Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) (39 page)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Crickets…

Wake up, woman! I’m about to head out for a day full of
guys stuff
and I’d love to hear from you before I start my day.

I love you, you crazy-sassy-adorable-sexy-beautiful woman.

Always yours,

X

CHIEF DUBOIS SITS BEHIND HIS desk. One of his hands holds the phone to his ear while the other worries through his hair at a frantic pace.

“I haven’t heard from her in over twenty-four hours,” he spits into the phone.

A heavy sigh escapes his lungs as his eyes close shut with frustration. The responses he is getting from the other end of the line are infuriating him.

“If I knew where the fuck she was, do you think I’d be calling you?” he rhetorically shouts to his superior on the other line. “Sims is AWOL and my best fucking agent has gone missing. I need a team down there immediately!” He slams the phone done with brute force, the receiver all but smashing into pieces against his desk. “FUCK!” he shouts into the quiet room.

Chief knows that something terribly bad has happened in Guadalajara, and he has a sick feeling in his gut that Agent L-55’s life is in danger...

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Hello?

Please let me know that you’re okay.

You’re usually so quick to respond to my demanding emails…

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: WORRIED

I’m sick with worry over here, baby. I hope to God that you’re just busy and haven’t had a chance to check your email. Fuck, I miss you so much and love you even more.

Please respond to my emails and let me know that you’re okay, and then hurry your sexy ass home.

X

IF SOMETHING SEEMS TOO GOOD
to be true, it usually is.

DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.

Her eyelids flutter faintly from the disturbance.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She blinks once, twice, three times—all in synchrony with the noise and the lukewarm liquid splattering against her brow.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Sloan’s eyes open hesitantly. Her vision is blurred and everything is magnified underneath a kaleidoscope lens. She fights against the incessant throb radiating from her skull to open her eyelids all of the way. The entire right side of her face is aching and sharp pain emits down her cheekbone. A deep, relentless pain exudes from her right shoulder and left thigh. Her memory is foggy at best, merely nonexistent.

So much time is missing…

She recounts her steps, frantically searching for clues…for memories…for
anything
to bring her to the present. Her hands endeavor to touch her face, to wipe away the persistent drops of water crashing against her brow, but she can’t move. Her fingertips brush against the thick, coarse material wrapped around her wrists. Rigid material is secured tightly, keeping her arms restrained behind her back. Blood oozes from the open abrasions along her delicate skin as the rope cuts into her wrists with each severe movement of her arms. A constant burning sensation resonates across her skin.

She blinks through the haze and her vision becomes marginally clearer. Her befuddled brain has the vague sensation of being anesthetized as she glances around the room. Her vision is better—adequately taking in her surroundings—but everything appears doubled.