Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
His green eyes darken with awareness. “Agent Banks,” he greets. “I see you remain safely sheltered from that hitlist, though might I suggest, you not present yourself in obvious places where you might be targeted?”
“That would be my preference, however Darius and I set-up a way to communicate. He missed our check-in. I’m worried. I came to dig around and see if there is anything at all on his desk that tells where to look for him or what the heck is going on.”
“He missed his check-in with me, too. I’ve got a couple of agents coming in to help me track him down.”
And there it is. The confirmation that whoever killed Darius took his body. Which tells me they know just how much heat killing a federal agent gets them and they’re buying time.
“Okay, then. That’s not good news.”
“No. No, I do not think it’s good news. Sounds like you still don’t know what this is about.”
“I don’t, but obviously, there’s a connection to me and Darius.”
“You knew there was a hitlist. Do you know who’s on it?”
“I don’t.” It’s a lie or mostly a lie, but it’s also the survival of the fittest. Don’t sing to those you do not trust, thank you, Kurt.
“Then how do you know there’s a hitlist?” he presses.
“Jake called and told me right before he was murdered.” Mike knows Jake from a few training sessions our team did at The Ranch years back.
He arches a brow. “Jake is dead?”
I don’t offer more than a simple, “Yes.”
“What does he have to do with Darius?”
“I have no idea. It makes no sense. I was hoping you might know.”
“It’s not my job to know. It’s yours.” He motions to the desk. “Look around, then come to my office and let’s talk about what the hell is going on.”
He moves toward me and I step aside, placing space between me and him, and turning to watch him exit. Only he doesn’t immediately exit. He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me. “Just to be clear, agent. I know you’re not telling me everything there is to tell. We’ll be remedying that before you leave the building.” He smirks slightly and then turns and walks out of the room.
I dart toward the door, shut it, and do so with zero intention of talking to him before I leave. At the very least, I do not trust Mike’s judgment. That’s enough to worry me. I sit down at Darius’s desk, hunt through his files, take photos, and come up dry, at least at first glance. I stand up, look around, and eye the picture on the wall of him with his late Irish Setter, Ricky. If there was any place he’d keep something special, it would be with Ricky. I walk to the photo, feel around it, and come up dry. As a last shot, I remove it from the wall and open the frame. Bingo. There’s something taped on the cardboard. I pull it free and find a fishhook, a laugh falling from my lips.
It's a clue meant for me.
That man and his fishing spots. If I find the right one, I’ll find his insurance and my answers. Hope fills me that answers might be nearby. I replace the frame’s setting and hang it on the wall. Now it’s time to get the hell out of here. I crack open the door, find my path clear, and quickly head down the hallway. Seconds later, I am rounding the corner, but stop dead in my tracks when I find Agent Murphy and my boss huddled up in conversation at the elevator.
I flatten on the wall, and hear, “She’s here?” Murphy asks urgently. “What are you going to do?”
Mike’s reply is not a good one. “It’s being handled,” he states.
Now, all of this could be innocent, but I have to assume it’s anything but. I slip back down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell, and by the time I’ve gently shut the door, I’m texting Luke. I’m coming down the stairs. Meet me at the doorway. I don’t wait for his reply.
I run downward and when I’m at the door, I reach under my pants, pull my weapon and turn the knob. When the door is open, the coast is clear, but I don’t know for how long. I jog toward the main walkway, look left and right, and then left again toward the exit. Agent Ryker, who is a few months new to our team, a transfer from New York, is just entering the doorway, and immediately turns to talk to someone. Ryker is thirty-something, cocky, nosy, and a womanizer. He insulted me one moment and asked me out the next. If I’m sizing up the crowd here today, he is not one of the good guys.
I slide my gun into the back of my pants, where it’s readily accessible, but easily hidden, as whoever Ryker is chatting with joins him. That’s when I realize that person is Luke, and he’s holding two coffees. “Hi, baby,” Luke greets. “Sorry it took so long. The coffee shop messed your coffee order up two times. Ryker was going to walk me to your office.”