Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“You know what. Fuck you!” Judge barked.
“Fuck you, too!” Day yelled back. “Tell me! What type of man sends someone’s friend back to them completely defective and broken?” Day fumed, turning his back to Judge and plopping down at his desk. “You. That’s who!”
“Enough!” God’s voice cut through the arguing. He stood to his towering six four, his southern drawl more prominent but his voice commanding as ever, even in the large space. He turned his eyes back on Judge. “You got forty-eight hours to bring our brother back. Back the way he was when you met him.”
Judge sighed in annoyance at being put on a time restriction. “Fine. I’ll bring him back.”
“Good. Forty-eight hours to bring back my sniper.”
Judge stood. “Where is he?”
“You’re the tracker. Find him,” God snarled, and threw his jacket on. His team followed him out of the office. All of them exited, leaving Judge standing there alone. They would never speak to him again if he didn’t make it right. Frankly, he couldn’t blame them. Judge went over to Michaels’ desk and used his switchblade to pop open the locked drawer. He rummaged through the few items there, office supplies, papers that contained research, photos of suspects, buildings, all work-related information. Nothing personal. Judge slammed the drawer back. Fuck! Yes, he did find people for a living but this wasn’t TV, where everything was neatly wrapped up in an hour; he was good, but he always had time to calculate. Most importantly, he was used to hunting criminals. The criminal mind was an ignorant mind. Michaels wasn’t ignorant. He knew where a person would run if they were running from incarceration. Where does one go when they’re running from hurt?
Syn came back into the office and tossed a piece of paper in front of him with an address scribbled on it in chicken scratch, landing on Michaels’ desk. “I don’t have time for you to play hide-and-seek. Go get him. He’s at his parents’ cabin in Palmetto. It’s secluded but it’s only forty-five minutes from here.”
Judge could’ve kissed the man, but instead he stood, shook his hand, and hurried out the door. He only had forty-five minutes to come up with one helluva plan.
Chapter Forty
It was late afternoon and he had done all the cleaning he could stand and watched as many movies that his eyes could take before he had called it quits. He dragged their small rowboat from the shed and pushed it out onto the large, man-made lake. This was one of his favorite things to do with his father out there. Fish. They’d take a twelve-pack and some sandwiches and sit out there all day. Peacefulness. Until his mom called out to them that dinner was ready. He wished his life had remained that simple.
Michaels baited his hook and cast his line back out into the murky water. The lake was stocked with various types of trout, perch, and mullets. It was the middle of fall, but the water should still be warm enough to catch some dinner. That would consume half his night, then he had to figure out what he’d do to get through the rest. He might have to take a couple shots, but he wouldn’t get drunk. Michaels reeled his line in and cast back out. The repetition was calming. He felt a few nibbles on his bait, but no bites.
He let his pole rest against the side and reached in his cooler for a bottle of water. He’d finished his sandwich two hours ago along with the last of his four beers. He should’ve brought more, knowing that he could sit on that lake for hours. The sun had begun to set and the lake shimmered in the light of dusk. He propped his hands behind his head and laid back to enjoy the scenery.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, he knew it was Day. He clicked on the message icon and saw it was Judge. He sat up straight, his breathing accelerating as he read it.
“Will you hang up if I call you?????”
Michaels blew out a breath. He didn’t know what they could possibly talk about. Being friends. Buddies. Getting together for fantasy football. What? Michaels shook his head. No. He couldn’t be friends with Judge. How can you be friends with someone that treated you like shit? He buzzed again. Another message. This one plain and simple.
“Please.”
He chose to ignore it. That was best. A few minutes went by and his phone rang, disturbing his thoughts. He knew it was him. His heart thundered behind his ribcage. Ringing, ringing. He picked up on the last ring, right before it went to voicemail. He didn’t speak, just held the phone to his ear.
Finally, Judge spoke. “Thank you for answering. Please don’t hang-up.”
When Michaels didn’t reply, Judge continued. “I know you’re mad. You have every right to be. I’d be too. But I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was stupid and scared as shit, man.”