HUNTED Read online

And I’m paranoid as hell.

  I always feel as if I’m being watched, and lately, the paranoia is becoming worse. I don’t want any of this anymore. I just want my own life. I’ve tried communicating with those assigned to me by replying to the texts, but they never respond.

  I just want out.

  There is absolutely no proof that I’m still in any sort of danger. This could all be pointless when I could be leading a reasonably normal life. I yearn for normalcy, but I fear that it’ll always and forever be out of reach.

  My thoughts return to the text once more.

  It’s time to move again. I was notified two weeks ago that I would be moving to Phoenix, Arizona.

  They’re not giving me a choice in the matter.

  I’ve done my best to rebel against the trivial stuff. I’m determined to earn my way, and I maintain jobs and spend only what I rightfully earn. As for the vehicles, I’ve outright ignored them and relied on public transportation.

  Then, two years ago, I’d taken it one step further and refused the apartment that had been chosen for me, and I’d leased my own—the one I’m currently living in.

  I haven’t yet refused to move to Phoenix out of concern that they might physically force me. I’m not sure I want to find out if they would or not. I think if they did, it would crush me. Lately, the only thing keeping me from not losing my mind is the hope that I might one day be able to be in charge of my own life.

  My forehead creases with a frown.

  There are rules to follow, and I’ve broken quite a few. Shouldn’t there be some sort of consequence? I would think they’d drop me for being so difficult, but I haven’t seen any signs of that happening.

  So, I currently have two weeks to either obediently pack my belongings and move to Phoenix or find another way out of this mess.

  I think of the letter…

  Nobody has scolded me through text for breaking the most important rule, so I think I may have finally pulled one over them.

  Anticipation of a response to the letter lifts my spirits, and the tightness still lingering in my chest from earlier begins to ease.

  Had I truly snuck something past them after years of trying?

  If so, things might actually change soon—for the better.

  Three

  Kane

  This evening has gone to shit.

  I lean back in my chair, rubbing my jaw as I gaze moodily at the three computer screens situated on the large desk in front of me.

  We’d lost a client today.

  Thankfully, not in the ‘no longer breathing’ sense, but we are finding it necessary to sever ties with him, and his contract is considered ‘fulfilled.’ We’re hired to protect and keep our clients safe, but we can only be successful if they follow the rules.

  They break the rules, the contract is over—no refunds.

  The client I’d just wiped from all our files on the database has decided to take his chances on his own. I’m not surprised since Sean, one of my employees, has kept me updated on all the warning signs. The client is still young, only mid-twenties, and all the lies have become too much for him to handle.

  I reach for the beer sitting on a coaster nearby, taking a long drink as I dwell on the disappointing situation.

  The young ones tend to rebel the most. They simply want to connect with others, and anyone they allow close must be lied to. Everything is a lie that they must live and breathe daily.

  Some break, like today.

  Others struggle but bravely continue on until they eventually accept what can’t be changed. If our client makes it to age thirty, they’re likely to be a breeze the rest of their life as long as their cover isn’t blown.

  Those that can’t handle the secrecy or lies have about a thirty percent chance of successfully remaining hidden on their own, but it’s their life.

  Tessa creeps into my thoughts, and an uneasy feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. She’ll be turning twenty-two in a matter of weeks, and she’s more than showing signs that she wants to sever all ties with the business. She’s even gone as far as replying to my texts, insisting she wants out.

  I’ve deliberately ignored her requests.

  I take another swig from the beer as I gaze sightlessly at one of the computer screens. There’s just this feeling that I have where Tessa’s concerned. My gut warns me that if she strikes out on her own, she’s going to make a mistake that she can’t take back and wind up dead.

  It’s too bad she can’t realize that we’re not the enemy—far from it. But I can’t tell her that. As handlers, we stay in the shadows and avoid face to face interactions. I have never spoken to or come within fifteen feet of Tessa.

  It’s becoming late, and my eyes shift to the corner of the computer screen, focusing on the time.

  Shit.

  It’s later than I thought.

  After abruptly setting aside the beer, I quickly rise to my feet. Tessa and her coworkers closed the café five minutes ago. It’s probably pointless to try to be there before the bus arrives, but habit has me leaving the apartment anyway.

  It’s only about a four-minute drive to the café. As I drive through the streets of Salt Lake City, traffic seems to be moving slower than usual, and I can feel my aggravation building. Very rarely do I miss a night making certain that she makes it home safely.

  By the time I reach the café, the lights are off, and no one is at the bus stop.

  Fuck.

  I should just go back home, but checking on Tessa has become as customary as breathing, so I continue on past the café to her apartment building.

  It doesn’t take long to arrive, and I pull the car over to the curb across the street. From here, I can clearly see Tessa’s second-floor apartment along with the stairwell located near the side of the building. There’s a short sidewalk leading from the stairs to the parking lot.

  Her lights are on in the windows.

  She’s made it home safely, just as she has every night for the past few years. I release a dry, self-deprecating sigh. This shit needs to stop. Too bad they don’t have stalker meetings like they have AA meetings, because at the rate I’m going, I’ll still be watching her even after I turn old and gray.

