Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“Last night.”
“Really?!” I unhappily bite so hard that even Honey, the baby, frowns. “What happened to the written agreement regarding the amount of warning he had to give all of you before making those decisions?”
“That’s the technicality he used to give us these extra couple of days some of the other numbers didn’t want him to.” Blu comfortingly rubs his daughter’s back. “In his defense – and never f-ing tell Wahl I used that phrase for Seventeen – he didn’t sound too thrilled to be shipping us off to Aomori.”
“Japan?!”
“They call that place ‘The Snow Monster’.” His glare deepens at the same time he cranes his neck forward, red words rigid and sharp. “The f-ing Snow Monster.” He tosses a frustrated hand into the air. “Would it kill him to let us train these a-holes somewhere nicer? Like a place nicknamed after something pleasant?! Like cookies. Or chocolates. Or pizza.”
“So…food?”
“Anything in the food category is much more welcomed than having to spend the next six weeks training operatives to survive Snowmageddon.”
Six weeks?!
My husband is going to be gone for six weeks, got a two-day notice, and of those two days I’ve barely seen him one?!
What did I do to deserve this lump of coal?
This mountain of coal that won’t stop stacking?
Did I accidentally cut Santa off in traffic?
Assign a hit squad to go all Violent Night on his vacation home?
God, I love that movie.
“Mommy!” Lu and Lair Bear shout in unison, yanking me off the Spiral Express. “Our turn!”
Without saying another word to Blu, I cross over to where they’re waiting to dig their tiny hands into the bucket of oats to feed the seemingly happy reindeer. As soon as I arrive, Cassie walks us through the process once more, wanting the girls along with myself, to be mindful of the animals that are friendly but likely still overwhelmed by the continuous changes in their new lives.
They’re not the only ones.
Between Slater’s training assignments coming in closer and closer together and his lack of being around for more than just a few moments here or there, I find myself wishing I had someone to pet my head, tell me I’m pretty, and offer me a handful of sticky treats to cope with the life overload that I too can’t control.
I’ll happily take a bag of Skittles now.
Sour ones if you’ve got them.
Chapter 3
Slater
Department stores are not the best location for evasion tactics.
For either party.
Ducking and dodging sharp display corners while doing your best not to run face first into clothing racks or people crowding the aisles isn’t exactly the straight shot shit one would hope for in this scenario.
Then again…maybe we should conduct some sort of training exercise using these parameters.
I should have Angel Cake do a risk analysis regarding how many children go missing from these environments to see if advanced tactical preparation would be beneficial.
At the very fucking least, running courses on it could keep me home for longer.
Lord knows I’m not looking forward to being gone for six weeks immediately after Christmas.
Which I still need to tell her about.
Part of me is hoping that rescuing this kid will somehow cushion the blow with concrete proof about why me leaving to train others for so long is worth it.
Not that she needs proof.
I think I do.
Hopping over another knocked down mannequin display doesn’t deter my focus from the target. Steadily sprinting after the individual – who’s surprisingly swift on his feet – leads us to the pair of sliding glass doors I predict he’s going to go out of. While being on the defense of the situation is where it all began, I know the only way to turn the tables in my favor is to stop.
Reassess.
Abandon following and reevaluate where he’s heading.
What’s his endgame.
Where is his endgame.
The attacker looks over his shoulders to see me slowing down and flashes me an arrogant smirk I look forward to punching away. “Too slow, Old Man!”
Around training with recruits, training with Kolby – an NHL fucking All Star – and having to keep up with twin preschoolers, I am far from slow.
Hell, I can still outperform the majority of those I’m in charge of instructing.
It’s why the other numbers keep trying to have Seventeen convince me to come out of retirement.
And in spite of the relentless pressure he faces from them, he doesn’t push me to.
He respects that I’ve made a choice.
That I always choose to put those who matter most to me first.
While he will never be on the growing list of people I love, he’s at least no longer on the ones I hate.
And that’s sayin’ something.
Hustling off to the left side allows me to press my back against the nearby wall as I watch which direction, he’s jogging off to. Rather than immediately follow, I wait for a small group that’s exiting and use them for cover. Dropping down to a low crouch behind the last shoppers provides me with the camouflage I need to slip out unseen. Cold winter air ruthlessly slaps me in the face, doing its best to convince me to go back to where it’s warm, to avoid pushing onward, yet the sting doesn’t register.