Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 03 Nov 2021 09:58:17 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Executioner (Professionals #10) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.books2020.com/the-executioner-professionals-10-read-online-jessica-gadziala Wed, 03 Nov 2021 09:28:44 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-executioner-professionals-10-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Executioner (Professionals #10)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
Book Information:
Bellamy It was supposed to be an easy job. Get another scumbag off the streets. I never could have foreseen her ruining the plan. Or having to whisk her away on my jet for both our safety. And I certainly couldn’t have anticipated finding myself starting to fall for the blunt, sarcastic, kick-a$$ woman I found myself trapped in a safe house with. Shawn I never saw myself getting kidnapped by a billionaire and dragged around the world with him. I definitely couldn’t have seen myself starting to have feelings for the walking red flag of a man. What can I say? When it came to men, I’d never had the healthiest of taste. But this Bellamy guy, he was the craziest of the bunch. And despite the warning alarms ringing in my ears—and, you know, the bullets aimed at our heads—there was no denying that I was starting to fall for him.
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala

CHAPTER ONE

Bellamy

“Bellamy, the fuck are you doing?” Quin barked as he came in the front door of the office. Where I was waltzing a svelte, gray-haired, green-eyed woman around the waiting room.

“Entertaining this charming young lady,” I declared, giving her a wink when she swatted at my shoulder.

“She’s a client,” Quin told me.

“All the more reason she should be charmed, yes?” I asked, watching as the muscle began to tick in his jaw.

I would say that this was an uncommon reaction, but that would be a lie. The truth of the matter was that I tended to aggravate the big guy. Which was impressive given how infrequently I graced the office with my presence.

“Ms. Wilmington, I apologize Bellamy kept you longer than necessary,” Quin said, getting a wave from the woman.

“No worries. I haven’t been waltzed around like that since my coming out party,” she said, giving me a smile, then making her way out the door.

“Do you have any idea who that was?” Quin asked when we were alone.

“Ms. Wilmington, I imagine.”

“And you don’t know who Ms. Wilmington is?”

“I do not.”

“She runs the biggest extortion ring in Canada,” Quin told me. “She’s not the kind of woman you want to be rubbing shoulders with. Especially with as much money as she could get out of you if she was so inclined.”

“Worried about my well-being, boss?” I asked, falling into step behind him as he went down the hall, stopping at the end at the coffee station before heading into his office.

“Worried about my investment in you, more like,” Quin said, going behind his desk. “But maybe if you actually needed the money, you would take your work here more seriously.”

“Speaking of, if I am being called in…” I said, unbuttoning my jacket so I could sit down.

“Yeah, we got a job,” Quin said, sighing.

It was no secret that he didn’t like having to call me in. Quin was a man who viewed taking a life seriously. He hemmed and hawed it until there was no other option.

“What is the job?” I asked, reaching to check my phone.

“Remember that case Miller and Lincoln did a few months back? Between Adams and Franklin?” Quin asked. “I know you haven’t been in the office much, but…”

“But I know both men from the circles I run in,” I filled in for him. By that, I meant the upper echelon circles where men built bigger and bigger yachts in a modern version of a dick-measuring contest.

“Exactly. After three fucking weeks of negotiations, we thought we came to an agreement.”

“Who fucked with the agreement?” I asked, figuring it would be one of those men whose life I was about to take. I wasn’t particularly bothered by either option. They were both assholes.

“It’s worse than that, actually,” Quin said, sighing as he reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Franklin went back on the agreement first. Adams retaliated by having his daughter assaulted.”

“What?” I asked, putting my phone down as I straightened in the chair. “You’re sure?” I asked. It was an ugly world, after all. Not even extreme wealth or privilege could insulate a woman from men who wanted to harm them.

“I mean he didn’t leave a note, but yes. Things have been… implied,” Quin said, eyes hard. “I think Franklin would do the task himself, but Adams…”

“Lives in a verifiable compound with a half a dozen ex-military security guards,” I supplied.

“Yeah,” Quin said, nodding. “Honestly, this time, even if Franklin didn’t come to us with it, I would be having you do the job Pro Bono. This shit can’t stand.”

“I agree. Alright. I will get on it,” I said, nodding.

“You’ll need to meet with Smith about the specifics to infiltrate.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, standing, and buttoning my jacket.

I think we both knew at that moment that I wouldn’t be waiting around for Smith to get to the office at a reasonable hour to break down the schematics of the Adams estate to me, then come up with some stealthy plan to infiltrate.

I’d been in the military too.

I didn’t need help figuring out how to carry out a mission.

What I did need was someone to show me the layout.

I took a quick stroll to Lincoln’s room that was typically kept in such disarray that no one—least of all Lincoln—would notice that I’d started using the bottom of his filing cabinet for my own storage since I didn’t have an office of my own.

I grabbed what I was after then made my way back out into the hall, tapping my fingers onto the door to Nia’s office.

“What?” Nia barked from inside, making my lips curl up as I pushed open the door.

“Nia, you ravishing creat…oh,” I cut off as my gaze landed on her.

“Yeah, I know. I’m a mess,” Nia said, glancing over, and I could tell by the way that she was squinting at me that she’d been staring at her computer long enough that her vision was blurry when she looked up.

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Advertisement The Cleaner (Professionals #9) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.books2020.com/the-cleaner-professionals-9-read-online-jessica-gadziala Sun, 02 May 2021 20:40:20 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-cleaner-professionals-9-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Romance, Suspense Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Cleaner (Professionals #9)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
Book Information:
As the name of her podcast suggests, Poppy is on the case. Of a serial killer operating just under the radar in Navesink Bank. And nothing will get in her way. Except, maybe, a good-looking guy with tortured eyes, anxiety, and a cleaning compulsion. She never could have guessed, though, that he was the very man she’d been tracking down for months…
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala

Chapter One

Poppy

Pulling the headphones off, I rolled my neck as I watched the spinning of the progress wheel of the podcast, hoping it would go up more quickly than it had the last time, when I'd been getting dozens of messages and comments demanding to know why I wasn't posting that week when the video was an hour or so late.

