One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3) by Irish Winters

Author:Irish Winters [Winters, Irish]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Windy Days Press
Published: 2018-03-20T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

They didn’t tell a single joke or scary story. Instead, Darrin fell asleep on his back with one arm thrown over his forehead and his mouth wide open. Snoring. For a little guy, he made a lot of noise.

Since he couldn’t sleep, Isaiah lay listening to Tucker’s latest rant in his head. He’d posted extra agents and pulled video surveillance footage from every metro stop in DC trying to track Bratton, but without success. Isaiah was tired of the gratuitous F-bombs with every failed lead.

Tate on the other hand was in transit to Isaiah’s house with Nugget, as well as with Isaiah’s and Roxy’s duffels from the safe house. Isaiah didn’t need his as much as Roxy needed hers. It was early morning, and Isaiah could’ve engaged his co-worker in psychic conversation, but didn’t. The quiet man would be here soon enough.

After he grabbed a quick shower, Isaiah opted for a light gray polo over jeans instead of anything remotely related to FBI standard issue. This job had become an undercover mission of the highest priority. No one needed to know he was working from home.

On his way to the kitchen, Isaiah backtracked down the hall to peek into his spare guest room. Letting just the barest sliver from hallway light breach the darkness, he checked on Roxy and Kitty. The sight that met his eyes was worth the risk of Roxy catching him and telling him to shut the damn door.

Dressed in one of his old white T-shirts from the closet, she lay with her back to him facing Kitty. Her knees were bent, and sometime during the night, she’d interlocked fingers with Kitty. For now, they both slept soundly. Roxy’s glossy hair had pooled in an ebony cascade on her pillow. Even in sleep, her chin tilted with attitude, but for once, her brows weren’t furrowed and her lips weren’t pressed tight and thin. She looked more like a loving mother who couldn’t bear to be separated from her daughter. Isaiah eased the door shut without a sound. He’d just seen heaven in his fortress of isolation, and it was glorious.

Padding back into his kitchen in his stocking feet, he started breakfast for his friend. One three-egg omelet, heavy on the sausage, bacon, ham and cheddar cheese later, Tate arrived. Isaiah had been watching for him and opened the secure garage when he’d pulled into the cul-de-sac, then closed it just as quickly once Tate was inside.

After surviving brutal torture at the hands of Senator and Mrs. Bick, Isaiah took no chances. He’d been abducted out of his parent’s home in Bethesda, right off their front step when he’d answered the bell. Hence, he’d added additional security to his place to ensure he’d never be kidnapped again. Call him anal, paranoid, or obsessive compulsive, he didn’t care, but his own top-of-the-line security cameras now recorded every square inch of his five-acre lot of land.

For now, there were only two ways into his home: the main garage door Tate had just driven through and another door at the rear of the garage that opened to his backyard.

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