No Ordinary Day by Tate, Harley (life changing books txt) 📗

eyes. Why would John give her and Tyler a tool to calm their nerves if he was just going to put a bullet in her brain? It didn’t make any sense.

When the elevator doors opened that first morning, she hadn’t thought a thing of it. When he’d gotten on at lunch, he’d played it off as a coincidence, claiming to not even remember her. Then he’d helped them escape the elevator. Agreed to take Emma and Holly to Gloria’s. Made small talk with Gil and bonded with Tank.

According to the text exchange, it was all a lie.

He wasn’t a financial auditor out of work and waiting for a lawsuit to play out. He wasn’t an average guy along for the ride, happy to help and keep them safe. He was the stone-cold shooter who’d taken those men out on the street. The man who’d stepped over Zach’s body like a sack of potatoes. A hired gun with Emma and Gloria as targets.

Visions of blood congealing on the floor filled Emma’s mind and she staggered to her feet. She had to get out of there. She had to keep Holly safe. Emma shoved the phone in her pocket and took a deep breath.

It was time to stop relying on a stranger to save her. It was time to save herself.

Chapter Nineteen

John

The ground rumbled beneath John’s body and as he opened his eyes to the dark of night, the entire world shifted. He hit air, arms flailing, legs windmilling, before the earth rose up to meet him.

His face smashed into gravel and his knee slammed into the dirt first, followed by his chest and the breath in his lungs. The headlights of the old pickup blared to life, cutting across the trees as dust and gravel kicked into his eyes. John rolled over onto his back and tried to breathe as the truck, Emma, Holly, and Tank drove away.

What on earth? The taste of exhaust and forest floor coated his tongue as he sat up to assess his injuries. His knee throbbed, blood trickled down his cheek, and he might have cracked a rib. He couldn’t catch the truck even if he sprinted.

He’d lost his target.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, he brushed off his pants and sweater and searched the ground for his bag. Thank God. It landed a few feet away, intact and no worse for wear. He shoved his hand in the main compartment and fished for his phone.

I know I put it in here last night. He dragged the bag closer and yanked the zippers completely open. Binoculars. Tracker. Snack bars. A bottle of water.

No phone.

He cursed. Had Emma found it in the night? Was that why she left him in the dirt? He thought back to when she’d woken up. He’d been on the device, texting with Dane over the new situation. Had she seen him?

It was the only explanation.

He chastised himself for being so foolish. After she’d caught him with it the day before, he should have been more careful. Now he was on foot, miles from Cross, Sanchez, and fulfilling his assignment.

No wheels to get there and barely any food or water. He unscrewed the cap to his only bottle and took a sip, swishing the water around in his mouth before spitting it out along with a good amount of dirt. He’d have to ration.

After ridding himself of the taste of grit and dirt, John pulled out the handheld tracker he’d brought along in case of emergencies just like this one. The little sticker he’d shoved onto Emma’s work pants was hopefully still active, even with the run through the dryer. He turned on the locator and waited.

It didn’t take long for a little red dot to show up on the screen. Estimated distance, three miles and gaining. Without his phone, he didn’t have access to the full functionality—no map overlay and real-time movements. But he could tell when he was getting closer or when she was gaining ground.

John checked his watch. At this rate, Emma would reach the cabin before dawn. If he hustled, he could make it there by midday. A six-plus hour head start to warn Sanchez and get out of dodge. From what he’d seen of Emma, she wasn’t a fast mover. There would be crying and confusion. Uncertainty and fear. It bought him a bit of time.

Not good odds, but not impossible, either.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, checked his Sig was safe and secure in his holster, and took off down the gravel road. Still annoyed at his lack of foresight, he ran over his missteps in his mind. A phone he kept checking, but not explaining. Constant denials about service. Unwillingness to share any information. Amateur hour and he knew better.

Dane would have his head if he knew. John smacked his cheek, half in annoyance and half in an effort to wake up. It had been so long since he’d spent time with anyone apart from Dane and the other guys in their pseudo-unit, he’d forgotten how to blend.

Memories surfaced as he walked, and John welcomed the distraction. Dane had been the first officer he’d met upon checking in at Camp Lejeune. Ten years older and full of knowledge, John had eaten him up at the time, listening to every piece of advice and following every order. When they deployed to Afghanistan, Dane had been the reason he came home alive. If it weren’t for his quick thinking the day the IED exploded, there would have been three body bags instead of two.

John exhaled. He owed Dane more than a good job. More than a completed mission. He owed him his life.

He was the closest thing to a father John ever had. Disappointing him was the last thing he wanted, but John couldn’t shake his misgivings.

Emma had gotten to him. Holly and Tank, too. They weren’t bad people. They weren’t trying to steal or cheat or hurt someone else. They were trying to