With success came a lot of demands, it seemed.

I'd started the podcast, and the video recordings that went with it to upload to Youtube, only a year ago on a whim. I'd always been a true crime junkie, and I figured I would meet some cool people, would maybe even help find some key evidence in cold case files with them, bringing some closure to families that had been waiting too long.

I never really expected actual success.

And for a few months, I'd only gotten a handful of views, a few new social media follows, and a lot of trolling or disgustingly misogynistic comments.

Then, well, I don't know what happened. Some algorithm somewhere decided to start pushing me, and it all spiraled from there.

I had a million followers on my Youtube channel alone. And more podcast listens than I even kept track of anymore.

All I knew was, it was garnering enough of an income that it allowed me to quit my job, and focus on the recording and research full-time.

I couldn't have been more thrilled. I hadn't exactly been a very good bartender. I guess when you've watched one too many shows that started with a woman at a bar and a man with bad intentions, it put your creep-detector on overdrive.

I'd had pretty liberal bosses—ones I later found out were actual, legit loan sharks—but even they couldn't keep looking the other way when I accused at least two men a night of being sexual predators without any real evidence aside from my gut instincts. Then there was that one time I broke a pool cue over a guy's back for suggesting he would meet me in the bathroom the next time I went for "some fun."

To be fair, my bosses had laughed it off for well over a year, had maybe even encouraged it a time or two, but they could only get so many complaints before they came to me and suggested that possibly I didn't have the right temperament for customer service.

They weren't wrong.

It's not that I don't like people. I did. That was why I devoted so much of my free time—and now did it as my actual job—in trying to bring missing people home, or get justice for the families of victims whose murderers were never found.

Maybe it was more that I cared about people as, you know, a concept. I liked them from afar. The second they got in my face, I started to get prickly. Alright, fine. I got downright hostile a lot of the time. Let's face it, especially toward those of the male persuasion.

It wasn't my fault they were so freaking obnoxious.

I mean, if they continued to pull the "Well, if she didn't want her ass grabbed, she shouldn't have been wearing tight pants" argument, I was going to continue my "If you didn't want to get slapped in the face, you shouldn't have been walking around with such a slappable face" one.

Equality and all that.

So, yeah, it was a good thing that the true crime thing took off for me, because I was never going to make it long-term in any sort of job that required me to interact on a daily basis with fellow human beings. Especially if the job also required me being even halfway civil to them.

I still dealt with people, of course. Arguably, more than ever before. And, yes, because they got to hide behind their screens, their comments got even uglier.

But that was why I created my "Dickhead of the Week" live show where I did a little keyboard investigating, and figured out who the actual people were behind the screen names of accounts that threatened to violently rape and murder me on a daily basis, and sic my audience on them.

Let's just say, the "Chads" really didn't like when they had to be held accountable for their actions. And the threats got slightly more infrequent.

Eventually, you just have to adopt a "don't scroll" mindset about the comments on your posts, knowing it was going to be the wild west there, and that sometimes even fake bullets shot from insecure guns could sting. And make you double and triple check your locks at night. And scroll your local humane shelter's website for a big ol' softie that looked like he'd seen some shit, and would rip an attacker's throat out if necessary. So far, I'd narrowed it down to three, and was just waiting for them to approve my application, so I could go and meet one of them.

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Advertisement The Client Read online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #8) http://www.books2020.com/the-client-8-read-online-jessica-gadziala Mon, 27 Apr 2020 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-client-8-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Biker, Contemporary, MC, Romance Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Client (Professionals #8)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
Book Information:
My job is simple. I get hired to make men fall in love with me. Then I cut their legs out from under them. Fenway Arlington was next on the chopping block. Playboy billionaire. Heart-breaker. Experience chaser. Known for numerous international scandals, usually involving a woman. It should have been easy work. But I never could have prepared myself for the impossible. Catching feelings for the client. Or what would happen when the job was over, And he found out the truth… (A standalone novel)
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala

PROLOGUE

Wasp - Past

"You're a traitor," I grumbled, fingers toying with the fringe edges of the white woven blanket hanging off the side of the couch in Raven's new living room.

"I'm not a traitor!" she objected, scoffing, bright blue eyes dancing as her red-tinted lips curved into a smile.

Raven was the perfectly put-together yin to my wild and messy yang.

Even at seven in the morning, she had her gleaming black hair perfectly styled down her back, her blue eyes lined, her lips painted. Everything from the ice blue color of her silk tank to the white slacks that neither clung nor sagged too much to her high heeled sandals to the simple solo silver bangle on her wrist spoke of carefully curated class. Which was exactly what Raven had been her entire life.

Why she'd adopted knotty-haired, chipped-nail-paint, hole-in-her-jeans me was completely beyond me.

Opposites attract, and all that, I guess.

"You are only supposed to fall into a rich guy's dicksand temporarily," I told her.

"Dicksand?" she repeated, and I felt my lips curving up because it never failed to amuse me to hear her cool confident, ladylike voice say curse words. Though, most of the time, it was only when she was repeating something I said.

"Yes, his dicksand. Like when you meet a guy and he's giving it to you good, and he's pretty to look at, so you get obsessed with him, and he becomes your everything. It's supposed to be a temporary thing, falling into someone's dicksand."

"I didn't fall into his dicksand. I fell in love. I know, I know," she said when I made a hissing noise. "You don't believe in love. But it exists."

"It's not that I don't believe in it. It's that I think it is a chemical reaction. A fleeting one, at that. And women are usually the ones fucked over in the fall out of it. You've worked with me forever. You know how it goes."

