Primary Valor Jack Mars (miss read books TXT) 📖

like Taylor, one of the real super rich.

The surge of fear at the risks shehad taken to get here.

The surge of… feelings… maybe…that she had about Rob.

Butterflies in her stomach.

It was a crazy night.

“Rob!” she shouted. “Rob! Whereare you going?”

“Come on!” he shouted.

He was tall and blond, a yearolder than her, on the football team, a lifeguard in the summer. His hair wasnice—it flopped down in front of his eyes. He was cute, and had a great body. Hewas buff. That’s what everybody said. Rob was buff. He wasn’t wrapped in atowel. He was just wearing red shorts. Wasn’t he cold?

It was dark out here. There was nomoon tonight. And it was getting way too cold now. She wanted to go back to thehouse. The sand was cold on her feet. A chill went through her and goosefleshrose up on her skin.

“Rob!”

Suddenly he was right in front ofher, and she bumped into him. He was like a foot taller than her.

“Hey you,” he said.

“Hey.”

He made a face, eyeing her suspiciously.“You okay, pretty girl?”

“I’m cold. I want to go back tothe house.”

“Already? Come on. Stay out herewith me. I’ll keep you warm.”

He slipped his big arms aroundher, and she let him do it.

Now the sensations were strongerthan ever. She pressed against him and shivered. But then everything changed.

Suddenly, there was a shadow inthe darkness with them. No, it was two shadows. She and Rob were pulled apartsomehow. She fell to the sand.

She looked up.

“Rob?”

Rob was still there, on his feet. Therewere also two men, fully dressed. They were wearing dark hoods, like ski masks.

One pulled Rob back by the hair. Theother punched him. Rob struggled with them for a few seconds. But then he wasdown on the sand, too. The men were punching him, and then kicking him.

Why? Why were they doing that?

“Rob!”

Charlotte jumped up, threw hertowel away, and ran back toward the house. It was there in front of her, lightsblazing, music thumping, tantalizingly close, but much too far away. She ranand ran.

“Help!” she screamed. “HELP!”

The waves crashed behind her, theocean roaring.

She gasped for air.

A hand gripped her hair frombehind.

An instant later, a strong arm wasaround her waist. It was the strongest arm she had ever felt—stronger than Rob,and he was a football player.

“Hold on, my friend,” a voicegrowled in her ear. “Wait a moment.”

She tried to kick and punch, butnow the other man was there. He circled around and stood in front of her. Allshe could see of his face were his eyes inside the mask. He held a hand out. Therewas a small towel in his hand. He pushed it against her face. It had a sweetsmell. She tried to turn away, but couldn’t. Strong hands shoved her face intothe cloth.

In a few seconds, she began tofeel dizzy. The lights of the house, looming right there, began to fade.It no longer occurred to her to scream, or try to move her head.

Slowly, slowly, everything wentblack.

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

6:01 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

South Ward

Newark, New Jersey

Luke Stone felt the accelerationof the armored car as it turned the final corner and started its run toward thehouse.

“One minute,” the team leadersaid. He was three people up the bench to Luke’s left.

“Rock and roll,” someone on theother side of the truck said.

“Move fast,” the team leader said.He stood, holding onto the railing above his head. He was helmeted, visor down,making his features hard to see. Luke knew him as a tall guy with a bushy beardand Coke bottle glasses strapped on his face, former 1st Special Forcescaptain. The guy seemed utterly fearless. This was not his first rodeo.

“Hit hard. No hesitation. It’s allbad guys in there. Do not let them give you one second of fight.”

Luke couldn’t see the house fromwhere he was sitting, but he could recall every detail of it in his mind. Hehad studied the photographs and the house plans.

It was a low-slung, one-storybungalow in a neighborhood of very similar homes. The front yard, and theproperty around it, was overgrown and choked with weeds. A couple of smallbicycles lay on their sides near the wall.

The place was five blocks from amassive landfill—if it weren’t for the dump trucks constantly driving on top ofit, and the flocks of seagulls diving from the sky for scraps, the grassylandfill could be mistaken for a small mountain, like a park for people to gowalking and hiking.

There were three bedrooms and onebathroom inside, the bedrooms down a narrow hall. The living room was where youentered the front door. A combined kitchen and dining room. In the kitchen wasa door leading down to an underground cellar. There was a fenced-in backyard,as weed-choked and overgrown as the front.

A squad of doorbusters from theDrug Enforcement Agency were likely hopping the fence into the yard at thissecond. A DEA helicopter with a sniper in the doorway was trailing this armoredtruck by about a quarter of a mile. It would arrive seconds after the truck.

“Thirty seconds,” the team leadersaid.

The engine of the big armoredtruck increased in pitch. They were really moving now.

Luke glanced across at Ed Newsam. Edsat on the opposite fiberglass bench, helmeted, visor up, black tactical vestwith the letters DEA in white across the front. His shotgun rested across hisknees. Ed and Luke were both bunched between other men in black jumpsuits,helmets, tactical vests. The line of men all looked like so many nameless,faceless storm troopers.

Luke’s eyes met Ed’s. Ed nodded,but Luke couldn’t read those eyes. The two of them were on an interagency loan.They were here as guests, to do an outside assessment of a drug house takedown.They’d driven up from Washington, DC, thirty-six hours ago. These were goodguys, but Ed and Luke barely knew them.

The team leader swayed with themovement of the truck.

“Here… we… go!”

Luke glanced past him at thefront. The truck was wide open and he could look through the windshield, seeingwhat the driver was seeing.

The house was straight ahead. Paleyellow, long faded; brown shingle roof with a slight overhang. It was comingfast.

The truck burst through thefencing and down the short incline of the driveway