Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
We walk toward the old house as quickly as we can without making noise. A lone cricket chirp can be heard as we stalk toward our target.
When we reach the house, I nod to Brett and then I slip away from the others. My heart pounds in my ears as I slink toward the back of the house, aiming for the window that is always slightly ajar. With a pair of gloves on, I raise the window up farther. The hinges groan faintly under the strain, but it’s a soft sound, almost drowned out by the cricket.
I carefully climb through the opening into the kitchen, wincing as a splinter of old wood pierces through my forearm just above the gloves I’m wearing. Damn! I don’t need my blood here as evidence, but I can’t do anything about it now. I flick on my pocket flashlight and cast the low beam around the room. The prick from the wood is shallow, and the blood is only a trickle. I quickly wipe it away with the bottom of my shirt and move forward. I assume Larson’s in bed, which means I need to locate his bedroom and inject him before he hears me.
I draw in a deep breath.
I can do this.
Brett and the others are depending on me.
It’s a small house, and luck is on my side. The first door I crack open is Larson’s. I blink as my eyes adjust to the darkness. He’s in bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. A snore escapes from his parted lips. I freeze for an instant before pushing forward.
With my back pressed against the wall, I reach into my pocket and pull out the syringe. I take my time, moving with care and precision. The old wooden floorboards occasionally creak under my weight, but Larson doesn’t stir. I heave a silent sigh of relief.
As I approach his bedside, I pause. His stubbly chin is tilted toward his chest. His face, even in sleep, looks hardened—etched with time and wrinkles that seem more a result of his nastiness than of sun exposure and age.
I shake off any uncertainty that threatens to creep in. This is for our future. For our freedom.
Hesitation is not an option.
I plunge the syringe into his weathered arm and press down on the plunger with steady determination.
Larson stirs in his sleep, and I hold my breath. However, instead of waking, he simply mumbles something inaudible and resumes his steady breathing. A wave of relief washes over me like cooling rain after a sweltering day.
I tuck the empty syringe back into my pocket and step away from his bedside. With Larson now safely drugged, the path is clear for Brett and the others to do their work.
I return to the window and signal to them with a quick flash from my pocket flashlight. In response, a similar flash comes from outside. They’ve seen my signal. Now we wait fifteen minutes for the drug to take effect.
And then we’ll continue.
Present Day…
“This is bullshit,” I say. “It should be easy enough to trace who sent Rachel and Ginger anonymous threats. The fact that they feel they were unsafe here…” I gaze out over the horizon, my heart pounding.
Rachel.
Fuck, I thought we had something. But she went running into Ginger’s arms, so I have to let her go. Emily and I have something better anyway.
But threats?
I can’t let those go.
“If I knew who sent them, I’d tell you.” Brett looks toward the crashing waves of the ocean.
“I’ve got a pretty damned good idea,” I offer dryly.
Brett meets my gaze in the moonlight. “Riv, we can’t know for sure that Misty is behind this.”
I simply shake my head at him. I can’t say anything, because Alex and Seb don’t know about Brett’s feelings for Jake and why he wants to get to know Misty. I sigh. Brett and I are going to have a “come to Jesus” talk as soon as I can get him alone.
The moon’s glow ripples across the water, illuminating Brett’s troubled expression. He runs a hand through his windswept hair.
“I’m with Riv,” Alex says. “This has Misty written all over it. You’ve got that date with her tomorrow evening, Brett. You’re going to need to get as much information out of her as you can.”
Brett sighs again and turns his gaze back to the water. “We can’t immediately assume the worst of her. She might be innocent.”
“Or she could be a psychopath,” Seb says.
His offhand comment earns him a glare from Brett and an amused snort from Alex.
I don’t respond. Why should I? They all know what I think.
I agree with Seb.
“I’ll do my best to get the truth tomorrow, guys, but I’m not exactly an interrogation expert.” Brett kicks at the sand beneath his feet, sending a small shower of tiny pebbles skittering towards the water’s edge.