"But what if it lasts?"

"It doesn't."

"But what if it does. Shouldn't I be willing to take that chance?"

"You're my soulmate, damnit," I reminded her, smiling.

"I am," she agreed, nodding. "And we love each other as much as two platonic friends with no interest in girl-on-girl sex can. We both need men still, though. We always have."

"For a night. To get that good dicking. That's it."

"He's a good man, Wasp," she told me, sitting down across from me, crossing her ankles, reaching up to mess with her hair. Raven was not, as a rule, a fiddler. She didn't muss her hair or tap her fingers or shake her leg. She was always the image of perfect put-togetherness. But she was fiddling, drawing my gaze up, seeing the wistful, far away look in her eyes.

She really was in love.

And he really was a good man.

I was happy for her.

Truly, I was.

But my heart was breaking a little for my loss as well. As selfish and silly as that sounded.

Raven and I had never been parted for more than a weekend since we were little kids. And as soon as we were adults, we hopped in a converted school bus, and lived on the road together for years.

Until we made a pit stop in Navesink Bank.

And she fell in love with one of its residents.

I had figured it was a fling, something to last the summer. Or even a year.

But that ring on her finger said she was never coming back on the road with me.

"I reserve the right to run a background check or have him followed at any point during your marriage," I insisted, making her laugh, a big white smile on display.

"I think Roman has come to expect that from you ever since you showed up in his office and threatened to castrate him with his letter opener."

"I didn't threaten to castrate him," I insisted, shaking my head.

"Yes, you did! He told me."

"Then he has a very bad memory. I threatened to jam the letter opener up his urethra," I recalled, making Raven snort.

"You did not."

"It had a better visual," I told her, shrugging.

"It's memorable, for sure. He had the good sense to look mildly certain that you weren't being facetious."

"If he breaks your heart, he will learn really quickly how serious I am," I told her.

I had one friend in the entire world.

I would happily seriously injure a man for her.

"I rest easy at night knowing you have my back," she told me. "And he loses a little sleep knowing that too," she added, smiling.

"You're happy, right?" I asked, needing to hear those words. They'd be the ones that would make a clean cut of the tie that had held us so closely all those years.

"I am blissfully happy," she clarified.

Snip.

I felt myself tumbling away, falling endlessly, wondering how I would ever feel grounded again.

Because that was what Raven was.

She was the anchor to my out of control boat.

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Advertisement The Negotiator Read online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #7) http://www.books2020.com/the-negotiator-7-read-online-jessica-gadziala Thu, 22 Aug 2019 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-negotiator-7-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Romance Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Negotiator (Professionals #7)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
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After weeks of nonstop work, all she wanted was to sleep in her own bed for a change. Instead, she found herself trapped in paradise against her will, working a job without the security of her team there to back her up. She was determined to resent every moment of it, but it wasn’t long before she realized Greece had something that she didn’t have back home. A man like Christopher Adamos in her bed.
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala

ONE

Miller

Fucking Bellamy.

Before my eyes even opened, I knew what had happened.

The pounding in my temples.

The dry mouth.

The nauseating rolling of my stomach.

The foggy details when I tried to piece together what day, week, month it was.

Yep.

Fucking Bellamy struck again.

I couldn't even remember seeing him the night before, but that was one of the many lovely side effects when he slipped something in your drink to, inevitably, kidnap you.

Where he ever got the idea that such things were acceptable was beyond anyone, but he often struck you right when he thought you had been working too hard, or were being too uptight.

It was his way of saying, "Hey, buddy, you need a couple drinks, and a nice weekend away."

Or, rather, it was his way of acting on it when you refused to follow his sage advice.

If ever there was someone guilty of working too much, it was me. I didn't exactly have a work/life balance to speak of. It was hard to develop that when the nature of your work sent you flying off on a plane with a moment's notice, not sure how long you would be gone, or even if you would make it back.

It was hard to foster close interpersonal relationships of any sort when that was your life. And the idea to head somewhere exotic lost it's appeal when your work dragged you to every corner of the world all the time.

What can I say?

When I wasn't actively working, I just liked being home. Home was like a vacation for me. It was a place where I could spread out beyond scattered suitcases, a place where things actually belonged to me, and were always familiar.

The inside of airports were more familiar than my own bedroom at this point in my life.

Which was likely what I had tried to tell Bellamy however we ended up together the night before. That since I just got back from a particularly grueling negotiation in El Salvador between a local gang and—and you can't make this shit up—the government, yeah, I was ready for a rest in my own bed.

I'd even been fantasizing about the idea that maybe Finn exorcised his demons by cleaning my place again, knowing I'd been gone for nearly a month. I mean, I imagined he couldn't sleep at night thinking about the dust bunnies accumulating in corners and under chairs.

I would never make light of Finn's issues. But I figured if he had to clean—and he did—then it would be nice if it was my place.

He did the laundry.

The laundry.

The worst chore in the world.

At least in my opinion.

Oh, yeah, stripping out of my clothes, dropping down into freshly laundered sheets that smelled a little like floral laundry detergent and a lot like bleach, then passing out? That sounded like heaven.

Instead, I had cottonmouth, a raging headache, a rolling stomach, and absolutely no desire to force my eyes open, and face whatever the hell Bellamy had planned for me.

I took a slow, deep breath, feeling it clear some of the cobwebs from my brain.

I was considering saying screw it, and going back to sleep.

But then the whole world just kind of... wobbled.

Yes, wobbled.

That was the only way to put it.

It rocked a bit side to side.

Instead of being comforting, like a contented baby in a cradle, like an old lady in a rocking chair, it was completely unsettling, making the contents of my stomach lurch alarmingly upward.

So, I had to open my eyes and see what the hell was going on.

Anything was possible when it came to Bellamy.

