Tactical Force. Elle James

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Tactical Force - Elle James

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settled into a smooth drive, following the altered directions on Anne’s cell phone.

      When they were only a block away from her apartment complex, he slowed almost to a crawl.

      “Third building on the left,” Anne called out as he neared the parking lot.

      He drove to the location and brought the bike to a rolling stop.

      Anne clambered off, her legs shaking. She smoothed her skirt down and hiked her purse strap onto her shoulder. “Thank you for getting me to my apartment. Tell Mrs. Halv—”

      Jack adjusted the kickstand and dismounted.

      “Where are you going?” Anne asked, her brow furrowing.

      “To see you to your door and make sure you get inside safely.” He cupped her elbow and walked her toward the entrance. “And to find out what this is all about.”

      She ground to a halt and pulled her elbow free. “I’ll be fine.” Already hyperaware of the man after holding him around his middle for the past thirty minutes, Anne just wanted to be free of him, and settle in with a cup of her favorite tea to soothe her fractured nerves. “Be sure to thank Mrs. Halverson for me.”

      “She likes to be called Charlie.”

      “Thank Charlie for me,” Anne said and turned to walk into the building.

      Jack’s footsteps sounded behind her.

      Anne spun to face him. “Seriously, you don’t have to go up with me. I can manage on my own now.”

      “I’ve been given a mission to see you safely somewhere.” He shrugged. “Although the somewhere was vague.” He gave a nod toward the building. “I’ll assume it was to your apartment.”

      “I’m here. You can go.” She waved her hand as if shooing a pesky animal or child away.

      “I’m not leaving until I know you’re safely inside your apartment. Remember, we were followed not all that long ago.”

      “Yes, but you lost the trailing vehicle quite efficiently, though you scared the bejesus out of me in the process.” She tipped her head toward his motorcycle. “And you quite convinced me that I don’t like riding motorcycles. But thank you for delivering me to my apartment in one piece.” With that parting comment, she turned and strode toward the door.

      Again, Jack followed.

      Anne gritted her teeth and kept going. If he wanted to follow her all the way up to her apartment…fine. As long as he didn’t cup her elbow, sending crazy bursts of electrical current all the way through her body.

      At her door, she fumbled for the key in her purse. Finally wrapping her fingers around it, she started to fit it into the doorknob.

      Before she could, Jack grabbed her arm again.

      And like before, that jolt of electricity traveled up her arm and down to her belly. She started to turn to tell him not to touch her when he gently pushed her to one side of the door and pressed a finger to his lips. He wasn’t even looking at her, but at her door.

      Then he released her arm and gave her door a slight nudge.

      It opened without resistance. The doorjamb appeared splintered, as if someone had forced his way into her apartment.

      Her heart thudding against her chest, Anne started to step inside.

      Jack put out his arm and shook his head, mouthing the word Stay.

      Too shocked to argue, Anne remained rooted to the floor outside her apartment, while Jack slipped inside.

      She counted to ten, her stomach knotting and her breathing unsteady. How long could it take to look for bad guys? Just when Anne had decided she couldn’t wait another moment, Jack appeared in the entryway, his mouth set in a grim line. He opened the door wider, flipped the light switch on and stood back. “I take it you didn’t leave your place like this when you left for work this morning?”

      Anne stepped across the threshold and gasped. “What the h—?”

      Her home looked like something from a warzone. The sofa had been flipped on its back. The seat cushions had been flung across the room after they’d been ripped open and the stuffing pulled out. The artwork she’d painstakingly chosen and positioned on the walls had been slashed or painted over with a garish red spray paint.

      Every drawer in her kitchen had been dumped on the floor. Knives stuck into the walls as if they’d been thrown one by one.

      The photo frame containing a picture of Anne, her mother and her father had been destroyed, the picture pulled out and torn up into tiny pieces.

      Tears welled in Anne’s eyes as she continued through the little apartment to the bedroom. How much worse could it get? They’d destroyed practically everything she owned.

      It got worse. The bedroom, like the living room, was a shambles, with the mattress dragged off the bed frame, a long gash drawn down the center. The pillows were in tatters, the filling scattered across the room. But the message on the wall was what made Anne press a hand to her chest and reel from shock.

      Words written in bright red spray paint covered the wall over her headboard.

      CONSIDER THIS A WARNING

      Beside the words was a symbol Anne was all too familiar with. The crisscrossing Trinity symbol that might mean nothing to most but struck fear in the hearts of those familiar with the organization’s history.

      Anne staggered backward until her back hit the wall. Then she slid down and gathered her knees to her chest. “This. Can’t. Be. Happening.”

      Jack dropped to his haunches beside her and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry, but it is. And you can’t stay here. They know where you live and might come back.”

      She shook her head, her eyes glazed, her hands shaking in his. “I haven’t done anything. Why would they come after me?”

      “I don’t know.” Jack gently pulled her to her feet. “Grab the clothes you can, or better yet, leave it all here and buy new.” He slipped an arm around her waist and pressed her body against his. “The main thing is to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

      She shook her head. “But this is all I own… My things.”

      “They’re just things. At least you weren’t here when they came in.” He flung open the closet door.

      Whoever had trashed her apartment had used the same red paint, spraying a thick swath across the clothes hanging in her closet.

      Jack grabbed a gym bag from the floor. “They didn’t get this,” he said.

      He unzipped it and held it open. “Find whatever you can that’s undamaged, enough to get you by, and let’s get the heck out of here. I don’t want them to come back while we’re here.”

      Anne couldn’t seem to make her feet move. A crippling lethargy settled over her, making it impossible to think or motivate herself.

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