Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Don’t let Doc hear you complain, is all I’m saying,” I said. “I got a lecture from him about patience and not trying to walk before I can crawl.”
Tanner snorted and shut his locker too. He’d changed into workout clothes. “Sounds like Coach. He told me to get ready for a year of boredom.”
Funny how they hadn’t really told us that during training.
“I’m out. Pizza when you get back?” He held out his fist.
I bumped it with mine and nodded.
After I’d completed all my tasks, I headed to the elevators and ran into Coach on the way.
He was carrying a big stack of printouts and didn’t look happy.
“Hey, sir. What’s that?” I asked.
“Applications,” he yawned.
Oh. Right. New recruits coming in August.
I tapped my card in the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor.
It was bizarre to think about. A year ago, my name had been in that pile. I’d been nervous waiting for their call. I remembered the interviews and how I’d done my best to come off as…well, a living person.
I wasn’t that man anymore.
So much had happened.
I hadn’t felt dead since Fredericksburg, and I’d come out on the other side with a boyfriend, a prosperous future, and a whole new family.
Fucking nuts.
I smiled a little to myself.
I had purpose now. And everything to fight for.
“You off on your briefing?” Coach asked.
“Yessir.”
The elevator stopped where he was getting off, and he stepped out and looked back at me. “Welcome to the rest of your life, kid. It’s one briefing after another.”
I grinned and nodded with a dip of my chin. Maybe he’d meant that as a joke, considering most seemed to find briefings boring, but I suddenly had so much excitement in my stomach that I didn’t know how to contain it.
This was my life now. I was a Hillcroft operator, and I had a briefing to go to.
It’d taken months and months of groundwork to ensure Omar Said’s whereabouts next weekend. Not only that, but the op was being funded by the CIA—on the condition that we took care of two of Said’s closest, too. So, there’d been a lot of dominoes that needed to fall perfectly to make this happen, even more so because nobody wanted this to go down on US soil.
Another operator came in, looking like he was clinging to his Monday vibes by inhaling coffee.
We exchanged a chin nod before he tapped his card and pressed the top floor.
’Sup. I have a briefing to go to. What about you?
I suppressed my snicker and shook my head. I could be such a dork. But whatever. The elevator stopped again, and it was my turn to get off. ’Cause I had a briefing.
Welcome to the rest of your life, kid.
I scrubbed a hand over my mouth to hide the grin.
This was it.
This was the rest of my life.
Minutes later, I was sitting in a conference room—or briefing room? I took my spot at the oval table, and I said hello to Kyle Finlay, our pilot, and I was introduced to our logistics coordinator for the case.
“All right, everyone have a seat,” Bo said. “Let’s get started.”