I could be on a damn ferris wheel for all I knew.

Hopefully with a little pig.

I was waiting for the day I woke up from being drugged to have a little mini pig in the room with me.

It had happened to others.

I was just waiting for that to happen to me.

All would be forgiven if that happened—I'm just saying.

Forcing my eyelids open, I winced against the painfully bright light streaming in through the window above where I was lying. Fighting through the pounding in my temples, I turned my head, looking around.

The gleaming white oak.

The long ceiling-height windows.

The aqua blue fabric of the couches and chairs.

"Fucking Fenway," I growled, slowly folding upward.

I'd seen the inside of this yacht more than a few times in the past. Usually while working. Trying to get him out of whatever international scandal he got himself into that week.

There was no pig.

The pig would have made my righteous anger dissipate.

As there was nothing corkscrew-tailed and boop-able-nosed in sight, rage bubbled up, strong, seeking an outlet.

Taking another deep breath to calm my stomach, I got to my feet, my arm swinging outward, slapping against the wall to steady myself as everything went off-kilter. Not the yacht this time, me. Another lovely side effect of the drugs.

I was going to kill them when I found them.

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Advertisement The Fixer Read online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #1) http://www.books2020.com/the-fixer-1-read-online-jessica-gadziala Thu, 11 Oct 2018 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-fixer-1-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Romance, Suspense Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Fixer (Professionals #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
Book Information:
AVEN- There are a few things I don’t believe in. Like santa. An honest politician. And gut instincts. That was, of course, until I woke up with one. And I knew. This was the day I was going to die. The cops, thus far, have proven useless and uninterested in my issues. When you couldn’t get help from legal channels, what other choice did you have but to look elsewhere? That was how I came across Quinton Baird. A “fixer.” Whatever the hell that was. All I knew was, I had a problem that needed fixing. Hopefully, before it killed me. QUIN- There were a few things I could put my faith to rest in. My team. People fcking up, and needing my help. And my gut. So when my receptionist informed me that the woman in a case I decided wasn’t my kind of job was having a ‘gut feeling’ about being in desperate need of help, yeah, I dragged my a* across town to check things out. Not only did I not bank on the fact that she was in trouble beyond what I could have anticipated, but she was not what I was expecting either. Beautiful, resilient, and one hell of a distraction I didn’t need. As the pieces of her case start falling together, I was left wondering if maybe this new, unfamiliar sensation in my gut was telling me that Aven was much more than just another name on a case file…
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala Books

ONE

Aven

He was going to kill me.

I wasn't being dramatic. I wasn't being some weak, pathetic, overreacting, crazy, hysterical woman. That wasn't me. I was a realist, plain and simple.

And the reality was, he was going to kill me.

It was a long time coming actually.

I had been anticipating the eventuality of it for eight months exactly. Because, the fact of the matter was, I knew plenty about men like him and what happened when they graduated from creep to psychopath. Blame my obsession with true crime TV and books.

And because of that knowledge, I hadn't been sitting on my hands and waiting to die. I didn't exactly have the wildest, most amazing life. In fact, it was somewhat lame. But it was mine, and I kind of wanted the chance to have exciting things happen. To do that, I needed to be smart.

First and foremost, I went to the cops.

That was what any well-adjusted woman with my issue did, right? Even if you knew that the NBPD was corrupt as they come. They were supposed to help people in my situation.

I was led past rows of desks manned by men and women who looked utterly miserable dealing with their paperwork, where I was told by a middle-aged detective with a silly, but somehow charming handlebar mustache, and warm green eyes that, he's sorry, it sucks, but there's not much he could do. They could, of course, file a restraining order but warned me that more often than not, that tended to escalate to anger. I left the station frustrated, but determined.

The first stop was the pound. Generally a lover of the uber fluffy, pocket-purse type dogs, I had felt trepidation well up as I moved past the rows of outdoor cages where dozens of homeless dogs were living out their days. The descriptors on their doors called them 'terrier mixes,' but they weren't fooling anyone. Everyone knew a Pitbull when they saw one. Sturdy across the chest, wide-headed. There was no mistaking these terrier mixes who had to live their lives in cages with no toys or soft, fluffy beds because the whole species got a bad reputation thanks to a few sour apples. I had a Springer Spaniel as a kid who went rabid. The vet called it 'Springer rage,' and it wasn't uncommon. But people still buy that breed by the dozens. Unfair, their reputation.

But their reputation was exactly why I was walking past them, reading their signs for their personality traits. I wanted something that seemed mean. I walked past the ones happily waggling their tails, jumping up and down at the idea of getting some scratches.

Instead, I zeroed in on the ones that were pacing their enclosures, looking like they were just waiting for an opening to bust out of this joint and make a life for themselves on the street. The ones that looked pissed that I even bothered to be near them.

Sure, I was going to pee myself trying to take care of one the first day or two until we found a rhythm. But if he was scary enough to be a deterrent, then I was going to have to deal with that fear.

It paled in comparison to the fear I was up against to begin with anyway.

I settled on a gray-colored Pitbull named Mackey who had 'food aggression,' did not like being on a leash, and was prone to chronic barking. I swear he gave me a look that said, 'you're a f'n idiot, lady' as the guy who worked there leashed him up to go for a walk to do his business as I filled out paperwork claiming I was experienced with difficult dogs.

An hour later, Mackey was in the backseat, casually gnawing at the passenger side headrest, eyes on me the whole time, silently daring me to say something about it.

Which I didn't.

I drove him home, carefully reaching for the leash, then setting him free in my house to get acquainted with his new surroundings and, let's face it, destroy some stuff.

Stop number two was the home improvement store. I got locks and deadbolts and those little alarm things you can put on your windows so that if they are pulled open, they scream. I got external motion lights to put around literally every corner of my modest house.

