then the anger rose within her. In a single fluid, well-practiced move, she withdrew, snapped open her ASP and struck with it.