More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Sam wanted to stop cutting off heads and find the creature's heart, but there was almost no evidence as to where that heart might be. They knew there was something big behind the drug operations in the city, but it was so well organized and so carefully designed that no one seemed to have any idea where or how to find it.
“I know, I know, but hear me out. The only time they ever go make a drop or get money is right after they're on Facebook. I think maybe the stuff that's being said on there is some sort of code or somethin', a way to let 'em know when and where, y'know?”
“I'm so glad I've got you on my flank,” he said softly. “I wouldn't trust one of those yahoos with my dog's life, and I ain't even got a dog.”
The four of them droned on for quite a while, but Sam caught the gist of it. As long as he cooperated and did what the nice doctors wanted him to do, he'd get paid to stay home and take it easy. Since he couldn't be a cop anymore, that was fine with him; maybe he could finally get the Corvette out and drive it. It would be months before he was out of the wheelchair anyway.
Without being a cop, Sam Prichard wasn't really all that sure who he was. He was told that he'd have to go to a therapy group once a week, some deal about how to cope when you're no longer on the force, so he figured he could let his feelings out there, some. He knew some guys didn't like to talk at those shindigs, but he wasn't gonna be one of them. He was losing a big part of his identity, and he needed help to cope with that, so he would take advantage of whatever was offered.
At six months, he was starting to walk around a bit without the cane, and that's when he broke down and bought himself a motorcycle. His legs were strong enough to hold him up at stoplights, and it was something he'd always enjoyed but never felt he had time for, so this was his chance. It felt good, and he noticed that he was even being checked out by some girls now and then.
He came to the conclusion that motorcycle dates weren't all they were cracked up to be, and stopped paying a lot of attention to the girls who flirted when he was on two wheels.
After a while, though, it was nice to be able to wave hello and goodbye to neighbors who were more than just a face you recognized as someone on your street, or to stop and talk to someone while he was mowing his grass. The first time he’d heard mowers outside his own window and looked out to see two of his neighbors out there, one on a mower and another running a weed-eater along his fence and walkways, it had brought him to tears.
Everyone in the neighborhood could do something that someone else would need at one time or another, and so it became a kind of “pay it forward” situation.
The “swap thing,” as he called it, had given him a lot of purpose, and he enjoyed it.
“What trouble?” Dan asked. “I can talk to my old partner all I want to, and anyone don't like it can kiss my patootie!”
Remember I used to gripe all the time that some of these drug dealers were using Facebook? Well, there's a whole new website out there, and on the surface it's nothing, but there's a back end to it that seems to be how these guys are making their deals without leaving a trace.
Indie looked at him for a long moment. “I've had offers like this before, man. I'll admit I'm pretty desperate, and you're not exactly ugly, but I'm not into anything really weird, got that? So, I mean, as long as you don't want anything kinky, then—well, maybe...”
A little blonde head came into view for a moment, and then he saw the little girl's face light up when she saw food. Apparently burritos were high on her list of things she liked to eat, and Indie had bought her two of them.
“There's something about a cup of coffee that you didn't make yourself that always tastes better, you know?” he said, and Indie laughed.
The stuff they give you in the shelters is some kind of acid; there's a theory that it's designed to dissolve the homeless, so that society won't have to deal with them anymore.”
Indie froze and looked at him for a moment. “You mentioned something yesterday, about housekeeping in exchange for room and board. Is that offer on the table? I keep the place clean, and me and Kenzie get to stay here?”
His mother seemed slightly offended. “Well, if that's what you want, then I guess that's fine, Sam, but do you really know this girl? She isn't some stray you picked up, is she, cause you know how you always used to bring home stray dogs and cats all the time, and it was always so heartbreaking for you when we had to get rid of them.”
Sam stood there for a moment as Levi walked away, then turned and made his way back through the store. Part of him wanted to get angry at that guy, make him pay for what happened that day, but he was just the source of the information. He didn't get the warrant, he didn't orchestrate the raid, he didn't do anything but let Carlson's people know that there was a major shipment due in, giving them a good chance to make a major dent in the local drug operations.
He was pretty sure he'd just spoken to one of the actual heads of the Hydra that ran the drug operation they'd been trying for years to shut down, and there was no doubt in his mind that the man he'd just talked to could order his death with a single phone call.
I may not know you all that well, but I do kinda like you, and I don't wanna see you get hurt.
I wrote to him and told him I was pregnant, and he called me the night he got the letter, all excited. He said he wanted to get married as soon as he got out of AIT, which would have been in five more months, but then he was killed in an accident during his training. He hadn't even gotten a chance to make any provision for me or the baby, so I was SOL and all on my own.”
Indie giggled. “Okay, but I'm gonna lay it on thick whenever anyone's lookin', so you better have some good self-control. Now, what about Cassie? When is she supposed to be coming home?”
Indie giggled as she carried Kenzie up the stairs, and Sam smiled as he watched her go. He had to admit that it was a very pleasant view.
There was still plenty he could give them, in the “lower-level staff” the letter spoke of, but by leaving out names like Ingersoll's, he could eliminate any risk to Indie and her daughter, thereby also eliminating the need to pretend she was his girlfriend. Sam wasn't sure he liked that.
Indie looked at him for a moment, then turned to Kenzie. “You hear that, baby? You want your own bedroom?” Kenzie lit up like a light bulb, and Sam grinned from ear to ear. They talked all through breakfast about the kind of canopy bed Kenzie would like to have, and what Disney characters were her favorites for decorating her new room. Sam wondered if this was anything like what it would have felt like if he'd had a family of his own, and finally decided that he didn’t care. He was just going to enjoy it while he could.
No one, no matter how they complain that someone made them do something, or that they got trapped into doing something, no one ever does anything they don’t want to do.