The third stop was the local sporting goods store where I loaded up on steel-toed boots, bats, knives, and pepper spray. Then, for the hell of it, I bought bear repellant as well. It had a longer spray. In my opinion, the further away from him I could remain while defending myself, the better.

Mackey had been true to his promises. He paced. He barked until my nerves felt like they had been shredded by the sound. He lunged at me when I went to put his food down, making me need to preemptively lock him in the bathroom before I started preparing it.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >88

Advertisement The Middle Man Read online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #6) http://www.books2020.com/the-middle-man-6-read-online-jessica-gadziala Sun, 02 Sep 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-middle-man-6-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Erotic, Romance Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >81

Read Online Books/Novels:	The Middle Man (Professionals #6)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
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Gemma was always searching for a cause. She was never afraid to risk something if it meant benefiting the greater good. But what happens when that risk becomes more than she can handle alone? Is she willing to risk those around her if it means protecting hundreds of innocent lives? Lincoln was always searching for Miss Right. He was never afraid to fall if falling meant he'd land in love. But what happens when Miss Right turns out to be someone he shouldn't want? Is he willing to risk the relationships he has with his friends and family if it means winning the love of a woman he can't be without?
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala Books

ONE

Lincoln

Everyone had gotten together and staged an intervention.

I was stuck doing my paperwork.

In all fairness, I had maybe been slipping handfuls of it into everyone else's piles for the past, I don't know, four or five years. I lucked out in that they generally just chugged through it while they did their own without even really noticing it didn't belong to them. I heard shit like that happened when you got 'in the zone' with work.

I wouldn't know.

And I certainly wasn't 'in the zone' as I shuffled through the seemingly endless pages they had so gleefully stacked on my desk on their way out of the office for the night so that I couldn't go to them for assistance. Which I badly needed.

Even Jules had up and left.

Leaving me to my own devices.

Which were rusty. In need of some serious WD-40. The only problem was, I had no idea where to find that.

"Come to pile more on?" I grumbled as a telltale pair of shoes walked into my line of vision.

Everyone in the office made what most people would refer to as a 'killing.' We all spent it on the things that we gave a shit about. Suits, fixing things up around the house, shoes.

But no one had shoes like those.

Because no one had money like he did.

We all had, for the most part, come from somewhat humble beginnings. If not poor, then just solid workaday middle-class families. It was why a lot of us had joined the military after high school. To be able to afford a future. Whatever the cost in other ways. Mentally, emotionally, physically.

I had a knee that told me when rain was coming and a tendency toward bad dreams.

But I'd been able to take care of myself after I was done, albeit not grandly.

Then came Quin and the fixer firm and more abundance than I could have ever expected.

Still, though, nothing near what Bellamy had.

Born rich, he'd learned the ins and outs of investing at his father's knee, then went ahead and something like quadrupled his already insane fortune.

So, yeah, he had shoes on his feet that belonged in a museum or some shit.

"That would imply I have paperwork in the first place," he said, making my head turn up, finding him lowering down into the chair across from my desk.

"Why does Quin have you on the payroll when you never have work?"

"Because when I do, I am damn good at it."

That wasn't untrue.

Quin had courted Bellamy for ages before he had finally agreed to work with us. Because he was good at what he did. He was really good at killing.

Most of us had done our fair share in the past. In the name of country and for our own safety.

Bellamy did it for shits and giggles.

He did it because it needed doing.

A moral quest of sorts, if you will.

In his sphere, in particular, there seemed to be a fuckuva lot of closet pedos or rapists or wife-beaters. They were the kind of people with the wealth and status--and all the protection that came with those things--to get away with it.

Until Bellamy found out about it, of course.

He took a lot of pleasure in getting rid of people who thought of themselves as untouchable.

It wasn't until Quin all but insisted on it that he decided to do it for a side gig. A hustle he didn't need given the obnoxious fortune he sat on without any effort at all these days.

"What do you say we go catch a plane to Vegas?" he asked, inspecting the model car on my desk with pinched brows. "Lose a spectacular amount of money. Hit on an unconscionable number of women. Drink ourselves into oblivion."

"Pretty sure Quin expects us in the office tomorrow." It was a workday, after all.

"So, we catch a plane back in the morning. Great way to sleep off the possible hangover."

It was tempting.

I wouldn't lie and say it wasn't.

Going out with Bellamy was like your teenage fantasies come to life. Flights were first class, hotel rooms were presidential suites, drinks were top shelf, managers in bars, restaurants, and casinos tripped over themselves to make sure you were having the time of your life. If you wanted to have a good time, Bellamy was how you would find it. Effortlessly.

Normally, unless I was on a case, I never turned down the chance when he offered it.

But, just this once, I knew I needed to be practical.

"I can't this time. Quin isn't letting me on any active cases until I catch up on all this shit."

From the looks of things, that meant something like five years from now.

"So, you are on a paid vacation."

"I don't like being stuck."

That was true enough. But only partially so. There were plenty of times when I didn't mind being grounded, when all the traveling was more of a hassle than something I wanted to do.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >81

Advertisement The Babysitter Read online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #5) http://www.books2020.com/the-babysitter-5-read-online-jessica-gadziala Thu, 08 Feb 2018 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-babysitter-5-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Dark, Romance Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 82
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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Babysitter (Professionals #5)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
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He went to the woods to get away from it all. His past, the demons ever at his heels. And, perhaps most importantly, people. One million miles away from anyone. Save for the occasional visit from a client he had to endure. And that was exactly the way he liked it. Until one night, he finds her. Battered, scarred, tortured by the memories, in need of a safe haven. So he does the unthinkable. He offers to share his with her. It’s not long before feelings start to arise. Yet the demons refuse to stay at bay. And two fractured people will have to see if it is possible to come together… without breaking everything apart.
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala Books

ONE

Ranger

The woods were a breathing thing. The way the wind whispered through newly budding trees. How the dry underbrush hissed across the floor, catching against shrubs and stacking up with half-moldering piles of fallen leaves.

