Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Too damaged,” the sheriff repeated, a troubled look coming into his eyes.
“Yes. They’ve been trained as assassins, killers, put through torturous programs that break them in ways most people can’t imagine. If we were able to rescue them in time, perhaps there would be a chance…but because we haven’t—”
“They’re a danger to society.”
“Yes. Exactly. Or they might be.” It killed Mark that the ones they’d located so far were so incredibly damaged—if that was even the right word—beyond repair. Jak had survived—was now thriving, thank God—and Mark refused to give up the hope that others could too. If there was just one thing or one someone that made them question the message. Something or someone that had saved their mind. Their soul. Like Jak with Harper’s mother’s teaching notes. Maybe it would be an instructor or even a fellow program member whose kindness was greater than the things used to break them. Even so, Mark knew that all of them would be broken in some way or another. And that they all would require healing.
“If I may ask, why is this task force of yours such a secret? I work in law enforcement, and I thought that whole case had disappeared.”
“The task force operates independently because we’re all but certain there are plants within the three-letter agencies. There’s no way an operation of the magnitude of Dr. Swift’s works without that aspect.” No way bodies disappeared, convenient “holdups” happened consistently, and cases were closed without any investigation whatsoever, to only mention a short list of things Mark had seen. “There’s money involved,” he told the sheriff. “Big money. Governments and multimillionaires use the services of these men and women. A vast cover-up could be easily bought and paid for.”
The sheriff looked slightly shell-shocked as he took in a breath.
Mark understood. It was chilling and overwhelming, and he’d had plenty of time to accept the scope of it all.
“Wow.” The sheriff stared at the wall for a moment, obviously thinking. After a minute, he met Mark’s eyes. “What does this all have to do with Autumn Clancy potentially being at the school shooting in New York City?”
“I think she helped the man who acted as a Good Samaritan leave the scene of the crime. I think that man might know more about what happened that day. What really happened.”
“Is he one of the trained assassins, Agent?”
“He might be.”
The sheriff swore under his breath.
“I was told Ms. Clancy has taken a leave of absence from work to care for a sick relative,” Mark said. “And I’d wait for her to return, but I think the matter is more urgent than that.”
The sheriff swore again, this time more a hiss than a word. “She’s not caring for a sick relative.”
“I didn’t think so, Sheriff. Can you tell me where she is?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Sam?” Autumn called, flinging the cottage door open and rushing inside. “Sam?” The red truck wasn’t parked out front as she’d expected it to be, but maybe he’d parked it on the far side of the house that was obscured by trees. She removed her jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch. Where are you?
It was freezing in the house, and she rubbed her hands together as she walked to the kitchen, expecting to see him through the window, sitting on the deck in his usual chair, having let the fire die down while he stared out at the lake, but he wasn’t there either.
Her stomach tightened, and the first buzz of panic skated along her spine. She went to the bedroom, the panic notching higher when she saw that the bed was neatly made and his jacket and hat were gone. In the bathroom, she found the razor and toothbrush he’d been using, but that didn’t give her much consolation.
Did you leave? Without saying goodbye? He had seemed tense and oddly quiet—even for Sam—when he dropped her off. She’d assumed he was just worried about her and not relishing their parting, but she hadn’t even considered that he’d been planning to leave while she was gone.
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it down. No, no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have left. But if he had, she didn’t have a clue where to begin looking for him.
She stood there in the cold, empty cottage where they’d spent so many wondrous moments, and a sob rose inside, a gasp of pure fear that he was lost to her when she’d only just found him.
When she’d just begun to love him.
So when she caught a glimpse of movement out the front window and tossed the curtain aside to see Sam walking toward the cottage, she let out a small cry as she flung the door open and rushed outside.
She ran the short distance and launched herself into his arms. He let out a sound that was half grunt, half oomph as he caught her, dropping the duffel bag that had been in his hand and wrapping her in his arms.