Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
That everything is okay.
That everything is going to be okay.
Just like it always is.
After agreeing in the form of a small nod, I steal a glance at the side mirror just in time to see a black, luxury SUV drift over into our lane. While there’s a white sportscar spaced between the two of us, its small size doesn’t act as a substantial shield from what could easily be an enemy’s vehicle.
Paranoia has me pressing my curly, blond wig covered head slightly harder against the window.
Holding my breath and squinting like it’s magically going to give me better vision.
We arrive at a stoplight, which is when the vehicle I’m watching cuts over into the turn lane, allowing them an open opportunity to pull up directly beside us.
Open fire.
Attack.
Make an attempt to grab me and drive off.
Instinct has my left hand reaching for the weapon wedged between the seat and console; however, the second the SUV appears directly in view, relief immediately washes over me alongside a deep exhale. Seeing a couple clearly arguing about a GPS misunderstanding – considering how they keep pointing to the screen in the middle – threatens to make me smile much like the small child fast asleep in the backseat.
I remember my parents always argued over directions whenever we traveled.
They’d do their best not to yell yet the whispered snipping was for some reason much worse.
Although, those spats often ended with me getting a Kit Kat bar.
And I love Kit Kat bars.
“Can we get a Kit Kat bar on the way home?” I ask at the same time I cut my driving boyfriend a glance. “I’m…suddenly…having a craving.”
“You sure that’s the ‘break’ your craving, Rabbit?” questions Mutt on a waggling of his eyebrows. “”Cause I’m more than happy to break you off a piece of somethin’ else.”
“The bear mace threat I made early in our relationship still stands.”
He lightly chuckles and adjusts the aviator sunglasses blocking most of his face.
Out of the three of us, he lucked out on easy disguises.
Gray sweats.
Gym bag.
Aviator sunglasses.
Garcia described the whole look to be “midlife marriage crisis” which I then enhanced with a “mistress persona” of a blond wig, getting rid of my tongue ring, a mini sweater dress – that I swear my ass can literally be seen in – thigh high boots, a set of fake butterfly tattoos on the back of my legs as well as an Audrey Hepburn pair of black sunglasses and matching oversized hat.
I look like something out of a very badly cast b movie.
And so does The Kid.
He’s playing the role of young personal assistant to our boyfriend in a very expensive attire that’s complete with the overly gelled back hair, “trendy” sunglasses and “keeping your life together” tablet. Said device is actually doubling as a secure communication outlet to Garcia to keep him informed of our whereabouts, notable discoveries, and literal eyes on the situation.
No one is taking being this far from home lightly.
Especially not me.
Our right turn at the next light is followed by a left into a medical strip center beside a hospital about three minutes down the road.
The lack of suspicious activity during our drive is both relieving and unsettling.
It’s not that I want us to be followed or attacked, it’s just that anytime we momentarily believe we aren’t is the moment when someone strikes.
We have to keep our guards up.
Every step of the way.
Upon getting out of the cherry red Range Rover that matches my lipstick, Nolan drapes an arm around my shoulder, adding an extra amount of cover, during our walk across the parking lot.
“Brights on, Kid,” our boyfriend mutters under his breath. “To your right.”
Kipp lifts the device with the camera option on and loudly pretends to be working, “Mr. Toretto, your accountant wants to know if this is the right amount?”
I poorly stifle my snicker over Nolan’s grumble, “Really? Toretto?”
“Is this wrong?” Amusement dances freely in his voice at the same time he hits the capture button. “Did you not spend this amount on massages in L.A. last weekend?”
The person in the distance seems to pay no attention to us allowing their faked conversation to fade more into a background noise level. “L.A.?” We step onto the curb in tandem. “Are you really just gonna pull everything you can from those movies?”
“Absolutely.” His smug smirk precedes him rushing to open the door for us. “That’s the only way this is going to be fun for me.”
Kipp not only holds it, but he also cleverly snaps shots of those already inside. Getting them over to Garcia who will get them over to his P.I. and tech person to search through for suspicious people with any possible ties directly to Brad or ties to the bounty hunters or cops who have bothered us is the secondary part of this mission, with the first of course being to discover if I’ve physically got any sort of tracker in my body.