The sounds were long since familiar, ones I heard nightly for years. In the barns, the roll of furry bodies against hay was as predictable as the chorus of crickets, as intermittent as the lonesome-sounding hoot of the occasional owl high in a tree.

My home kept as many secrets as it disclosed - the silent pads of rodent feet, the inaudible swish of fins in the lakes and rivers, the quick, cunning bodies of foxes attempting to steal under my chicken coop only to be thwarted by the four feet deep fence and cement underneath, keeping them safe as they puffed up their feathers to ward off the early spring chill.

But there were some secrets it never could keep.

I'd been unable to sleep, work-weary body begging for rest, mind unable to slow enough to slip into unconsciousness, making me swing my legs off the side of the bed, soles touching down onto the furry side of a German Shepherd who made a grumbling noise before turning on her side, snuggling into one of the seven other bodies scattered across my floor instead of the living room where their beds were, the fire likely having died down, chilling that space.

The house was quiet as it so often was, just the heavy breathing of dogs, the snoring of them, the whimpering or scratching of their nails on the floor as they chased something through the forest floor in their dreams.

The crackling of the dying fire met me as I moved out of my bedroom and into the main living space, going over to throw another log on, knowing it would be several long, cold hours before the sun teased through the windows, warming surfaces, making a fire unnecessary. I could probably get through the night without the fire, but the dogs would start shaking. The same dogs that - all winter - bounded through feet of snow like it was cotton candy. But it meant nothing to me. It wasn't like there wasn't enough wood around us to keep us all as warm as we wanted to be.

One-point-one million acres of wood, to be exact. Sure, it was protected which meant that cutting it down was technically a crime, but when you chose to build an entire homestead on government land without permission, you didn't fuss too much about a little firewood.

I moved a pot of water over the fire, figuring if I wasn't going to get some sleep, then a head start on coffee was going to be necessary.

Spring meant more work than usual just to get all the gardens and the greenhouse ready for new planting. I was working from sunup to sundown from March through May. And then, well, it was weeding and harvesting. It never let up save for the winter.

It had been a long, cold one, though. And I found myself itching for the work, for the tiredness in my muscles, the bone-deep exhaustion that would make sleep possible.

I had just been pouring the grounds into the press when I heard it.

A sound that didn't fit.

A secret the woods refused to keep.

Putting down the spoon, I moved over toward the front door, pulling it wide, feeling the night air - still slipping under freezing - slap my shirtless body, making the skin prickle in objection.

I paid no mind, though, as I moved a step outside, bare feet on the cold ground, chin tilted up, listening, needing to hear it again to be sure.

The Pine Barrens was a desolate place, full of animals and ghost towns. But quiet places were a magnet for some people too. Ones like me, drawn to the emptiness, the isolation, needing to get away from a world that was hard to breathe within. Those I left alone, knowing how badly my soul had needed this place when I first stepped through the tree line many years before, how much I still needed it now.

The others, they came here for the lack of population as well. But not for their own peace of mind. Not for their own bastardized form of therapy, recovery.

No.

They came to disrupt, to destroy.

Stupid teenagers touring the ghost towns, tagging the crumbling brick in heinous, unnatural neon spray paint. Ridiculous street names, immature, unoriginal curses, declarations of undying love. The paint would outlast the relationships by decades.

Others still came by the truckload, beds loaded down with kegs, cases of beer, giant handles of hard liquor, pockets loaded down with pills that would make the trees come alive, chase their hallucinating selves through unfamiliar terrain.

Campers came, often needing a search party. Or, more often, me, to get them back to land where they most likely ended up needing a digit or two to be surgically removed.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >82

Advertisement The General Read Online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #4) http://www.books2020.com/the-general-4-read-online-jessica-gadziala Wed, 20 Sep 2017 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-general-4-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
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Read Online Books/Novels:	The General (Professionals #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
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Everyone in Navesink Bank knows about Senator Ericsson’s son, his wife, and the story that hit headlines that eventually led to one of the Mallick boys going to jail for assault. What became of that woman after being coerced into lying on the stand was unknown. That was until late one night when a phone rang in the offices of Quinton Baird & Associates. And her voice was on the other end of the line.
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala Books

ONE

Smith

The light above him was flickering like they always did in the bullpen at a police station, supposedly to create some kind of rough, gritty ambiance, but in reality, all the viewer could think of was why the fuck someone didn't grab a ladder and fix the damn thing instead of sitting there with the flick flick flickering day in and day out.

I didn't want to get a ladder, so I guess I could understand the cops' grim acceptance of the annoyance too.

It was something Quin would never stand for - something not working like it should. Which was why he was the one who owned and ran the place and I was just an employee. And if Finn came in, he would likely have a stroke over the fact that there was dust and what looked like a moth carcass up under the plastic. I was tidy enough in general. My office didn't become the collection of clutter with haphazard piles teetering ominously on every surface like Kai's did on occasion, but I didn't exactly wipe down the surfaces every night like Jules was known to do in the main area of the building.

Absentmindedly, I swiped a finger across the cherry red of my desk - a color that drove Quin crazy since it didn't match the black and gray theme of everything in the office. But thanks to a grandfather who made it clear that painting a nice slab of wood was practically sacrilegious, I had been adamant about my office. The desk, the storage cabinet against the wall, the legs on the leather armchairs across from my desk were all cherry wood. The walls were also a concession on his part - not gray, but a warm cream. I'd gotten more than enough of grays and blacks and cold, supposedly masculine things while I served. I wanted something warmer, cozier at the office I spent more time in than my own place.

