Read Online Just Like a Man by Elizabeth Bevarly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Bevarly
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Large Type Books, Fathers and sons, Rich people, Single Fathers, Women School Principals
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he'd rarely worked in the field before. Still, what he was about to do came as naturally to him as anything else he'd ever done. Only this time, he didn't feel natural doing it. Because where before he'd never had much of a personal stake in the job he was performing, this time it was most definitely personal.
But it wasn't Adrian he was thinking about then. It was the woman who owned the house a half block up from where Michael had parked the van, the woman who should have already left said house for work, the woman who evidently had also overslept that morning and would have to make do with lousy drive-thru coffee, just as Michael had. The big difference in their situations was that he was reasonably certain Hannah Frost was
not
on her way to commit a felony. No, Hannah would just be doing her job.
But then, that was what Michael was doing, too, wasn't it? The fact that it was work he'd sworn he'd never return to again was immaterial. He'd known the job was dangerous when he took it, and in spite of what he'd told his superior that late spring day in Washington, he'd known, too, that nobody ever left it completely behind. Which was why he shouldn't be surprised to find himself in this position.
Gee. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.
He was lifting the cardboard cup to his mouth again when, through the streaks of rain glazing his windshield, he noticed movement at Hannah's house. He hit the wiper handle once, to clear the windshield only long enough for a clear view, and saw the garage door slowly rolling upward. Another quick flick of the wiper handle, and he saw Hannah's blue sedan rolling backward from that garage and into the street. Her taillights flashed red as she halted and threw the car into gear, and then she drove off in the direction opposite from where Michael had parked.
He continued to sip his coffee for another ten minutes, just to make sure she didn't return for anything she may have forgotten, and when he was confident she was gone for the day, he hiked up the collar of his coveralls, grabbed what looked to the casual observer like a garden-variety toolbox, and exited the van.
A trench coat would have been nice about now, he thought as he climbed out, even if it would have been
such
a cliche. Though how that cliche had come about, Michael still didn't know. In all the years he'd worked for OPUS, not once had he seen an agent in a trench coat. Not even when it was raining.
It was still early enough in the morning to be semi-dark, something which, added to the rain, made his job infinitely easier. Though that wasn't saying much, seeing as how it had been years since he'd performed a job like this. Still, he supposed, there were some things people learned that never left them, no matter how long they went without practicing. Riding a bicycle, for instance. Swimming. Driving a car. Shooting pool. Playing chess.
Breaking and entering.
His head tucked low—because it looked like he was trying to avoid rain in his face when in fact he just didn't want his face to be seen—Michael ducked into a conveniently placed hedge growing between two houses up the block from Hannah's. He'd driven by twice over the course of the weekend to make a mental map of the area and plan his approach. Fortunately for him, the neighborhood was an old one, filled with overgrown trees and shrubs, and populated by neighbors who eschewed fences, most likely because the neighborhood association frowned upon them. In any event, what made for an aesthetically pleasing environment also made for good cover. So Michael had no trouble making his way to Hannah's back door without being seen. Once there, he withdrew from his pocket a small device and with a few hasty adjustments slipped it easily into the lock of her back door. A soft click told him he hadn't lost his touch, and he easily pushed the door open and stepped inside, making a mental note to wipe up his wet footprints before he left.
Then, with a swiftness and expertise that
But it wasn't Adrian he was thinking about then. It was the woman who owned the house a half block up from where Michael had parked the van, the woman who should have already left said house for work, the woman who evidently had also overslept that morning and would have to make do with lousy drive-thru coffee, just as Michael had. The big difference in their situations was that he was reasonably certain Hannah Frost was
not
on her way to commit a felony. No, Hannah would just be doing her job.
But then, that was what Michael was doing, too, wasn't it? The fact that it was work he'd sworn he'd never return to again was immaterial. He'd known the job was dangerous when he took it, and in spite of what he'd told his superior that late spring day in Washington, he'd known, too, that nobody ever left it completely behind. Which was why he shouldn't be surprised to find himself in this position.
Gee. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.
He was lifting the cardboard cup to his mouth again when, through the streaks of rain glazing his windshield, he noticed movement at Hannah's house. He hit the wiper handle once, to clear the windshield only long enough for a clear view, and saw the garage door slowly rolling upward. Another quick flick of the wiper handle, and he saw Hannah's blue sedan rolling backward from that garage and into the street. Her taillights flashed red as she halted and threw the car into gear, and then she drove off in the direction opposite from where Michael had parked.
He continued to sip his coffee for another ten minutes, just to make sure she didn't return for anything she may have forgotten, and when he was confident she was gone for the day, he hiked up the collar of his coveralls, grabbed what looked to the casual observer like a garden-variety toolbox, and exited the van.
A trench coat would have been nice about now, he thought as he climbed out, even if it would have been
such
a cliche. Though how that cliche had come about, Michael still didn't know. In all the years he'd worked for OPUS, not once had he seen an agent in a trench coat. Not even when it was raining.
It was still early enough in the morning to be semi-dark, something which, added to the rain, made his job infinitely easier. Though that wasn't saying much, seeing as how it had been years since he'd performed a job like this. Still, he supposed, there were some things people learned that never left them, no matter how long they went without practicing. Riding a bicycle, for instance. Swimming. Driving a car. Shooting pool. Playing chess.
Breaking and entering.
His head tucked low—because it looked like he was trying to avoid rain in his face when in fact he just didn't want his face to be seen—Michael ducked into a conveniently placed hedge growing between two houses up the block from Hannah's. He'd driven by twice over the course of the weekend to make a mental map of the area and plan his approach. Fortunately for him, the neighborhood was an old one, filled with overgrown trees and shrubs, and populated by neighbors who eschewed fences, most likely because the neighborhood association frowned upon them. In any event, what made for an aesthetically pleasing environment also made for good cover. So Michael had no trouble making his way to Hannah's back door without being seen. Once there, he withdrew from his pocket a small device and with a few hasty adjustments slipped it easily into the lock of her back door. A soft click told him he hadn't lost his touch, and he easily pushed the door open and stepped inside, making a mental note to wipe up his wet footprints before he left.
Then, with a swiftness and expertise that
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