Indie smiled. “Okay. You just stay in close touch with me, okay? I'm gonna be worried about you.” Sam grinned. “I'm tougher than I look, I promise you,” he said. “You don't have to worry about me.” She winked at him. “Worrying is a girlfriend's prerogative, Sam, and don't you forget it!”
She stood up and looked him in the eye for moment, staring up at his six foot one from her “five foot nothing,” as he'd put it, then reached up and grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him down for a kiss. It wasn't a passionate kiss, it was just a kiss, but there was a hint in it that there could be more, if he played his cards right.
“Sweetie—it might be just barely possible that we've found the nicest guy there is! How would you feel about having Sam for a Daddy?”
Uh-oh, Indie thought. I hope she forgets that before he gets home!
Sam had thought his working days were over, and he'd certainly never thought he'd be doing any kind of investigative work again. When Mrs. Ward had come to him about Cassie, his instinct was to consider it beyond his ability to find the girl, but in essence, he had done just that. She was home safe because he'd done what had to be done.
A part of him thought that they made a great team, and he had already decided to offer her more pay to help with any further cases he might get. That might get her to stay longer, anyway, and he was ready to admit to himself that he really liked having her and Kenzie around.
Down, boy, he said to himself. He'd already realized that Indie was very pretty, but watching her go up the stairs the night before had made him admit that he found her sexy as could be, too. That little wiggle of hers was something few men could ever fail to admire, and he wasn't one of them! He could watch that all day long, but it only led to thoughts of other things that he'd promised not to try, so he made himself behave as long as she was around.
Sam was a very nice guy, and she had already come to realize that she was very attracted to him, but she wasn't sure how he felt about her. Okay, yeah, she could tell he thought she was cute, and she knew he was watching her go up the stairs the night before, which gave her a tingle if she was going to be honest, but was he actually interested in her, or just in her femaleness? He was a man, after all, so she needed to be careful not to give him the wrong signals, and not to read his wrong, either.
Sam's gonna be amazed at how much I got, she thought, and I bet he likes it all, too. Maybe it'll show him I'm worth his notice…
A part of him was feeling bad for not telling her she didn't have to play the girlfriend after all, but another part wanted to keep it going as long as possible.
“Well—I was just gonna ask, does it bother you, having to pretend we're, y'know, an item?” She hesitated for a moment, and Sam cringed, afraid of what she was about to say, but then she said, “No, I don't mind. I mean, you’re a good-lookin' guy, so we probably look nice together, y'know, and you're so good to me and Kenzie. I mean, it wouldn't bother me, y'know, if we had to—if we had to keep it up for a while, y'know?” Sam was smiling and nodding into the phone. “Okay, good, cause I think maybe, if you're okay with it, I think maybe we should keep it this way for a while, maybe even quite a
...more
He drove until he had to stop for gas, and then grabbed food for him and Rice. They ate on the fly, wolfing down their sandwiches and fries, guzzling the cokes that washed down the meal, actually starting to enjoy the ride.
Sam felt his mind begin to reel, and forced himself to keep calm. Holy Crap, I've gotten mixed up with some crazy CIA thing! He shook his head.
If by some miracle you get a chance to kill this man, Mr. Prichard, do not hesitate for even a split second, for that is all the time he would need to turn the tables on you, and then you will be the one who will die.”
Indie's voice came on the line. “Sam? Kenzie's asleep on my lap, and he's got a gun pointed at her head right now. Oh, and I fed your stupid dog, Herman! Sam, get me out of this, please?” Sam made a face. His dog? Herman was the computer program—holy cow, she was saying that there was something on the computer that might help! He spun the wheel and raced toward his house as the southerner came back on the line.
Two minutes can be a lifetime when someone you care about is in danger. Sam shoved the accelerator down as hard as he could, making the old Corvette move even faster as he dialed Ingersoll.
in assassinations and espionage, not usually. My job was to provide special consultants and contractors when needed by the CIA for special operations in other countries.”
“How'd that work out for you?” Sam asked sarcastically. “Sorry, never cared for Clinton.” Winslow smiled. “Nor did I, but none of them were any better than any others. All he asked of me was to let him know of any activity by the group that might pose a threat to the USA, and I made my reports daily. I don't think he paid any attention. When he left office in 2001, George Bush wasn't even really concerned about them at all, until Nine Eleven, of course.
This weapon, he said, would be capable of killing more people in a single hour than were killed in all of Nine Eleven's events.
“Ingersoll says you're a killer, and that you're the bad guy. He told me he could see to it that this thing gets to DC or wherever, safely, but that if you get it, the girls and I are as good as dead. To be honest, the only reason I haven’t tried to kill you yet is because I'm not sure you couldn't take me out before I got it done,
Indie spoke up from the back seat. “Sam—the thing that made me trust him was that, just before I called you, Mr. Winslow had a gun pointed at my face. When he asked me to get you on the phone, I was about to say no, and suddenly he turned the gun around and handed it to me, butt first, then put my finger on the trigger and pushed the barrel up against his own forehead. He looked at me, and then he whispered 'please,' and I knew I had to help him. Sam, I think we need to trust him.”
“We won, Mr. Prichard. We outsmarted him, and within a matter of minutes, there will be no trace of Eugene Ingersoll anywhere to be found.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam said. “Then explain Osama Bin Laden! It took more than ten years for your guys to find him!” Winslow burst out laughing. “Mr. Prichard, don't ever believe anything that comes out of the White House; Bin Laden isn't dead, he's been in a special holding cell under the Pentagon since two thousand and six! He comes in handy, now and then, so we hang onto him! The whole 'Bin Laden Is Dead' thing was so he'd give up any hope of ever being rescued.”
