The Temporary Agent Read Online Free
month.
Only then did he cut the back door’s padlock, replacing it with an identical one to which he had the key, and hide a stash of emergency supplies under a rotted floorboard.
Just as he had been trained to do.
He had also buried a more complete cache of supplies in the undeveloped land out back.
And the shovel he had used for that purpose was now the means with which he would bury the body of the woman he loved.
His injury was bad, made the work slow going; he had to stop several times to reattach his makeshift dressing.
But within a half hour he had dug out a grave that was four feet deep, after which he carried her body, wrapped in a bloodied blanket, from the car.
Kneeling down, he carefully lowered her into the cold November ground.
Nearly every move he made gave rise to a pain that caused him to grunt.
But that pain was nothing compared to the burning in his heart.
At first he couldn’t bring himself to cover her with dirt, but he reminded himself that this was only temporary. He had no intention of leaving her family without answers for any longer than was necessary.
If all went well, he’d determine in a matter of days who had ordered the hit.
And why.
But he could only accomplish this if he remained free.
Whatever happened to him after that, he did not care.
Whatever price he’d have to pay to achieve his goal—to make those who were responsible suffer—he would willingly pay it.
Once he had finally buried her body he bowed his head and folded his stained hands, offering her last rites—or as close to them as he could get.
It had been a long time since he’d had any thoughts of God.
Now Cahill implored him to take Erica’s soul. And to guide him and give him the strength he would need.
It was only then that he had what it took to leave her.
Pushing forward was all he had now.
Minutes later, he’d dug out the sealed PVC tube that contained his gear and carried it to his vehicle.
Retrieving the two camouflaged game cameras from their respective trees, he tossed them into his vehicle as well.
He then swept the dirt with the tip of his shovel, smoothing the surface of the grave and covering it with debris before clearing away his boot prints as he backtracked from the scene.
It was a less-than-thorough cleanup and in no way removed all traces of his presence—but he only needed to buy a few days.
Back in his Jeep, he unsealed the PVC tube and removed its contents: various weapons, survival gear, necessary electronics, a field first-aid kit—all packed neatly inside a Ranger backpack.
He unzipped the pack and grabbed the first-aid kit.
As he peeled off his makeshift dressing, his wound started bleeding again, but he applied a sterile battle compress fast, binding it to the surrounding skin with surgical tape, and soon enough the bleeding stopped.
The kit also contained a box of oral cephalexin and a vial of ampicillin, along with several packaged syringes.
As he would have done for Erica, he injected himself with three grams of the ampicillin and put the cephalexin in his shirt pocket for later.
His eyes then went to the kit’s sixteen-ounce container of oral morphine, but he decided against that.
An hour’s drive was ahead of him still, and he needed to stay awake.
No doubt the pain—physical and otherwise—would fuel him.
PART TWO
Five
Tom received the first call on his cell phone at ten o’clock on a Friday morning.
But he was at his job and unable to answer—Specialty Fabrication Inc.’s policy prohibited any employee from engaging in cell phone use while working.
It was just one of the many rules that were strictly enforced by the foreman who seemed to be always watching from a glass-enclosed office high above the crowded machine-shop floor.
Tom had programmed his phone to generate a specific vibration whenever Stella called or texted, but what he’d felt in his pocket wasn’t that. The notification for all other incoming calls or texts was a set of five
Only then did he cut the back door’s padlock, replacing it with an identical one to which he had the key, and hide a stash of emergency supplies under a rotted floorboard.
Just as he had been trained to do.
He had also buried a more complete cache of supplies in the undeveloped land out back.
And the shovel he had used for that purpose was now the means with which he would bury the body of the woman he loved.
His injury was bad, made the work slow going; he had to stop several times to reattach his makeshift dressing.
But within a half hour he had dug out a grave that was four feet deep, after which he carried her body, wrapped in a bloodied blanket, from the car.
Kneeling down, he carefully lowered her into the cold November ground.
Nearly every move he made gave rise to a pain that caused him to grunt.
But that pain was nothing compared to the burning in his heart.
At first he couldn’t bring himself to cover her with dirt, but he reminded himself that this was only temporary. He had no intention of leaving her family without answers for any longer than was necessary.
If all went well, he’d determine in a matter of days who had ordered the hit.
And why.
But he could only accomplish this if he remained free.
Whatever happened to him after that, he did not care.
Whatever price he’d have to pay to achieve his goal—to make those who were responsible suffer—he would willingly pay it.
Once he had finally buried her body he bowed his head and folded his stained hands, offering her last rites—or as close to them as he could get.
It had been a long time since he’d had any thoughts of God.
Now Cahill implored him to take Erica’s soul. And to guide him and give him the strength he would need.
It was only then that he had what it took to leave her.
Pushing forward was all he had now.
Minutes later, he’d dug out the sealed PVC tube that contained his gear and carried it to his vehicle.
Retrieving the two camouflaged game cameras from their respective trees, he tossed them into his vehicle as well.
He then swept the dirt with the tip of his shovel, smoothing the surface of the grave and covering it with debris before clearing away his boot prints as he backtracked from the scene.
It was a less-than-thorough cleanup and in no way removed all traces of his presence—but he only needed to buy a few days.
Back in his Jeep, he unsealed the PVC tube and removed its contents: various weapons, survival gear, necessary electronics, a field first-aid kit—all packed neatly inside a Ranger backpack.
He unzipped the pack and grabbed the first-aid kit.
As he peeled off his makeshift dressing, his wound started bleeding again, but he applied a sterile battle compress fast, binding it to the surrounding skin with surgical tape, and soon enough the bleeding stopped.
The kit also contained a box of oral cephalexin and a vial of ampicillin, along with several packaged syringes.
As he would have done for Erica, he injected himself with three grams of the ampicillin and put the cephalexin in his shirt pocket for later.
His eyes then went to the kit’s sixteen-ounce container of oral morphine, but he decided against that.
An hour’s drive was ahead of him still, and he needed to stay awake.
No doubt the pain—physical and otherwise—would fuel him.
PART TWO
Five
Tom received the first call on his cell phone at ten o’clock on a Friday morning.
But he was at his job and unable to answer—Specialty Fabrication Inc.’s policy prohibited any employee from engaging in cell phone use while working.
It was just one of the many rules that were strictly enforced by the foreman who seemed to be always watching from a glass-enclosed office high above the crowded machine-shop floor.
Tom had programmed his phone to generate a specific vibration whenever Stella called or texted, but what he’d felt in his pocket wasn’t that. The notification for all other incoming calls or texts was a set of five
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