There was the distinct ringing of a phone out in the lobby - not the shrill, ear-piercing kind of ring you would hear on a house phone, but that subdued, rolling ring of office phones, likely specialized that way to keep administrative assistants or front desk workers - or whatever the PC word was for people who used to be known to do secretarial work - didn't lose their fucking minds while on the job.

Not that Jules was capable of losing her mind. People who micromanaged the way she did so effortlessly had things way too put-together to ever lose it. She'd calmed down a bit since finally shacking up with Kai. She didn't stay as late, didn't come in on the weekends unless there were jobs and the office was hopping.

I was actually surprised she was still out there to answer the phones when Kai didn't have an active job.

Maybe she felt bad for me.

Shit, I almost felt bad for me. This behemoth pile of files and paperwork and order forms was going to keep me chained to the desk until well after midnight from the looks of things. If it was possible for someone to actually die under a pile of paperwork, I would be the case that hit the news.

How the hell did Quin handle this?

There were three sharp raps on the door, Jules' telltale knock that was usually wholly unnecessary since she somehow managed to wear high heels all day, every day, and the steady click-click-clicking down the hall always gave her away.

"Yeah, what's up, Jules?" I asked, watching the door open, seeing her peek her head in before fully stepping into the doorway, shaking her head a bit.

"I'm sorry. I know you have a lot on your plate, but..."

But Quin was out of town for the entire month on vacation.

And I was in charge.

So this - like the paperwork that made me worry about the state of the rainforest - was my responsibility.

"What's the job?" I asked, figuring there was no reason to get down about it since there was nothing to change the situation. Maybe I'd dump some of the paperwork on Lincoln's desk. That bastard weaseled out of it far too often anyway. He was due.

"You aren't going to believe this one. Not to offend you or anything, but I am going to make a call to Quinn after I tell you."

"I'm not offended; he's the boss."

"You know Senator Ericsson?"

"The bastard."

"The very one. And you know he has a son."

"Who makes him seem like a saint."

"Yes, well. He doesn't have a son anymore," she told me, squaring her shoulders a bit. "And his wife needs us."

Fuck.

That was a Quin-level job.

But Quin was half a world away.

So, it was a me-level job.

And I silently prayed I would have what it would take.

"Call Quin," I agreed, getting to my feet. The drawer to the desk slid out with the smallest amount of friction - testament to the hours I spent trying to get them right. I grabbed my gun, loaded it, slipped it into a shoulder holster, then threw on my jacket. "And wake up Finn, just in case. I have no idea how we can swing this. Was she hysterical?"

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >82

Advertisement The Messenger Read Online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #3) http://www.books2020.com/the-messenger-3-read-online-jessica-gadziala Mon, 17 Jul 2017 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-messenger-3-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Messenger (Professionals #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
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He’s loved her since the day he met her. She’s been either oblivious or uninterested. And now she is set to marry another man. So, he decided to let her go. But when he finds her on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, staining her wedding dress with tears, needing help, he realizes he had never let go. And now that he has the chance, he will stop at nothing to show her that he was the one she was meant to be with all along.
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala Books

Flashback - One week before -

"Augh," Jules growled, slamming the receiver back into the cradle, freeing her hands to rub at the headache forming in her temples, a sharp, insistent throb that she knew was going to make the rest of the work shift even more draining than usual. Because - she had learned from experience - the worst sound in the world when you had a migraine brewing was the scream of a phone that you just knew was begging for parts of you that you didn't have to give, and the bleep of the intercom followed by a male voice asking her to fetch something, making her realize just how loud the click of her own heels sounded on the hard floor.

Miller wasn't in the office.

She was the only one who didn't use the intercom.

My legs work just as well as yours do. That was what she had said when Jules had asked why she didn't ask her to go grab the file she needed.

There was a jingle and click, making her take a deep breath before opening her eyes, finding a bottle of Excedrin Migraine sitting before her on her desk.

She knew.

She knew without having to look up.

Because there was only one person in the entire office who would even notice that she had a migraine brewing - let alone bring her what she would need to tolerate it.

Kai.

"Take one," he demanded, using the slightly firm tone on her that he learned he needed to do from time to time. When she was being too stubborn for her own good.

She reached for the bottle, twisting off the cap, and throwing one into her mouth to chase down with her too-cold coffee - something she was so accustomed to that she barely even noticed it anymore.

She came a long way from the girl who always had to have Starbucks.

And always extra hot.

"Now, what's going on?" he asked, losing the edge in his voice as he hauled himself up on the other side of her desk, something he knew she hated, but did anyway.

"Not..."

"Don't," he cut her off, shaking his head, making his somewhat long, inky hair catch the light as his hand reached out to move the paperclips out of the brads compartment of her desk organizer.

"My dress," she admitted, feeling that all-too-familiar swirling discomfort in her stomach at speaking of her wedding in front of him.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I need to pick it up before five when the shop closes, or I won't be able to get it until Monday."

"And the wedding is Sunday," he supplied, knowing because he was, of course, invited. As was the whole office. Even Gunner. Who no more wanted to go than she wanted him to come, but he would. Because his girl would make him.

"And Quin wants me to sit in with his client at four-thirty to take notes."

"I'll grab it," he offered, automatically, knee-jerk, as she was convinced kindness always was to him, selflessness.

"No," she said automatically, emphatically, fighting back the stab of guilt inside.

He was the last person in the world she could ask to pick up her wedding dress.

She could call her mom.

Or one of her aunts.

Maybe even Miller if she was in town.

"Consider it done," he told her, jumping off her desk, giving her one of his sweet smiles, rushing off before she could deny him again.

She felt it then, replacing the guilt as he walked out the front door, a sensation not wholly unfamiliar around Kai.

An odd, tight feeling across her chest, something she never let herself analyze, finding herself oddly afraid of what she would find if she tried.

So she refused to.