  With a shake of my head over my infatuation with Tessa, I make a move to pull the car back out onto the street, but instinct has me pausing.

  Something doesn’t seem right.

  My hands grip the steering wheel as my brows descend into a frown. Why am I suddenly on edge? Once more, my attention returns to Tessa’s windows. All the blinds are closed in the apartment—that’s normal. She always closes them right before she leaves for the café.

  My eyes scan the parking lot.

  I have all the tenants’ cars memorized, and even those that regularly visit. Tonight, there’s a nondescript, dark SUV parked closest to the stairwell. That vehicle has never been there before. There’s a man sitting in the driver’s seat, patiently waiting. But for what?

  There’s no way Tessa’s cover has been blown; we’ve been so careful…

  However, instinct is telling me that something’s not right.

  I can’t remain here in the open, so I pull the vehicle out onto the street and leisurely cruise down to the corner of the block, driving out of sight.

  Once I’m parked around the corner where the car can’t be seen, I grab my gun out of the glove compartment and quickly screw on the silencer. Then, I exit the car and hurriedly step into the nearby tree line. There are several trees separating Tessa’s building from the property of another building complex.

  In the dark, I pull out my phone and use my thumb, texting one-handed as I send a message to the emergency line. #26193 may be compromised. Remain on standby. The message will go directly to Tate, who will reroute it to the nearest available handler. We’re all specially trained for combat. In this line of work, your combat ability is what’s going to keep you and your client alive in a shit situation.

  The SUV might be nothing, but I’m not taking cha
nces with Tessa’s life.

  Moving silently through the darkness, I crouch down by a nearby tree. From here, I have a full view of the parking lot.

  My eyes narrow on the SUV.

  The dark shadow in the driver’s seat is definitely waiting for someone.

  In the corner of my eye, I see movement along Tessa’s apartment window. The blinds aren’t entirely closed, and a shadow has moved across the window and out of sight.

  Everything within me tenses.

  The shadow had been distinctly male.

  Tessa never invites anyone home. I’ve noted that men are initially attracted to her, but when they see her limp, their interest quickly fades. The few that have been willing to look beyond it, I’ve made certain never called her. A boyfriend is the last thing Tessa needs, it would just push her further over the edge.

  The shadow moves across the window once more, impatiently pacing.

  Somehow, Tessa’s cover has been blown.

  Everything within me hardens as I focus on only one goal—killing those that want to harm Tessa. It’d be ideal to question one of them first, but Tessa’s life is more important.

  I ready my gun and creep through the parking lot, using vacant cars as a cover. As I make my way closer to the SUV, I can see the profile of the man sitting in the driver’s seat. He has a wireless communication device attached to his ear—definitely professionals.

  Calmly, I line up the sight on the gun and pull the trigger. The bullet shatters the SUV window’s glass and pierces the man’s temple. My eyes quickly shift to Tessa’s window as I wait to see if there’s any sort of response signaling that the noise was heard. The sound apparently hadn’t carried upstairs, because no one looks outside.

  Silently, I make my way up the stairwell, careful to keep my eyes on Tessa’s door and windows. Everything is still and quiet outside the building. That tells me that the driver’s accomplices have no idea I’m about to destroy whatever plans they have for Tessa.

  In order to reach her apartment door, I have to duck under one of the windows. When I get into position in front of the door, I pause. I highly doubt these guys locked the door behind them, and I’m counting on their arrogance that they have the situation completely handled.

  Carefully, I situate my shoulder against the door, reaching for the doorknob with my free hand. I draw in a deep breath and steadily exhale, preparing for the next few seconds that will be chaotic.

  And deadly.

  I soundlessly turn the doorknob and force the door open, my gun already swinging so I can line up targets. I have a millisecond to take in the two, black-clad men, and the sight of the shattered glass coffee table in front of the floral sofa. Tessa is lying on the floor in the glass, her face deathly pale. The man squatting in front of her spins around to face me.

  I take him out cleanly with a shot to the head and roll out of the way as I hear gunfire that isn’t my own. I swiftly rise to my knees and fire again. The guy standing in the dining room collapses. There’s no point checking the men to verify they’re dead; there’s no coming back from headshots.

  I quickly rise to my feet knowing I have to get Tessa out of here immediately. I have a silencer, but the man who’d shot at me hadn’t. Not to mention I have no idea how many men were sent after Tessa. Three seems like an odd number for someone of Tessa’s status. There’s probably at least two more—depending on their goal.

  Tessa cringes from me as I move towards her.

  My boots crunch on the broken glass as I pause before her and hold out a hand. “Dandelion,” is all I say, waiting for the word to register.

  Each client is assigned a code word. Our clients usually don’t see us face to face unless in danger, so they have no idea whom to trust during a situation like the one Tessa is currently finding herself in. It’s not like you can walk up to them and say, “Hey, I’m the good guy. Trust me with your life,” without them balking or asking questions we don’t have time for.

  So, each client is assigned a code word—typically the flower variety—because who’s going to be thinking about flowers during a shit situation. Once a year, we remind our clients of their code to make certain they don’t forget.

