Page 98 of Broken
“What a waste of a human.” Prescott collected Deanson’s gun.
Down the stairs he went, and out through the back slider. His feet ate up the grass, then the cement, as he made his way to the SUV.
He set his helmet on the back seat, got behind the wheel. After storing all weapons and Deanson’s phone in the center console, he rolled out. Not until he’d driven onto the main road did he flip on the headlights.
The drive back to Northern Virginia was slow and steady. His face was covered in camouflage paint, he was dressed in black, he was driving an ALPHA vehicle that wasn’t registered to anyone. Getting pulled over would likely get him arrested.
Like every other mission, he never went straight home. He needed to clear his head, get rid of the evil that clung to his skin and hovered all around him. He opened the sunroof and drove in silence to Arlington. Once there, he street parked. From the privacy of the vehicle, he turned on the burner and made a call.
Z answered. “Yes?”
“Done,” he replied.
“Confirmed?”
“Confirmed.” Prescott hung up, turned off the burner, and exited the SUV. The Kevlar vest and helmet would stay hidden in the vehicle, the weapons locked in the center console.
Instead of entering the building through the front door and having to explain his face paint to the night guard, he entered through the delivery entrance and rode the freight elevator to the penthouse. Down the hall he went, stopping outside Z’s condo.
He punched in the code and entered. Usually the condo stood dark, but the light over the stovetop was on, bathing the small foyer in diffused light. He’d stayed there after the Terrence Maul hit. Had he left it on?
As he made his way into the living room, he stopped short.
Jacqueline stood twenty feet away, a Glock in her outstretched hands.
“Down on the ground, now!” she shouted. “Or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”
“Jack, it’s Prescott Armstrong.”
“Now!” She yelled, her feet firmly rooted on the floor.
“Jacqueline Hartley,” he said, keeping his voice low and slow. “It’s me, Mac. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
* * *
Jacqueline
“Mac?”Jacqueline’s heart was thumping so loudly in her ears, she couldn’t hear herself think… and she hadn’t heard anything he said until she heard the word Mac.
She flipped on the pole lamp in the living room and gasped. Prescott, dressed in black, his face concealed in camouflage paint, was a terrifying sight.
She lowered her gun, but she didn’t put it down. “I need to see ID.”
“I don’t have it. I’m sorry I scared you. Z’s condo has been empty since Liv moved out.”
On a quivering breath, she set the gun on the coffee table. Then, she soaked up this beast of a man. Tall, strapping, and built like a slab of granite, she paused to take in every glorious inch of him.
A long minute passed before her heart rate slowed. She walked over, peered at him. “Wow, you look scary as fuck. You’re already a formidable man, but holy shit.” She put her hand over her heart. “Scary. As. Fuck.”
“Thank you for not shooting me.” He took a step toward the door. “I can take off.”
Don’t let him leave.
The second she wrapped her hand around his triceps, her insides came alive, and her heart beat hard and fast, but this time for a very different reason.
She liked this way, much, much better.
“Don’t go,” she said.
