Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
My eyes land on my best friend at Jameson, Bebe Grimshaw. She’s standing with her son Aaron and our resident psychiatrist, Corinne Ellery Brandeis, newly married herself to another love from the past, Clay.
There is so much love, honor, and commitment among the couples in this room, but probably none as profoundly well-deserved as my best friend Bebe. She pulls her son Aaron out onto the dance floor and boogies to Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling” with absolutely no embarrassment. This, coming from a woman who spent years in prison for a crime she actually committed, stealing nuclear codes to sell to another country. That’s shocking to most people within our organization when they learn her backstory, but then they’re told the circumstances—that someone forced her to steal the codes, or they would kill her son. While the court system didn’t care about her reasons, Kynan McGrath did, and he used his very significant power with Congress to spring her from prison. He later followed through after she provided a great service to our country in outing and capturing the hacker who forced her to steal the codes and was given a presidential pardon.
Her fiancé, Griff, watches from the edge of the makeshift dance floor, his eyes possessive of her and his soon-to-be stepson. He’s one of my favorite people in this room, and if there’s anybody here who deserves happiness, it’s those two.
“You going to cut a rug?” a man says from behind me, and I turn to see Malik and Anna. They’re holding hands, looking so right together. Anna’s husband worked for Jameson and lost his life during the same mission where Malik was captured and held for months in a Syrian desert prison. I suppose their love story is as deserving as Bebe and Griff’s, but for very different reasons.
“I’m not sure you could handle my dance moves,” I tease. “But any time you want to throw down, just say the word.”
“Oh no,” Malik backpedals. “This boy most certainly can’t dance unless the music is nice and slow and Anna’s in my arms.”
“Excuse me while I go puke,” I say with exaggerated faux nausea and Anna giggles.
We watch Bebe and Aaron dance. She looks over at me and waves. I lift my chin in acknowledgment. She then gestures for me to join them on the dance floor.
Malik shoves me toward the floor. “Go get ’em, Doze.”
Now, I’ve got some damn good moves, and I don’t mind showing them off. Without hesitation, I join Bebe and her son, and soon, others follow.
♦
It’s late, and the party is wrapping up. Ladd and Greer left over an hour ago for a quick honeymoon down to Turks and Caicos. Because Jameson is a family, no one felt compelled to leave when they did, and we continued drinking, dancing, and eating. I went light on the champagne because I have to work tomorrow morning and I cannot stand being fuzzy-headed. Besides, I’ve never been one to get drunk.
I share a ride back into the city with Cruce and Barrett. Barrett is driving since she hasn’t had any alcohol. I’m tempted to ask if she’s pregnant, but I don’t want to put her on the spot. Those are things she’ll share when she’s ready, but if I’m a betting man, I’m betting she and Cruce have happy news to reveal soon.
Despite the lack of champagne, the frivolity and good times have worn me out, and I can’t wait to climb into my bed. It’s quiet as we head back into Pittsburgh, and I almost doze off in the back seat when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out and look at the screen, frowning at the short message that has a red triangle followed by the words High Alert.
My heart jackhammers as I unlock my phone and move to an encrypted program Bebe created. It’s a backdoor monitoring system of all the prisons in the United States, designed to track the status of certain inmates. It’s only accessible to law enforcement, but Bebe isn’t known as one of the best hackers in the world for nothing.
My throat dries when I pull up the single alert and expand it. Words I never thought I’d see:
Inmate: #886305 Ivan Borovsky
Status: Escaped
Nationwide alert
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, sitting up straight in my seat. It was date- and time-stamped only two hours ago, meaning he is only recently on the loose. He’s been incarcerated in New York for six years after receiving a life sentence without parole for the murders of a husband, wife, and their two children in Miami.
Cruce looks over his shoulder at me. “What’s up?”
My brain spins, putting together the most efficient game plan. I have to call Jessica, pack my bags, and head to the airport. If Kynan will lend me the company plane, I can get there quicker.