Page 18 of Broken
“Go.”
“The three men you took out were the men who’d escaped with Maul.”
“And the woman?”
“Unfortunately, you were right. She was the realtor.”
Anger slithered down his spine. That innocent woman didnotdeserve to die. Hadn’t Maul done enough fucking damage?
“Police are calling off the search for Maul,” Z explained.
Fuck. Fuck me.
“No body?”
“Not yet. The currents are strong and the search team assured me he’d wash up on shore, but it might take a while. I don’t likenothaving a body.”
Prescott got into his truck, tapped the start button. The engine kicked on and the Bluetooth connected. “Neither do I,” he bit out.
“You sure you hit him?”
“Yes. You want me to return to the area—”
“I’m going to ignore that stupid comment,” Z said, frustration tinging his words. “Criminals typically go back to the crime scene.”
“I’m the assassin, Philip,notthe criminal.”
Silence.
“I saw the shitstorm you had to deal with today,” Z said. “How are the people who got sick?”
“They’ll be okay.” Prescott drove out of the parking lot. “Are you going to the shower tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m making an appearance. Don’t talk to me.”
Prescott chuffed out a laugh. “We play poker together. You gotta relax, Philip. Tomorrow, you’re the father of the bride, that’s it. Only a handful of us know what youreallydo, and we won’t be talking shop. You tell everyone you’re retired, so act like it. Be chill.”
A tight chuckle rolled out of Z. “Yeah, chilling isn’t something I’m good at.”
“Try golf. That relaxes me.” Prescott wanted to add “Get laid,” but he wasn’t going there, not with hisrealboss.
After a pause, Z said, “I’m concerned Maul isn’t dead.”
“You found him once. Do it again and, this time, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes.”
“It took me months to find him the first time.”
Prescott accelerated on the toll road toward DC. “Better get started. See you tomorrow.” Prescott killed the call, the ever-present frustration morphing into agitation.
Another epic fucking fail.
Heat pounded through him. He cracked open the window and sucked down the chilly April air. He’d spent the last few days beating himself up for not being able to confirm Maul was dead. With any luck, the fugitive’s decomposing body would wash up on shore.
I don’t fucking believe in luck.
He hit the gas and took off toward Asylum. For the next few hours, he was going to calm his raging, angry soul by fucking. Hopefully with Jack, but if she no-showed, he’d find someone else. Anyone to take his mind off his failed mission.
Prescott entered the shadowy Georgetown club, the dim lighting and sultry music setting the sexy tone.