  Tessa blinks up at me, her cinnamon-rich brown eyes dazed before her features melt into confusion. Then, recognition quickly becomes apparent as she reaches up a trembling hand to accept my help.

  As I clasp her smaller hand and ease her to her feet, I note that her left cheekbone is swelling, and she has a cut on her lower lip.

  Bastards.

  It takes a sorry excuse of a man to hurt a woman, and I feel no remorse that the man who had bruised her face is now dead.

  I motion for her to remain directly behind me.

  Her eyes dart to the dead men, and then she visibly swallows and nods.

  With the gun ready in hand, I move stealthily to the apartment door, glass still crunching beneath my boots. The door is ajar since I hadn’t had time to close it behind me. After peeking around the corner, I decide that the outer walkway is all clear.

  I swing the door open and step outside, prepared for anything.

  A few doors down, a heavyset man is standing in his doorway, phone to his ear. I hadn’t been able to see him until stepping out onto the walkway. As soon as my gun reflexively aims in his direction, he releases a yelp and throws himself backwards into the apartment, the door slamming closed.

  I glance over my shoulder to make certain that Tessa’s staying close. She’s mere inches from my back.

  Good.

  I curtly motion for the stairs and don’t bother waiting for her to respond. The police will be here shortly, and I’m betting there’s still more to the team that had been sent for her.

  We make our way down the stairs, Tessa at my back as I keep the gun ready in case we run into trouble. As soon as we reach the paved parking lot, I grab her hand with my free one and begin running for the trees.

  I’m acutely conscious of her limp and that she can’t move as fast as I can, so I take care to keep at a pace that she can manage. It could cost us, but if I carry her, I won’t be able to guarantee I can get us out of here safely.

  Thankfully, Tessa’s smartly silent, and I appreciate that.

  I lead her through the trees, and when my car comes into sight, I scan the area with alert eyes before rushing her to the passenger door. I open it, and she readily dives in.

  After slamming the door closed, I hurry to the driver’s side and climb in, placing the gun on my lap after sliding the safety mechanism in place. As I start the car, I lean over towards Tessa and open the glove compartment. I pull out the prepared syringe and bring it to my mouth, using my teeth to tug off the cap.

  “What is that?” Tessa asks with a frown of uncertainty.

  I jab the needle into her thigh before she can see it coming and push the plunger down. She releases a yelp and looks at me with wide eyes as she struggles to comprehend that I’d just injected her with something.

  “It’s naptime,” I reply as I toss aside the syringe and pull the car away from the curb. Fortunately, I always have an injection ready to go.

  The other handlers have never been fans of this tactic, but I have no patience for incessant questions when I’m trying to focus on saving a life.

  My eyes shift to the rearview mirror.

  If anyone’s going to make a move to intercept us, they would have before we reached the vehicle. Just in case, I’ll take multiple detours before going back to my place.

  I glance at Tessa.

  She’s out cold, slumped against the side of the car door. Her hair is still pulled up into a ponytail, but with the way her head is resting to the side, it hides her face like a curtain.

  My jaw clenches as I return my attention to driving.

  We don’t fuck up.

  Which means Tessa broke a rule and landed her little ass in a shitload of trouble.

  Once I’m certain no one is following us, I head for the apartment that I’m renting. When I pul
l into the parking lot, I scan the lot intently as I park the car close to my ground floor apartment.

  Everything looks clear.

  Keeping my keys out and ready, I climb out and hurriedly open the passenger side door. After setting the gun in Tessa’s lap where it’s easily accessible, I lift her unconscious body from the seat. She’s pretty light, and I use my foot to nudge the car door closed before hurrying to my apartment door.

  As soon as I’m inside, I carefully deposit her on the sofa. Then, I relock the door while yanking out my phone. I quickly text, Extraction needed immediately.

  Almost instantaneously, I receive a reply. ETA in 90 min.

  I repocket my phone and rake my hands through my hair.

  The company has a helicopter located in Sacramento, California, but unfortunately, that’s still a few states from our current location. Tate, our company tech, lives on a large estate in a gated community that has become the company’s base of operations. Since he is a tech genius that keeps everything organized and up to date, he rarely leaves Sacramento—hence the base. The helicopter we use for emergencies is stationed less than five minutes away from his estate at a nearby airport.

  Leo, another one of my employees, who is always available for emergencies and based in Sacramento as well, will fly in with the helicopter. Until then, I’m on my own until the nearest handler can arrive—but that’s only if they can arrive before Leo and the helicopter. I can’t recall which of my men—if any—are currently located anywhere near Utah.

  Fuck, ninety minutes is a long-damned time, and trying to get out of the city on my own with Tessa is too much of a risk. All I can do is wait for backup and the arrival of Leo and the helicopter.

  I turn to Tessa, needing to check her for injuries before packing up everything I own. Unable to properly look her over in the dark, I turn on the nearest lamp, scanning her body. Her hands are bloody, probably full of glass splinters from the shattered glass table in her apartment. A large patch of blood located on her right thigh draws my attention. She’s wearing her usual black leggings, but I can see the slick shininess of blood reflecting in the lamp’s light.