Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” I said, standing up straight from my position of leaning against the truck.
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Can I help you?” Ridley asked, pulling his sheriff’s hat on and walking toward the man.
“No,” the man said.
“Well then, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is private property,” Ridley’s authoritative voice brooked no room for argument, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep the laugh from bursting free of my lungs.
I looked around at the parking lot we were standing in.
Sure, it was outside the clubhouse, but it was still off of a public street and everybody knew it.
The man’s temper started to fray.
“I’m missing an agent,” he said. “And you’re fucking with my investigation.”
“Then I’ll have to be informed of who it is you’re looking for, as well as what investigation you’re working on,” Ridley said pleasantly.
Griffin took his hat off his head, forked his fingers through his hair so it lay flat, and then replaced the hat.
The movement wasn’t one of nervousness. No, it was one of effectiveness and knowing when a situation is about to turn bad.
The move had Griffin’s hands free of the truck, and now where they were resting on his hips, mere inches away from the gun at his side rather than on top of the truck where any swift movement would be immediately noticed.
Mig and I did much the same, positioning ourselves so that we not only had each other’s backs, but so that we also had access to our side arms as well.
“Josh,” another man came out from behind the man. “Our GPS tracking info has the beacon within a mile of this address.”
“Josh Fry, is it?” I asked with a deceptive calm.
Fry smiled.
“Agent Josh Fry. FBI,” he didn’t offer his hand and neither did I.
“Interesting,” I said, crossing my arms behind my back. “How’s it going?”
Josh Fry gave me a look that clearly suggested what he thought of my ridiculous question.
I’d only learned just today that this Josh Fry man was an agent for the FBI.
I’d also learned today that he’s served four years in the Army including a tour of duty in Iraq. I’d also learned that none other than Jensen, the man responsible for making Raven’s life a living hell for months on end, had been there with him during his brief military career. How convenient for them.
“What are you doing here, Agent Fry?” Ridley asked again, cutting into my thoughts.
Thankfully.
Who the hell knew where those thoughts would have led had I not been interrupted.
“I’m in the middle of a classified investigation, and I need my agent back,” he said, not giving us a thing. “He’s been missing for a little over 24 hours.”
“Interesting,” I found myself saying.
The man’s eyes cut to me, and I could actually feel the anger brewing in those freakishly odd eyes.
“What’s interesting?” the man snapped.
“It’s interesting that this supposedly missing man’s GPS is leading you to private land,” I said conversationally, my eyes focusing solely on the lying piece of shit in front of me.
Luckily, the man currently occupying the bed of my truck didn’t seem to want to hurt Nathan—at least not too much—and that proved to be his fatal mistake.
At the time, Nathan had been my main concern. My mind was solely focused on protecting my son, and nothing else.
I pushed Nathan underneath the truck, forcefully telling him to stay put as I also rolled under it and over to the other side, taking the man out with a brutal kick to the ankle that had broken it.
With the guy now down, I delivered a roundhouse kick to his face that knocked him out. Then I was able to pull Nathan out from under the truck and rock him until he fell asleep.
“Funny,” Agent Fry said, a sickeningly sweet hint to his voice that set my teeth on edge. “The last time I studied a map of this area, this road leads to a public boat ramp. So there’s a lot of traffic. Seems to me, if he was just taking a look-see at the lake, it would be fair of him to be on this road.”
He was right.
The road was a cut through to the public boat ramp. But, with all of the flooding, the boat ramp was under water and most of the parking lot was also.
I gritted my teeth and brought my hand up to my face to scratch my beard, my eyes studying the man and his goons at his back.
Xavier’s description of the man paying him to hack into everyone’s lives fit this guy to a T. Sharp angular cheekbones, curly brown hair, freakishly blue eyes. About five foot ten with his boots on…with them off he’d be about five eight.
The goon at his side looked more authoritative than he did, and I knew in that instant that Josh Fry had a bigger enemy than me.