Already Gone (A Laura Frost FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1) by Blake Pierce (notion reading list .txt) 📗

She fought for breath as the lightschanged, swallowing down bile and putting her foot on the accelerator. No. Shecouldn’t think of it. She couldn’t let the fear rule her. If she found out thather address was wrong, all she had to do was go in the other direction as fastas possible. She might get there in time to save him. She wouldn’t let Nate dietonight.

She set her hands firmly on the steeringwheel, looking ahead with determination. She was feeling good now. Clearer.Even the headache was starting to feel like it was ebbing away. She was…

She was on the wrong track.

The realization washed over her likespilled ink over a white page. The headache was ebbing away because the chanceof a vision was. She was moving in the wrong direction.

Laura pulled over sharply to input theother address, her hands shaking as she typed it in. She had to turn around,get back over to the other side of the city. To the same address that she’dsent Nate to.

She just hoped that she’d realized inenough time.

***

Tommy pulled up in his parking spot, turningoff the engine and resting for a moment. It was late; another shift that wenton past his normal start time. There were getting to be too many of theselately.

He got out of the car, slamming the doorshut as he walked past the side of the building and around toward the frontdoor. He passed his mailbox on the way, opening it up and grabbing whatever themailman had left inside for him. He leafed through it with minimal attention ashe moved to unlock the door, realizing quickly that he could toss it all aside.Mostly just bills that he couldn’t pay. What was the point in opening them?

He tossed his keys on top of the pile ofmail that was growing on the table by the door, shrugged off his jacket andhung it up, and left his shoes on the rack. A good cold beer, that was what heneeded right now. Something to take away the stress of the day. He headed forthe refrigerator, opening it and barely even glancing inside before he took outthe one thing he wanted. Food could come later, when he had gained back enoughenergy to cook.

The landline phone rang as he was aboutto go and sit down in front of the television. Huh, that’s odd, hethought, before reaching to pick up the receiver.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Laura brought the car screaming to astop outside the address, looking up as she did so for any sign that she was inthe right place. Her head was back to pounding again, and she felt like she wason the verge of triggering another vision. That had to mean she was in theright place.

As she leapt out of the car and ran forthe door, she caught a glimpse through a window set into it. A hallway. A tableset in the hall. A pile of mail on top of it, crowned with a set of keys.

This was the place.

She was here, and the victim was alreadyhome.

There was no time to call for backup, notime to hope that Nate was on the way. She had to go in, and she had to do itnow. She didn’t even have time to be afraid for herself as she charged for thedoor, landing a kick squarely underneath the lock, waiting for it to splinter.It took one more try, and she barreled forward with her shoulder braced to hitthe frame, relying on the damage that she had already done to yield to hermomentum. The old, poorly maintained, and half-rotted door exploded intosplinters as she staggered into the house, taking a course straight through tothe living room, following in the footsteps of Thomas Lacey as she had seenthem in her vision.

And there he was.

Thomas Lacey, his head tilted backagainst the chair as he kicked and fought for purchase on his neck, the bluestriped tie firmly around it, his face reddening with the pressure. Above theneck, with his gloved hands grasping the tie from the other side, was a tall,lanky man wearing a dark mask over his face.

But not dark enough.

The moment she saw his eyes, Laura knewit was him: Ed Bronston. She’d been right. But that was no consolation now.

For a moment they simply stared at oneanother, both of them in shock. Laura, because she had finally tracked himdown, and now she was almost too late, but there he was, and he was justlooking at her. He, probably because he had never believed he would beinterrupted in the middle of carrying out another kill.

“How—?”

Laura didn’t need to let him finish thesentence, didn’t need to answer. She hadn’t been able to draw her weaponbefore, while she was hurling herself into the door, but she could now. Shereached for the gun in her holster and pulled it out quick, holding it right tothe level of Ed’s head and freezing still again.

In the time that it had taken her topull a gun, Ed had gone for his own backup plan. He had pulled a knife from hisbelt and was now holding it against Thomas Lacey’s throat.

He said nothing, but the intention wasclear. Lacey had stopped struggling, his body going limp. His eyes were closed,and the motion of going for the knife had loosened Ed’s grip on the tie. Mostpeople didn’t die immediately after they fell unconscious from strangulation.It was a survival method. Playing dead, quite literally. The body went intoshutdown mode to preserve what little oxygen it had left; leave the airwaysclear, and they could come to. Laura had heard of it happening before. Serialkillers getting caught out because their “dead” victim woke up and escaped.

Thomas Lacey still had a chance. Justnot if Ed Bronston cut his throat for him before he could wake.

Laura’s hand tightened on the trigger.She had a good line of sight. She was staring Bronston right in the eye, and heher. There was nothing between her and his head. One shot—that was all it wouldtake. If she could land the bullet quicker