Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
What he wouldn’t have is someone who knew where Jensen hid the data. It wasn’t on his laptop or his gaming system. It was hidden in the wall behind carefully smoothed out wallpaper. No one would be able to see it. So if they came, they might still be here.
He was starting to move back, the wind whipping around him, when the door came open and Phil stood there, a pistol in his hands.
“I think you should come in, Jensen. It’s time we had a talk. Where’s the fed?” Phil asked.
Jensen put his hands up, letting Phil know he wasn’t holding a weapon. Now he kind of hoped it was some kind of police helo flying over the building. Not that they would be here for him. How did Phil know about Jack? “What are you talking about?”
He practically had to shout the question. The noise was that loud, and then it began to lessen. The helicopter was moving away. Whatever it needed to do seemed to be finished.
Phil’s head gestured to the apartment. “Get the fuck inside. This place is a hellhole, but someone might still call the cops. And I’m talking about Special Agent Jack O’Malley. Little fucker tricked me. I never suspected he was a fed.”
His stomach threatened to turn, but he moved into the doorway because it wasn’t like there was anywhere to run. There was one path out, and he didn’t think Phil would miss with those odds. There was nothing to do but hope Jack figured out something was wrong. Hands held high, he moved from the light into the gloom of his apartment. It was cramped and nondescript, with nothing of himself in the crappy furniture or neutral colors.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only Jack I know is Jack Cameron, the bartender.”
Phil snorted. “Sure. Hey, Billy, go check the parking lot. If you see the fed, kill him.”
Jensen turned to try to get to the door. He could shout for Jack to run, anything to warn him.
He heard a cracking sound and then felt the bite of a dart hitting his skin, and then he wasn’t thinking about anything but how his every muscle seemed to seize. He fell to the ground because his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. His head hit the carpet, and he shook and shook, the pain overwhelming him, and he thought for a moment his heart was going to stop and all he could think of was the last thing he would have done for the woman he loved was leaving her. Harlow might never find out what happened to him. She might never know the truth. That he wanted to change, wanted to be who she needed him to be.
After a moment the fire in his muscles ceased but the shaking didn’t.
“What the hell was that noise above us?” a deep voice asked. “It sounded like a helicopter.”
Jensen knew that voice, and if his muscles would move, he would be on his feet ready to attack the bastard.
Cliff Hamilton stood above him.
“I don’t know. The traffic is bad today,” Phil said with a sneer as he looked down at Jensen. He’d mistaken the gun in his hand. It was a taser, the darts connecting the two of them so Phil could send another shockwave through Jensen at any time. “It’s probably the local radio station. They’re always reporting on the crappy traffic. They’re gone now and like I told you, I made sure the surrounding units are empty during the day. No one cares what we do here.”
Hamilton stared down at him with deep-set eyes, a frown on his face. “I want that fed dead. It was part of my deal. I need to present my friends with a body. If I don’t, they can bring hell down on my head.”
Shit. They had someone inside the FBI. It explained how they figured out where he lived and that he was on his way in. Jack had called and talked to several people on his team, getting things ready for the meeting that was supposed to occur this morning. But Hamilton would know all about it and be done with him and on his way out of town before they had a chance to miss Jack.
“So this is the asshole who’s been following me?” Hamilton was a big guy, at least six foot five, with a dark beard and steely eyes. He might have been handsome if his depravity didn’t show on his face. “What the hell did I do to him?”
He didn’t even know.
“He probably can’t tell you. This thing is modified somewhat from its original state. It gives it a little kick,” Phil said with a chuckle.
Hamilton looked his way. “Then how the fuck is he supposed to tell me where I can find what he was about to hand over to the feds if he can’t talk?”