Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Please. I was in there.”
Before leaving the parking lot, I’d struggled out of the bulletproof vest. It was a bulky, one-size-fits-most type, and I was having a hard enough time driving with the cuffs. I pulled the unstrapped vest from the passenger seat and held it up for the policeman to see, the large U.S. MARSHAL imprinted in white.
The officer was quiet while we waited in the heat of his patrol car for someone to retrieve me, but I could tell he wanted to ask what was going on. When a car pulled up and the door opened, I was overwhelmed, relieved to see a familiar face.
“Bill.”
“Unbelievable,” he uttered in relief and mostly to himself. He gestured to his car. “Get in.”
During the short drive through the staging area, I recounted my escape to him—although he knew one piece already. An ambulance had been dispatched to a wreck fitting the description of the van I’d been taken in.
“I lied and told Frey you know about his next job.” I didn’t look at Bill when I spoke. Instead, I watched the red and blue lights flashing ahead, competing with each other like a strange light show. “He said he could get to Zupan no matter what.”
Bill let out a heavy breath. “Zupan’s the federal prosecutor on the Markovic case.”
There was a large mobile SWAT unit parked in the front lot, and a semi-truck blocked most of the destruction from view.
“We’ve got medical set up inside, and someone will cut off those cuffs and take a look at you.”
A dark thought descended on me. They had medical, and probably a makeshift morgue too. That was the last place I wanted to be. “I just need these cut off. I’m fine.”
He shook his head to make sure I knew this was not up for discussion. He parked beside the truck, pulled off his jacket, and draped it around my shoulders.
“When we get out there, stay close and move quickly,” he said. “I don’t want to disrupt anyone’s work.”
By the time I’d pushed my door open and stepped out, he’d come around the car and extended a hand to help me. It was a warm gesture that made me wish for the father I’d barely known.
On the other side of the truck, the motel was bustling with people, everyone displaying the agency they worked for with badges hanging on chains around their neck or IDs clipped to clothes. Some were coming and going from rooms, while a team of firefighters gathered around a charred vehicle that must have taken the grenade hit. It was so busy, hardly anyone noticed Bill or the woman alongside him.
We rounded a corner, and my legs turned to lead. The physical reaction to what I was seeing was so strong I almost passed out.
At the edge of the corridor, Jason was having a heated conversation with two agents.
He’s not dead.
My mind babbled it over and over again. His eyes were sunken, looking like he’d been through hell. But he was alive. Upright.
And like me, wearing handcuffs.
19
JASON
I was mid-sentence when my focus landed on Bill and it made me stop talking. Even after the shit with Nelson, he’d never given me a look like that. My gaze drifted left to the woman beside him.
Holy fucking shit.
Everything had stopped for me when Laurel had been dragged from the room, and the instant my gaze connected with her haunting eyes, it started again. The wall I’d put up to separate us came crashing down.
Her hands were pressed to her face, the plastic edges of zip-tie handcuffs sticking out. The navy marshal jacket thrown over her shoulders was so large it looked like a blanket. How was she alive, and here, and seemingly unhurt?
The reasons didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the fact that she was shuffling toward me. The only thing standing in my way was an FBI agent and my boss.
“Marshal?” the agent asked, but I couldn’t hear him. I was halfway past the man when Bill muttered an icy command, slicing through my turmoil.
“You stay there.”
It came from him accusatory, angry.
What was going on? What had happened? It was clear his order should not be disobeyed under any circumstance. All I could do was stand there and stare.
Laurel looked like she was in shock. Her hands dropped from her mouth to her chest as if trying to slow its heaving. Bill gently guided her forward, although she didn’t seem to want to go anywhere but to me.
We kept our gazes on each other as long as we could, me finally tearing it away when she left my sight. The agent was waiting for an answer, but I couldn’t even fathom his question.
I decided to give Bill ten minutes, but after five I got too impatient, and although my bruised ribs ached with an enormous amount of pain, I convinced the agent to lead me to my boss. I was shoved through the motel manager’s office doorway, just as Bill ended a call, staring down at the paper spread out on the desk.