AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe he’d take just Mom to dinner. That would be much more pleasant than putting up with two men glaring at each other while Mom worked to smooth everything over. But Mom would never go for it, always insisting on a “family” meal, including his brother and father.
Which brought him back to Sam. If he’d stayed, if she’d married him, they’d be in the same leaky boat with his parents. Miserable, drowning, but unable to let go, sure he was a life raft when he was actually an anchor. And if he’d stayed here in Marcus, under his father’s unyielding thumb, he wouldn’t be an anchor; he’d be cement boots.
Still, the fantasy was undeniably appealing. Trevor moved to his bed, staring at the ceiling. He and Sam, living in a small house in Marcus, about to have their first child. He’d be working the farm, and she’d be a legal assistant. They wouldn’t have much, but they’d be happy.
But they wouldn’t. Because he’d been a “my way or the highway” kind of boy, and Sam would have wisely taken the off ramp to success.
No, as painful as it was, it was better this way. He set his alarm and got ready for bed. He’d call Mom tomorrow.
After a restless night, he woke to his alarm and dressed, ready to put his plan into action. He’d talk to his parents. Then he’d figure out where the Marcus City Bank employees went for breaks and lunch and contact those who wouldn’t recognize him. Supposedly, he was good at talking to strangers, even if he’d fumbled a billion times since he’d returned home.
Picking up his car keys, he let them dangle. He couldn’t do that yet. He had to get a vehicle without government plates. Well, he could always walk. Nothing was that far in Marcus. Besides, he should scan through the FBI’s exterior surveillance of the bank; that should show him where the employees went. He opened his laptop and scrolled through the video files. The FBI analysts labeled the stored videos with last name or location, with a time and date stamp. They had cameras outside Marcus City Bank, along Main Street, around Deb’s Bakery, and other businesses targeted by Koslov.
An alert flashed on his screen; vehicles belonging to known Koslov associates were driving into town. But they weren’t stopping at Deb’s Bakery. Sam might be a target—he had to protect her. But showing up at her office, armed and dangerous, would definitely blow his cover.
His phone chimed with a text from a restricted number. Could be an FBI contact, another governmental agency, or a scammer. But it was none of the above.
This is Wiz. Michael and Nic Acer under fire at 9th and Baker. E&E on foot eastbound, heading to Sam’s office. Need extraction.
They didn’t have surveillance on that location. Clicking on the Main Street surveillance, he didn’t see any vehicles highlighted as threats. Sam was currently safe, but with the Acers heading there, she wouldn’t remain that way. He closed the laptop, threw it in his go bag, grabbed his keys, and ran.
Deb’s boyfriend, Michael Acer, and his brother, Nic, owned Acer Home Improvement. Michael had rescued Deb from certain death, and Nic had helped. Acer’s current remodeling project was in the heart of Marcus’ residential area. That meant Koslov was expanding his attack, increasing the chances of collateral damage. Rescuing the two men would keep the town of Marcus safer, justifying his involvement. Then they’d pick up Sam, because she was almost certainly the next target. Hopefully, his boss would agree. But he wasn’t looking forward to his next conversation with her.
In the SUV, he used the voice to text option.
ETA five minutes. Keep me updated.
He hopped in, belted up, and spun out of the parking lot.
“Would you like me to read your texts from Restricted Number?” the SUV’s pleasant female voice asked.
“Yes.” He dropped his phone in the cup holder.
“I will read your texts. Restricted number text."
Copy. Pick up Sam next. I’ve notified Nic’s wife and kids. She’s on the way to my house. Join us here.
Wiz fired off directions like a general. He shouldn’t be surprised; she’d run military-style operations before. But the invitation to her house was shocking.
He screeched around the corner. Nearing 7th Street, he slowed and rolled down his window. A three-round burst of rifle fire sounded, echoing off the buildings. He couldn’t tell where the sound originated.
“Restricted number text reads."
On 8th street.
Trevor stepped on the gas, careened around the corner, and spotted a muscular dark-haired man crouched against a house, his pistol raised. Trevor slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop. “Come on, get in!”
Michael Acer spun, pistol up. Trevor grabbed his badge and held it out the window. “FBI! Trevor Mills, remember?”
Acer hesitated for a split second, then ran to the far side of the SUV. “Nic, come on. It’s the feds!” He opened the back door and dove inside.
A man on the other side of the street, AR-15 rifle in his hand, sprinted for the open door, jumped in, and slammed it shut. “Go!”
Trevor pressed the accelerator before Nic got the word out. Loud thwacks made him duck, and stars appeared across the back window. He screeched around the next corner. They had to get Sam—she’d be the next target. “Acer, right? Call Sam. We’ll pick her up, then Nic’s wife and kids.” Hopefully, Wiz had already gotten the dependents moving because he didn’t know where they were. Sam should be in her office; her trial was this afternoon.
“You’re really Mills?” Nic Acer pointed his rifle at Trevor’s head.
They didn’t have time for twenty questions. Trevor threw his badge holder into the back seat.
