Page 96 of Broken
Prescott
At eleven that evening, Prescott stood in front of the retina scanner at ALPHA HQ, the light flashed green, and he entered. The place was quiet and dark, exactly how he liked it. Though he wasn’t an Operative, he’d been given access to the building so he’d have a top-secret place to prep.
Automatic lights flicked on as he made his way toward the conference room.
There, he unearthed his laptop and got to work. The Piranha changed up his looks by shaving hishead or letting his brown hair grow past his shoulders. He grew beards of different lengths or he was clean shaven. He changed up his clothing too and dressed to blend in.
Prescott zoomed in. Looked like he changed his eye color too. He was a master of disguise and, based on the reports in his file, very charming. A real people-person who had no trouble luring his victims into his car or even into a motel room. Over the years, witnesses would come forward with accounts of him showing up at parties and charming his way inside. Law enforcement pieced together a pattern. He’d stay until fewer than ten guests remained, then he’d kill them all.
One thing was certain, Stanley Deanson never lived in one place too long, and he went long stretches of time before going on another violent killing spree.
While Prescott hadn’t prepped for a mission at his house, he’d never, ever prep there now. The crime scene photos were brutal. If Ethan were to ever see them—
His stomach clenched.
In a short amount of time, he’d become attached to his nephew. While he loved his family and close circle of friends, Prescott always considered himself a loner. Crazy the power this little boy had on him, and their relationship had only just begun.
Refocusing, he read through the mountain of information that law enforcement had collected. Prepping for these missions included a review of best- and worst-case scenarios. Best was simple. He wasted the guy, didn’t get shot himself.
Worst-case scenarios required careful contemplation. Prescott couldn’t assume anything. So, he spent the next hour running through a myriad of situations that didn’t work in his favor. Not something he liked doing, but it kept him on high alert, reminding him that he—and only he—had his back.
On the other hand, he didn’t have to be responsible for another person’s safety. He didn’t have to live with the burden of a teammate dying because he hadn’t done his job. All he had to do was watch his six.
That, I can do.
When finished, he closed his laptop, left his phone and wallet on the table. Already dressed in black pants and a black turtle neck, he entered the men’s locker room and strode to his locker. There, he pulled on his body armor, then a double shoulder holster that wrapped around him, like a backpack. He swapped out his shoes for combat boots and covered his face in camouflage paint.
He pulled a burner from the charger, checked to make sure it worked, then turned it off.
Time to weapon up. One gun into his ankle holster, a Glock in each of the shoulder holsters. He slid on black gloves, grabbed his helmet with the built-in night goggles, and left the way he entered, through the employee entrance in the back of the building.
The drive north was filled with the sound of wind rushing through the sun roof. One by one, he ran though all possible outcomes except the one where hedidn’tmake it out alive.
No room for error.
It was almost one in the morning when he drove past the abandoned house, continuing on two blocks to a plaza shopping center. He parked farthest from the stores and away from a street lamp. He exited the SUV, fastened on his helmet. With a Glock in hand, he made his way toward the rundown building.
He expected he’d find a user there. Could be several. Sex workers might be turning tricks. A gang could have taken up residence. To assume the house would be empty was dangerous. To assume he was the only one with a gun could get him killed.
Nevertheless, he was willing to risk his life to waste another predator.
Most of the houses sat dark, but a few lights dotted the street. A chain link fence wrapped the house from the sidewalk all the way around to the backyard. He continued past the house, around the corner, and down the next street. His goal? Hug the shadows, enter the house through the back.
Once in the backyard, the two-story structure loomed before him. He lowered his night goggles, approached the house, and tried the slider. It was unlocked.
It squeaked. He stopped, then inched the door open enough so that he could turn and squeeze in. Leaving the door open, he surveyed the room.
What a dump.
A stained, ripped sofa sat tucked against the back wall, discarded needles tossed in a corner. Empty beer and booze bottles everywhere. With his weapon drawn, he cleared each room.
As he ascended, the stairs creaked. Two men, who’d been hooking up, pulled up their pants and ran out the front door.
The first floor was just as much of a shit hole as the lower level, however more dilapidated furniture filled the living room. After clearing the empty dining room and filthy, moldy kitchen, he made his way upstairs. The stench from the bathroom had him holding his breath as he peered inside to clear. No one, dead or alive.
First bedroom stood empty. No furniture, less trash. The second he entered the master bedroom, the smell hit him.
Dead body. A decomposing body of a man in the bathroom, a syringe sticking out of his arm.
