The Murder Club: An absolutely gripping thriller with a jaw-dropping twist (FBI Agent Susan Parker Book 2) by Sam Baron

Author:Sam Baron [Baron, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2024-04-22T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-TWO

I feel like a bomb has gone off in my chest.

I’m standing on the street outside my car, outside Naved’s rental.

It’s a chilly April night, temperatures still below fifty, but I feel like my heart is on fire.

I’m pacing the blacktop, feeling like putting my fist through the windshield of one of the cars parked nearby, picking up a rock and smashing it through a window, anything to express the rage I’m experiencing.

It’s like an animal trapped inside me, furious to be released.

Naved gets out of the Prius, asking me if I’m all right, asking me if I want to come into the house and sit for a minute, take a drink of water.

I ignore him.

Too many things have gone too spectacularly wrong today.

He starts to say something, but I don’t hear his words.

I hold up my hand, showing him my palm.

He cuts off in mid-sentence.

My hand opens the door of the Prius.

I get in.

The car feels unreasonably hot and stuffy.

I wind down all the windows, all four of them, breaking the driver’s side window winder when I apply more pressure than the cheap plastic can endure.

I toss the jagged piece of plastic out. It clatters on the street.

Naved looks down at it, then at me.

I floor the accelerator, leaping away from him, down the street.

I take turns at hairpin speed, cut onto Plum Canyon too fast. If any other vehicle happens to be coming down at that exact second, we would meet in a devastating collision.

Luckily for me, no other car does come at that exact second.

I take the turn onto Bouquet Canyon like a maniac. A red pickup truck idling at the light is the only witness to my frenetic Steve McQueen recklessness. I barely glimpse the male driver behind the wheel as I fly past him, but I’m sure he’s as shocked as anyone would be.

If he knew I was a cop, a federal agent at that, he would be doubly shocked.

The light at the next crossroad is orange.

I race toward it like my life depends on it.

It turns red a nanosecond before I reach the crossing.

I screech to a halt, peeling off rubber from my poor, much-abused tires. My Prius protests, trembling from my rough driving.

There are no other cars at the crossing. I could cut the red light and just go, nobody would know. But I can see a camera up there, its glass eye gleaming, and even though I’m mad as hell, I’m not inclined to break the law.

Not just yet anyway.

As I wait for the interminable light to change back, I text furiously.

You still up?

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