Read Online Rx Missing (Decorah Security Series, Book #10): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel by Rebecca York - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca York
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Bradley and Lily Wardman weren’t happy and they weren’t acting like a couple although they’d been about to fuck each other’s brains out when the other guy had walked up and impolitely interrupted them.
What a dork. Unfortunately he was too far away for Danny to have gotten into his mind.
Of course, Danny had also watched the sexually charged performance with interest. He hadn’t thought of himself as a sex therapist, but maybe he could sell his services to couples looking for a way to spark up their dull encounters.
He laughed, letting his imagination run with the idea for a few moments, then pulled himself back to the business at hand. His half-assed effects had lured Wardman and Bradley into the woods. With more time for research, he could have ginned up something from Hindu mythology that would go better with this place. But since he wasn’t up on the subject, he’d settled for what he knew. Computer game images.
He’d used the distractions to get into their brains, while they’d been busy dealing with the threats he’d thrown at them.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t dig deeply. But he knew that neither one of them was the person he’d been sent here to find and interrogate. Still, he’d eliminated two suspects. And he’d gotten some interesting information—particularly from Wardman.
Pulling out his cell phone, he punched the speed dial for one of his contacts. Not the guy named Smith. One of Danny’s people.
“You okay?” his colleague asked.
“I’ll be better when I know this thing is settled,” he answered.
oOo
During his years in the CIA, Grant Bradley had learned never to take an unsolicited offer of help at face value. Which was why he knew he couldn’t trust Colonel Jack Wilson.
No way was he walking into a twilight meeting with the colonel unprepared. The man might think that the drive to DC from Western Maryland would eat up the four hours before the rendezvous. Grant had other plans.
Starting with traveling light. As soon as he hung up the phone, he filed a flight plan, then checked out his Sig Sauer and slipped an extra clip into his pocket. His Cessna Skyhawk was in the hangar a few hundred yards across the landing strip from the house. He was in the air as soon as he’d gone through his flight check.
On the way, he thought about the layout of the meeting place. In addition to his wilderness outfitter business, he sometimes took small tour groups into the capital. If he had time, one of his stops was the Roosevelt Memorial.
He knew that the seven and a half acre site spread along the far side of the Tidal Basin was designed as a series of four outdoor rooms, each representing one of the thirty-second president’s four terms. The “rooms” were divided by bushes, small trees and stone walls that would provide excellent cover for an ambush.
But not if Grant got there first.
Avoiding the flight restrictions over DC, he landed at a small airport in Laurel, Maryland, rented a car, and drove into town, where he found a parking space on the narrow road behind the National Gallery of Art. From there, he took a cab to the vicinity of the Roosevelt Memorial, arriving an hour and a half before the scheduled meeting.
There were still a few tourists in the area, and he mingled with them, scouting out the location and looking for signs that Colonel Wilson had already stationed someone here. But as far as he could tell, the only people here were visitors to the nation’s capital.
When closing time neared and the Park Service officers began herding tourists toward the exit, he faded into the shrubbery, hunkering down until the area was clear.
Once he was alone, he climbed one of the artificial hills with a view of the entrance court and settled down behind a stone wall.
Twenty minutes after the Park Service rangers had left, two cars pulled up, and five men got out. Most looked young, with lean bodies and military short haircuts, wearing suits or sports jackets, presumably to
What a dork. Unfortunately he was too far away for Danny to have gotten into his mind.
Of course, Danny had also watched the sexually charged performance with interest. He hadn’t thought of himself as a sex therapist, but maybe he could sell his services to couples looking for a way to spark up their dull encounters.
He laughed, letting his imagination run with the idea for a few moments, then pulled himself back to the business at hand. His half-assed effects had lured Wardman and Bradley into the woods. With more time for research, he could have ginned up something from Hindu mythology that would go better with this place. But since he wasn’t up on the subject, he’d settled for what he knew. Computer game images.
He’d used the distractions to get into their brains, while they’d been busy dealing with the threats he’d thrown at them.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t dig deeply. But he knew that neither one of them was the person he’d been sent here to find and interrogate. Still, he’d eliminated two suspects. And he’d gotten some interesting information—particularly from Wardman.
Pulling out his cell phone, he punched the speed dial for one of his contacts. Not the guy named Smith. One of Danny’s people.
“You okay?” his colleague asked.
“I’ll be better when I know this thing is settled,” he answered.
oOo
During his years in the CIA, Grant Bradley had learned never to take an unsolicited offer of help at face value. Which was why he knew he couldn’t trust Colonel Jack Wilson.
No way was he walking into a twilight meeting with the colonel unprepared. The man might think that the drive to DC from Western Maryland would eat up the four hours before the rendezvous. Grant had other plans.
Starting with traveling light. As soon as he hung up the phone, he filed a flight plan, then checked out his Sig Sauer and slipped an extra clip into his pocket. His Cessna Skyhawk was in the hangar a few hundred yards across the landing strip from the house. He was in the air as soon as he’d gone through his flight check.
On the way, he thought about the layout of the meeting place. In addition to his wilderness outfitter business, he sometimes took small tour groups into the capital. If he had time, one of his stops was the Roosevelt Memorial.
He knew that the seven and a half acre site spread along the far side of the Tidal Basin was designed as a series of four outdoor rooms, each representing one of the thirty-second president’s four terms. The “rooms” were divided by bushes, small trees and stone walls that would provide excellent cover for an ambush.
But not if Grant got there first.
Avoiding the flight restrictions over DC, he landed at a small airport in Laurel, Maryland, rented a car, and drove into town, where he found a parking space on the narrow road behind the National Gallery of Art. From there, he took a cab to the vicinity of the Roosevelt Memorial, arriving an hour and a half before the scheduled meeting.
There were still a few tourists in the area, and he mingled with them, scouting out the location and looking for signs that Colonel Wilson had already stationed someone here. But as far as he could tell, the only people here were visitors to the nation’s capital.
When closing time neared and the Park Service officers began herding tourists toward the exit, he faded into the shrubbery, hunkering down until the area was clear.
Once he was alone, he climbed one of the artificial hills with a view of the entrance court and settled down behind a stone wall.
Twenty minutes after the Park Service rangers had left, two cars pulled up, and five men got out. Most looked young, with lean bodies and military short haircuts, wearing suits or sports jackets, presumably to
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