And she went to take notes for her boss, finding her dress hanging in its pretty pearl-colored garment bag on the rack by the door, Kai gone for the evening.

It was really happening, she realized as she unzipped the bag slightly to see the dress.

She was really getting married.

And that dropping feeling in her belly?

Yeah, she was just choosing not to analyze that either.

ONE

Kai

She was getting married.

She was getting married to another guy.

And I couldn't get my tie tied as I stood in the mirror, looking at a face made almost unfamiliar with the new short crop of my hair that I had cut on a lark the night before, not sure where the impulse came from, just needing a change, just maybe hoping it would signal a new start.

Even if a new start was the last thing in the world I wanted.

Everything was changing.

Like a kid whose parents were splitting up, I was hung up on the little things, the way life would be different than it had before.

She'd belong to another man.

One who would do the errands she needed done, but couldn't find the extra hours in the day to do so herself.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >84

Advertisement The Ghost Read Online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #2) http://www.books2020.com/the-ghost-2-read-online-jessica-gadziala Tue, 18 Apr 2017 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-ghost-2-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Erotic, Romance, Suspense Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Ghost (Professionals #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Jessica Gadziala
Language:	English
Book Information:
Sloane has everything she thought she ever wanted- a great career, a great apartment, great clothes, a life she had worked hard for. Until one night, one chance encounter, one decision that changed everything. With no options left, she enlists the help of Quinton Baird & Associates, who promptly inform her that she has to leave it all - the career, the apartment, the life she had worked so hard to build for herself - behind. If all that wasn’t enough, her entire future - and life in general - was in the hands of a man whose coworkers called ‘The Ghost.’ Because that was what he did; he ghosted people, hid them, gave them new lives, made them impossible to find. With no other choice, she agrees to his terms, climbs in a car with him, and travels almost clear across the country toward her new life. But the long hours on the road - and even longer hours in cabins and hotel rooms - together start to show her things. Like how unhappy she had actually been, how hollow her life was, how much she had denied herself in the name of superficial success. And maybe, just maybe, how much she was starting to see how wrong first impressions can be, and how much a person can begin to mean to you when you decided to let them in…
Books in Series:	Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
Books by Author:	Jessica Gadziala Books

ONE

Gunner

"What are you doing?" I asked, looking down at where Lincoln had suddenly thrown himself under the table.

"Those girls that came in," he explained, waving a hand to the two who had come in and sat at the bar.

"What about them?"

"I slept with them both," he explained, then shook his head. "How the hell was I supposed to know they were sisters?"

I snorted at that, taking a long look at the two tall, leggy blondes with small breasts and high asses, blue eyes, and very similar bone structure. "The fact that they could be fucking twins might have been a giveaway."

"It was just fun. I wasn't analyzing them for DNA markers," he shot back. "When they found out, they broke my windshield."

"You said a tree branch fell through it."

"Yeah, after they whacked it with one a few dozen times."

Christ.

Lincoln liked women.

Lincoln really liked women.

In general, he wasn't a fuck around kind of guy. He was more likely to have a steady chick than a string of random lays. But when he was fresh off a breakup, he had been known to take a tour of a few beds before he settled with someone again.

Apparently, this occasionally landed him in hot water.

"Stop being a chickenshit," I said as his hand curled over the top of the table in search of his beer.

"I just got that car, man. I don't want to put that poor baby through that."

On top of women, Lincoln had a thing for cars. The fuck had to carry fleet insurance because he had so many. He came into the office three days ago demanding we all come out and take a look at the new Camero he had just picked up after his last job brought in double what his usual cut got him.

"You seriously going to stay under there all night? They look like they're settling in," I added as both girls took the empty seats at the bar, stirring the cherries in their drinks. "Besides, they're probably over it by now," I added as one of them smiled at some suit at the end of the bar. "Sure you aren't that memorable," I finished, just because the bastard had a big enough ego.

"You're right," he agreed, climbing back out, settling down. "I'm sure they're over... oh shit," he said as one of the girls got eyes on him, then slapped a hand into her sister. There was a moment of what looked like furious conversation before they started over.

My phone vibrated on the table, making me let out a grumble, a bit too invested in seeing how this interaction was going to go. "Yeah?"

"Yeah? That's how you answer a work call?" Jules asked, malice in her voice, as there always was when she spoke to me. And, to be fair, it was in mine when I spoke to her as well.

Some people you met and got on with right away.

Others took time.

Some still were just never going to be people you wanted to be around.

And then there were the few who came into your life like oil to your water.

That was Jules and me.

That didn't mean I didn't respect her, but I didn't have to like her to do that either.

"Got a problem with it, you could call someone else," I suggested, twirling my glass around as the girls finally broke through the Saturday night crowd, closing in on our table.

"Unfortunately, I have to speak to you. It's your kind of job."

My kind of job.

That meant I was about to be out of town for a while.

And, honestly, I was itching for it. I'd been in the same place for too long, working on the other guys' jobs when they needed help, not doing any of my own.

The last time I had a stretch away was after that Russia job last year when I made the wife disappear.

I needed to get away for a while.

"I'm on my way," I told Jules, hanging up.

"Don't leave me," Lincoln demanded as the girls finally stopped right at the edge of the table.

"Sorry, man. Got a job. You're on your own," I said, slapping a hand on his shoulder as I got out of my seat and made my way through the bar.

The air had a hint of spring to it as I moved outside. Winter had had a death grip on us for what felt like ages; it was nice to know the end was near.

Lincoln had driven us - and since he was probably getting a butter-knife castration right about now - I turned, and started walking across town toward the office that had been my home for a few years.

It was a stability of sorts to someone who had never known much of it, had always had wings and no roots, a place to call home even if I sometimes chafed at the idea.

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English

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The General (Professionals #4)

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English

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The Messenger (Professionals #3)

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English

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The Ghost (Professionals #2)

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English