Traffic by Taylor Bambico

Author:Taylor Bambico
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Human Trafficking, Mind Control, Private Investigator, Thriller, New York City
Publisher: Taylor Bambico
Published: 2019-05-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

5:31 am May 1st

Just after four, a bad nightmare about her and Evelyn on Staten Island left Nicole shaking for several minutes when she awoke. Method to calm herself successful, and decision made that enough sleep was gained, for now, she wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in her living room with both .45s until sunrise.

With what lay ahead, she opted out from her usual attire, which consisted of jeans, regular T-shirts and a pair of blue and white Converses or knee-high boots. Instead, she switched them for black combat fatigue trousers so she could carry essential items easier, olive drab Panama-Sole Jungle Warfare Boots to better protect her feet and a black T-shirt for balance. Her leather jacket, however, would remain.

If I must wear other clothes to camouflage amongst civilization, however, then so be it.

As she fastened each button on the fly of her fatigues, the webbed belt hung on the clothes rack caught her attention. To wear that versus any traditional leather one would be a much wiser tactic. While she slipped the end through each loop, her eyes remained on her bedroom mirror in case an unknown entity approached from behind her.

All dressed, she grabbed the vertical shoulder holster with magazine pouches for her .45 supplied by Rourke and put it on. Its straps adjusted for comfort and the familiar weight back in place, Nicole felt normal again, since that’s what a firearm did for peaceful individuals: It equalized the unequal.

Her leather jacket thrown on to conceal the Series 70, a smirk went across her face as she entered the garage after the front door was confirmed locked. Now that no one sees it, the problem’s gone. Every “scary” article is hidden. Pathetic. The door behind her now secure, too, Nicole punched the lit button, went around the front of her Trans Am, and slid behind the wheel as the door rolled up overhead. My keys are? She searched her jacket pockets until her fingers clenched around them. There they are.

Her car’s engine caught after a couple attempts and rolled out of the garage in first gear before she stopped to let it warm up. Glad I didn’t have to pull the shaker hood scoop and air filter off to spray starter fluid in the carb. With the garage door shut, she let her eyes scan back and forth across her neighborhood. All was fine, but that bothered her. Who’s watching me? One of you wants me, don’t you? Guess what: You try, you die.

A Ford F-250 Ranger parked past her driveway made a heavy tension form in Nicole’s stomach. Car shut off and keys now in hand, she got out and approached only after several minutes to confirm no one was present. At the driver side door, after she was positive the sidewalks were clear, she pulled on the latch to discover it unlocked.

Key in the ignition, a folded piece of paper taped to the dashboard had “Miss White” written in blue ink across it.

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