Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
I press my palms against my eyes. “You do realize that as soon as it’s out, they’re going to know we’ve figured out their game?” I am already calculating their strategy. “That means we get right on the road and head to the cabin. They’ll find the tracker where we leave it. Then we just have to hope no one’s following you as an extra precaution.” But I’m not holding out hope.
I’ll just have my team meet us there.
“So you’ll do it?” she asks me hopefully.
I incline my head. “You’re not giving me a choice. Besides, we don’t want to lead them to the formula before we can get it or a copy of it to safety. We at least want a head start. We just need to move fast.”
She expels a harsh breath, then clasps her hand tight in mine. “I’m okay,” she whispers, more to herself than to me.
But she doesn’t let go of my hand, and I am grateful to be her rock when she needs it.
I turn to Jonah. “Cabin address? Please?” I add, because I sense the older man is not comfortable sharing his personal information.
“Fine.” He rattles off the address and directions, which include off-road markers and indicators he put in himself. Because he is that far off the grid.
“But whoever’s following you can’t come in by car because I have a booby trap set up that’ll disable their vehicle.”
“What kind of trap?” I ask.
“You know those spikes they have at rental car companies? The ones that require signs that say Do Not Back Up Severe Tire Damage?”
“Yes?” Talia asks warily.
“Well, those are set to activate unless it’s me coming through with my remote to deactivate them first.” He shrugs as if it is completely normal. “A man can’t be too careful.”
Or paranoid. Jesus. “Can my guys get in by helo?” I ask, knowing Ian is going to shit a brick at the cost because there is no way I am letting any of this become a billable expense.
As far as I am concerned, this is personal.
Jonah nods. “Just watch out for my trees. But we’ll get those bastards,” he says, suddenly warming to the idea. The man is nothing if not mercurial.
But I can’t worry about the good doctor. I have my own issues to deal with, and those include removing a tracker from beneath Talia’s skin. And I am not looking forward to hurting her. Not for any reason.
* * *
Shane
Immediately after leaving Starbucks, I call Ian with the cabin coordinates and address. Unfortunately, the team is over a good four hours out. If we are lucky. Which means I am on my own.
At Target, Talia and I pick up supplies so I can at least sterilize her skin and complete the chip removal as carefully and safely as possible. Then we lock ourselves in a family bathroom. Jonah, meanwhile, says he has an errand to run and will meet us back at the spot we left the car in the parking lot, to lead the way to his cabin.
The bathroom is small, but not as tiny as a stall, and there is no chance of anyone walking in on us. Talia hasn’t said a word since we locked ourselves in, and I am too busy giving myself a pep talk about the upcoming surgery to have a conversation.
With shaking hands, I open the bag of supplies and lay a pair of scissors, small razor blade, alcohol, and gauze pads on the counter. Bandages follow.
“I don’t want to do this,” I mutter, not for the first time.
“Come on. You’ve seen bullet wounds, right? It’ll be fine,” she says, her voice about as steady as my hands.
I shake my head, my admiration for her rising exponentially with every passing minute. “You’re badass, Ms. Smarty-Pants.”
She grins. “Desperate times and all that.”
She draws a deep breath and pulls the waistband of her pants down to her knees. Looking down, she pats the muscled area below her hip, near her buttocks. “Son of a bitch. Here.” She grabs my fingertip and presses it against her flesh where a tiny raised area can be felt but not seen.
I nod, breaking into a sweat. Am I really going to do this? I am. I wash my hands with antibacterial soap, then douse the small blade in alcohol.
“Why don’t you sit?” That way, if it hurts, she won’t pass out from a standing position.
Nausea fills me, but I know the faster I work, the better off we’ll both be.
She sits, her side facing me, her hands in tight fists.
“Keep breathing,” I tell her.
She manages a short nod. “Just do it.”
I draw a steadying breath. With the blade, I make a tiny cut, pressing down hard enough to break skin.
She sucks in a breath. Lets out a squeak of pain, her real noises being held back, I know. I swallow a wave of nausea and keep working.