My Heart Belongs To You: A Psycho Thriller by Michael A. Walton
Authors: Michael A. Walton
Ads: Link
her head down and placed the 2007 file on the centre table for the two men. Turner ’s jaw dropped o pen as he watched her walk away with the 2008 file.
John smiled as he watched h er settle back down with the file . God , how he loved her. Turning to the heavy steel door , the smile faded , as he punched in a number on the keypad that only he and Tom knew. Stepping into the void beyond , an automatic sensor put on the lights on the high-reinforced roof above. It needed to be strong , as did the walls and the floor , since the items contained within could service a small war . As always, the smell of steel and gun oil set his heart racing . Moving quickly to a metal locker , he opened the door and pulled out a set of clothes that he used when in the field. He quickly stripped to boxers and began putting on the items from the locker . A lightweight strap harness with a soft leather sheaf that sat snuggly between his shoulder blades followed a black well-fitting sweatshirt . The sheaf contained a Venom Testudo Knife , with a forprene handle and an 18 centimetre serrated double-edged blade. The knife and the bespoke sheaf weighed in at around 350 grams and sat snuggly between his shoulder blades. A lightweight black over shirt followed this . A second light strap harness provided an under arm holster for a handgun . Next came, slim fitting black trousers that had a slightly elasticated quality and no flapping materials to catch anywhere , which was useful when using high kicks in combat situations. On the right leg , at thigh height was a slim pocket , inside which he slipped a telescopic baton , held in place by a Velcro flap. Once removed, it took one flick and it extended to twenty-one inches of hardened steel. Black socks and rubber - soled Magnum shoes followed , with the final item being a bomber type jack et that had multiple pockets with elasticated cuffs. Each item was checked , to assure they were secure . Laces were done up tight, and zips and flaps on pockets closed. Amongst those pockets, John carried various other items that remained in place at all times , ready for use, waiting for the opportunity to perform their function . In one , there were nylon wrist ties, in another , an emergency sti tch kit for stitching wounds, and in another , a set of nylon knuckle-dusters for inflicting them; it was the yin g and the yang of his trade. Hanson’s motto was ‘better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.’
Moving through the storeroom, Hanson began selecting more items from various shelves and cabinets. Once satisfied, he placed them onto a small flat surface an d did a quick check of each one . Lifting his right foot onto a stool, he pulled up his trouser leg and placed the ankle strap, containing a cold steel Braveheart boot knife with a four-inch double blade, around his ankle. Special Velcro straps that John had fitted insured a secure fit if he had to jog or flat out run. A small black zippered bag , around eight centimet r es long, four centimet r es wide and two deep, contained a set of picks and needles that Hanson could use to pick any number of locks.
Next, he snapped a full clip containing eight rounds into his Sig Sauer P230 handgun . At a little over 16 oz in weight and just over 6 inches long, it was an easy to conceal weapon. Pulling down the zipper on his jacket , he slipped the handgun into the underarm holster , then he pulled the zipper back up to conceal it.
Checking his wallet for cash and credit cards, he popped it into his back pocke t , closing the flap over it .
Finally, he placed the wireless bluetooth earpiece into place and married it to his Blackberry.
Checking himself in the mirror , he looked at his own reflection, took one deep breath and for just a second or two , looked himself in the eye before giving a curt nod that was like a trigger, he was now in action mode. E xiting the storeroom, he moved through the
John smiled as he watched h er settle back down with the file . God , how he loved her. Turning to the heavy steel door , the smile faded , as he punched in a number on the keypad that only he and Tom knew. Stepping into the void beyond , an automatic sensor put on the lights on the high-reinforced roof above. It needed to be strong , as did the walls and the floor , since the items contained within could service a small war . As always, the smell of steel and gun oil set his heart racing . Moving quickly to a metal locker , he opened the door and pulled out a set of clothes that he used when in the field. He quickly stripped to boxers and began putting on the items from the locker . A lightweight strap harness with a soft leather sheaf that sat snuggly between his shoulder blades followed a black well-fitting sweatshirt . The sheaf contained a Venom Testudo Knife , with a forprene handle and an 18 centimetre serrated double-edged blade. The knife and the bespoke sheaf weighed in at around 350 grams and sat snuggly between his shoulder blades. A lightweight black over shirt followed this . A second light strap harness provided an under arm holster for a handgun . Next came, slim fitting black trousers that had a slightly elasticated quality and no flapping materials to catch anywhere , which was useful when using high kicks in combat situations. On the right leg , at thigh height was a slim pocket , inside which he slipped a telescopic baton , held in place by a Velcro flap. Once removed, it took one flick and it extended to twenty-one inches of hardened steel. Black socks and rubber - soled Magnum shoes followed , with the final item being a bomber type jack et that had multiple pockets with elasticated cuffs. Each item was checked , to assure they were secure . Laces were done up tight, and zips and flaps on pockets closed. Amongst those pockets, John carried various other items that remained in place at all times , ready for use, waiting for the opportunity to perform their function . In one , there were nylon wrist ties, in another , an emergency sti tch kit for stitching wounds, and in another , a set of nylon knuckle-dusters for inflicting them; it was the yin g and the yang of his trade. Hanson’s motto was ‘better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.’
Moving through the storeroom, Hanson began selecting more items from various shelves and cabinets. Once satisfied, he placed them onto a small flat surface an d did a quick check of each one . Lifting his right foot onto a stool, he pulled up his trouser leg and placed the ankle strap, containing a cold steel Braveheart boot knife with a four-inch double blade, around his ankle. Special Velcro straps that John had fitted insured a secure fit if he had to jog or flat out run. A small black zippered bag , around eight centimet r es long, four centimet r es wide and two deep, contained a set of picks and needles that Hanson could use to pick any number of locks.
Next, he snapped a full clip containing eight rounds into his Sig Sauer P230 handgun . At a little over 16 oz in weight and just over 6 inches long, it was an easy to conceal weapon. Pulling down the zipper on his jacket , he slipped the handgun into the underarm holster , then he pulled the zipper back up to conceal it.
Checking his wallet for cash and credit cards, he popped it into his back pocke t , closing the flap over it .
Finally, he placed the wireless bluetooth earpiece into place and married it to his Blackberry.
Checking himself in the mirror , he looked at his own reflection, took one deep breath and for just a second or two , looked himself in the eye before giving a curt nod that was like a trigger, he was now in action mode. E xiting the storeroom, he moved through the
Similar Books
