Read Online Rx Missing (Decorah Security Series, Book #10): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel by Rebecca York - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca York
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conceal weapons. One of them had a fringe of dark hair surrounding a shiny dome.
After looking around the empty parking area, he called the group together for a conference. That had to be Colonel Wilson, if a colonel by that name even existed. Or maybe it was someone else entirely who had no connection with the U.S. government.
The leader moved cautiously toward the monument as his men fanned out around the area, except one of them who stayed with the Wilson character. His second in command or his bodyguard?
Grant studied their tense posture. It was clear this was no friendly meeting designed to reassure the grieving brother about Mack Bradley’s whereabouts.
A flare of anger lanced through Grant. First he’d thought his brother was dead. Then a kind of cautious hope had surged through him. Now he didn’t know what to think. Mack could still be dead, under circumstances that the brass didn’t want to admit or reveal. Like that former football hero who had been killed by friendly fire.
Or he could be in secret captivity. By our side? Or the enemy?
Grant gritted his teeth, ordering himself to put his emotions aside. They wouldn’t do him any good. Not when it was clear these guys were here to capture the nosy brother—or kill him to make sure his concerns about Mack Bradley went no further.
Chapter Ten
From his vantage point above the main tourist area, Grant watched the men take up positions around the monument, all of them facing the parking area. Their tactics confirmed his earlier assumption. It was clear that the team thought they had arrived first and were getting ready to give Grant a big surprise when he showed up.
Edging closer to the place where the leader of the operation was standing with his colleague, Grant strained to hear what they were saying.
“Do you think he’ll show?”
“He wants to know what happened to his brother.”
“Too bad he had to open that coffin. Who would have thought he’d do that?”
“Yeah, and if he finds out what’s up, he’d better not be in shape to share the info with anyone else.”
The pointed conversation confirmed Grant’s assessment that there was never any intention of making this a friendly meeting.
He strained to hear more, but the colonel lowered his voice, sounding like he was giving commands into a microphone, sending his words to the earpieces of the men who were spread out around the area.
If Grant wasn’t going to get any information from Wilson, who might or might not be working for the U.S. government, he had only a few alternatives.
Once again he surveyed the monument and the men who were settling in to surprise their quarry when he arrived. An excellent location for an ambush. Isolated and with ample cover.
The operatives faded into the underbrush, the way Grant had done earlier. But although they were concealed from the front, their backs were exposed. Like the French with the Maginot Line designed to repel a German invasion after World War I. All the guns faced East, with no way to swivel around.
He singled out the man who was closest to the Tidal Basin, and moved in that direction, avoiding detection as he zeroed in on his quarry.
The guy shifted his weight, his focus on the empty parking area, scanning for an approaching vehicle or perhaps someone on foot. Grant moved into position behind him, grabbed him by the throat and pulled him backwards. He used an illegal choke hold that would knock him out for a minute—or kill him if Grant had miscalculated. While the guy was out, Grant riffled through his pockets and took his wallet, which he slipped into his own pocket.
The guy was already stirring, and Grant grasped him by one shoulder and dug the barrel of his Sig into the man’s back.
“Wha. . .?”
“Take it easy. I just want information,” Grant said. “What the hell is going on here—and with my brother?” he demanded, pretty sure that the guy didn’t know the answer to the last part of the question. But he asked it
After looking around the empty parking area, he called the group together for a conference. That had to be Colonel Wilson, if a colonel by that name even existed. Or maybe it was someone else entirely who had no connection with the U.S. government.
The leader moved cautiously toward the monument as his men fanned out around the area, except one of them who stayed with the Wilson character. His second in command or his bodyguard?
Grant studied their tense posture. It was clear this was no friendly meeting designed to reassure the grieving brother about Mack Bradley’s whereabouts.
A flare of anger lanced through Grant. First he’d thought his brother was dead. Then a kind of cautious hope had surged through him. Now he didn’t know what to think. Mack could still be dead, under circumstances that the brass didn’t want to admit or reveal. Like that former football hero who had been killed by friendly fire.
Or he could be in secret captivity. By our side? Or the enemy?
Grant gritted his teeth, ordering himself to put his emotions aside. They wouldn’t do him any good. Not when it was clear these guys were here to capture the nosy brother—or kill him to make sure his concerns about Mack Bradley went no further.
Chapter Ten
From his vantage point above the main tourist area, Grant watched the men take up positions around the monument, all of them facing the parking area. Their tactics confirmed his earlier assumption. It was clear that the team thought they had arrived first and were getting ready to give Grant a big surprise when he showed up.
Edging closer to the place where the leader of the operation was standing with his colleague, Grant strained to hear what they were saying.
“Do you think he’ll show?”
“He wants to know what happened to his brother.”
“Too bad he had to open that coffin. Who would have thought he’d do that?”
“Yeah, and if he finds out what’s up, he’d better not be in shape to share the info with anyone else.”
The pointed conversation confirmed Grant’s assessment that there was never any intention of making this a friendly meeting.
He strained to hear more, but the colonel lowered his voice, sounding like he was giving commands into a microphone, sending his words to the earpieces of the men who were spread out around the area.
If Grant wasn’t going to get any information from Wilson, who might or might not be working for the U.S. government, he had only a few alternatives.
Once again he surveyed the monument and the men who were settling in to surprise their quarry when he arrived. An excellent location for an ambush. Isolated and with ample cover.
The operatives faded into the underbrush, the way Grant had done earlier. But although they were concealed from the front, their backs were exposed. Like the French with the Maginot Line designed to repel a German invasion after World War I. All the guns faced East, with no way to swivel around.
He singled out the man who was closest to the Tidal Basin, and moved in that direction, avoiding detection as he zeroed in on his quarry.
The guy shifted his weight, his focus on the empty parking area, scanning for an approaching vehicle or perhaps someone on foot. Grant moved into position behind him, grabbed him by the throat and pulled him backwards. He used an illegal choke hold that would knock him out for a minute—or kill him if Grant had miscalculated. While the guy was out, Grant riffled through his pockets and took his wallet, which he slipped into his own pocket.
The guy was already stirring, and Grant grasped him by one shoulder and dug the barrel of his Sig into the man’s back.
“Wha. . .?”
“Take it easy. I just want information,” Grant said. “What the hell is going on here—and with my brother?” he demanded, pretty sure that the guy didn’t know the answer to the last part of the question. But he asked it
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