Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
"The fuck," I mutter when I see Tristan Vanderbilt's name. It's been a while since we touched base. We worked together at one time. I wouldn't call him a friend. I don't have those. But I do have a level of trust with him, and I'm getting the sense he wants a favor, and he wants it now. I do owe him for a chunk of the tech he has supplied me. Fuck, I hope there isn't an issue with that.
I send off an alert that my job is complete before tossing the phone out the window. I don't pull out another until I hit the mountains. I ditch the truck in an old mining station and toss my shit into the back of the SUV I left here before changing the plates out. Lots of planning goes into these jobs. Hitting the target is probably the easiest part, if I’m being honest.
I pull away from the truck before getting back out to wipe it down before setting it ablaze. You can never be too careful. I don't want anyone tracking me. Not even the government, and that's who I do most of my jobs for. I freelance from time to time. Shit gets boring, and you need a change every now and then.
I go east, deeper into the mountains until I hit another highway before I finally stop at a gas station in a small town. I pull my hat lower before entering, not spotting any cameras. I get a Coke and a couple of protein bars. It will hold me over for now.
The clerk pays me no attention, focusing on the small screen and watching a game as I toss the bills onto the counter and don't wait for change.
I let out a deep breath when my alert goes off again. Only a few people can force one through.
"Fucking hell, man, I'm in the middle of a job," I tell him when I answer.
"I've got a job for you." I catch a man coming around the corner of the gas station out of the corner of my eye, his attention on me.
"I don't need a job," I tell him.
"Got any change?" I turn slightly to face him. He's got two-hundred-dollar sneakers on.
"No." I turn back away.
"Fuck you, then," he says. I shake my head and turn back around and clock him. He drops.
"Are you listening to me?" Tristan asks, having the audacity to be irritated with me.
"Spit it out." I take a bite of the protein bar, and it's shit. I toss it into the trash before getting back into my vehicle.
"I need you to check out a location for me."
"Seriously?" Unless this is in a secure building, why would he need me, and that's not really my specialty. I kill people. I'll wait for them to leave the secure building.
"Yes, I'm fucking serious," he snaps out. Interesting. This must be about the girl. Tristan is calm for the most part. Until he's not. People underestimate him. When he's in a suit, he's got the whole Clark Kent thing happening. He blends in well.
Me, not so much.
"Where?"
"Colorado." I pause. Does he know where I am?
"Are you tracking me?"
"No, should I be?"
"If you want to end up dead, sure."
Tristen ignores my threat. “I need you to make this a priority.” It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that he’s not really asking. He expects me to drop whatever I’m doing. I can hear the edge in his voice. He always has one, but this is different.
“Are you going to give me the details or make me guess what this is about?” I have an idea already, but I want to get him to say it. It’s the girl.
It’s always the fucking girl when it comes to men. I have made sure that will never be the reason I get popped because we all know when you want to find a man you’re searching for, you follow the love interest.
“I’m sending a file to you now that has everything you need in it, but that’s part of the problem. I don’t know who is on the other end of these messages, but I know it’s not an old lady that died months ago.”
"And why do you want to know who is at this location?"
"Does it matter?"
"If you want me to kill them, it might."
"I'm not sure. First I need to know who it is." He pauses. "They have been in contact with a person close to me, and this person is trying to keep me from finding out."
"Does this person close to you have information that can get out, and is this target trying to get it from her?” Oh, I let the word her drop on purpose.
“I never said this was about a female.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The line goes quiet for a beat. “When did you start asking so many questions?” Fuck, he does have me there. Why do I give a shit? It’s a job. Well, a favor really, but I do owe him.