Page 25 of Taken by the Lawman

“For a price, I’m sure. How much?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.

“Five hundred. Where should we meet?”

“In the parking garage of Calbre Plaza Hotel. Familiar with it? You should be. Isn’t that your stomping ground?”

“I’ll be there at nine P.M.” Deegan clicked off.

Kiersten looked at him in shock. “You nailed that one.”

“I’ve seen his type. He thrives on the adrenaline rush.”

“Wait…I’m getting a call.”

He watched her grab her phone from her purse and answer. As she talked, her brows scrunched and her mouth twisted. Once she clicked off, she blew out a long breath through the corner of her mouth. “That was Abby who works with the pathologist who did Annie Steele’s autopsy. I asked her to call if anything suspicious came up on the preliminaries. They found traces of fentanyl in the syringe. Here’s another thing…she had bruising on her scalp up in her hairline above her temple that matches the size of the muzzle of a gun. It looks like our aide did have a story to tell.”

*

The man clicked off and resisted the urge to smash the disposable phone onto the table. No, he couldn’t do that, not yet. He could walk away, forget the pictures, but he didn’t like being played a fool. It angered him, and yet he found it comical that the dipshit scammer wanted his drugs so badly that he was willing to risk the same fate as his friend in the alley.

Thrumming his fingers on the table, he didn’t enjoy the extra mile to get his pictures back, but he did like the thought of erasing another fucked-up human from the face of the earth.

Standing, he crossed the space of the attic of the boarding house where he’d been staying for six months and braced his fingers on the doorframe, testing it for sturdiness. He did two hundred lifts, liking the bittersweet ache in his muscles. Sweat slicked his naked body and his breathing was labored, making him feel rejuvenated. He thrived on pain. Pounding his fists against his chest, he smiled at his reflection in the full-length mirror, then gave his biceps a proud flex.

He’d come a long way from the scrawny kid who was bullied for his acne, dirty clothes, and trashy house on that backroad in hill jack country. He’d show them all. He was a man who would lead the world in erasing the scum.

If the military taught him anything it was how to kill a man twenty different ways, leaving no sign that he was there. He couldn’t account for his mates, unfortunately. They were idiots who botched up jobs. Why didn’t he do the mission himself?

It wasn’t that he enjoyed killing people as much as he liked the idea of ridding the country of trash. That was his duty.

Tonight, he’d be prepared to complete the circle.

Picking up the phone, he dialed a number he knew by heart, and when it was answered, he said, “I’m sorry to bother you but I wanted to let you know that the mission is almost complete…yes…I’ll bring the pictures to you tonight.” He hung up, dropped the phone to the wooden floor and smashed it with his boot. He’d learned to never keep any evidence.

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