prevail. A pretty face could mask unwanted qualities. Partying frat boys never caught her eye; instead, she turned to the hardcore military types time and again, yet still never found one that quite matched with her wants and needs.
She wanted to meet this one, was eager to put a face with his endeavors.
Hope springs eternal.
Lark sighed, rolling onto her side. As much as she turned her nose up at the idea of a traditional life for a woman—getting married, having a couple of kids, and baking cookies for school holiday parties—she also longed for the opportunity to choose her own life. Hard to meet a goal of finding her other half and living happily ever after if every man she met backed away from verbal spars or she could kick his rear in a friendly martial arts match. She was an "in-your-face" girl and wanted a man who would not only stand up to the task, but give as well as he got. In her experience, they didn't exist. Much like the fabled Loch Ness Monster, many people claimed to have seen the elusive animal, but no one could drag one in for proof.
Glancing at the small jewelry box, she pulled her thoughts away from self-pity and on to more important matters such as staying alive with a powerful enemy determined to not only catch her, but make her pay dearly for her part in his capture. She had to move fast, pulling whatever strings necessary to get her hands on the log listing each and every person coming into contact with the jailed Santora, and release form along with any other tiny scrap of evidence she could find to link Thomas and Santora. Without it, the three-day time limit would expire, sending an avalanche of greedy headhunters crashing down on her head.
Ideas and plans dried up like rain in the Sahara desert. She quickly discarded each possibility because it either involved too much risk of discovery or would take far too long. Nothing short of breaking into the DEA office would solve her dilemma and that would not only strip her of her access, but land her butt in jail. Although, lock up might just keep her out of Santora's hands, at least for the time being. With a snort, she sat up, grabbing her cell phone. It was time to call in some favors.
Chapter 10
Thomas reclined back in his black leather office chair, folding his hands behind his head, impatiently waiting while his slower-than-snail-mail computer ran a new software program, checking all his accounts and following any signs of meddling, too much interest, or hacking.
Once again he patted himself on the back, congratulating himself on a job well done. Under the guise of moving Santora to a smaller jail where he would be less likely to end up dead from a rival gang member's homemade weapon, Thomas signed him out, delivering him into the hands of his employees, both in on the plan and partaking of a small portion of the drug lord's vast wealth. They transported him to an isolated location where Santora's driver waited before dashing off toward freedom and the safety provided by their fortress-like base of operations. The two men would return with stories of how they were ambushed, knocked out, and woke up to find their charge long gone. He would use his powerful influence to make sure they received no more than a slap on the wrist, ensuring their future presence in case something came up at a later date.
His own bank account should fatten with bonus pay from having to do more than his typical influential command for authorities to remain hands off and out of Santora's territory. Linking his name to Santora could mark the end of his lucrative career, but it was an opportunity he couldn't pass up with the piles of money flowing in his direction for modest effort on his part.
He would bet nearly all government officials believed their coworkers resisted the temptation to take under-the-table money or work for the other side, taking faith and confidence in each person's honor and unscathed morals. Just like he wanted it. However, a few proved
She wanted to meet this one, was eager to put a face with his endeavors.
Hope springs eternal.
Lark sighed, rolling onto her side. As much as she turned her nose up at the idea of a traditional life for a woman—getting married, having a couple of kids, and baking cookies for school holiday parties—she also longed for the opportunity to choose her own life. Hard to meet a goal of finding her other half and living happily ever after if every man she met backed away from verbal spars or she could kick his rear in a friendly martial arts match. She was an "in-your-face" girl and wanted a man who would not only stand up to the task, but give as well as he got. In her experience, they didn't exist. Much like the fabled Loch Ness Monster, many people claimed to have seen the elusive animal, but no one could drag one in for proof.
Glancing at the small jewelry box, she pulled her thoughts away from self-pity and on to more important matters such as staying alive with a powerful enemy determined to not only catch her, but make her pay dearly for her part in his capture. She had to move fast, pulling whatever strings necessary to get her hands on the log listing each and every person coming into contact with the jailed Santora, and release form along with any other tiny scrap of evidence she could find to link Thomas and Santora. Without it, the three-day time limit would expire, sending an avalanche of greedy headhunters crashing down on her head.
Ideas and plans dried up like rain in the Sahara desert. She quickly discarded each possibility because it either involved too much risk of discovery or would take far too long. Nothing short of breaking into the DEA office would solve her dilemma and that would not only strip her of her access, but land her butt in jail. Although, lock up might just keep her out of Santora's hands, at least for the time being. With a snort, she sat up, grabbing her cell phone. It was time to call in some favors.
Chapter 10
Thomas reclined back in his black leather office chair, folding his hands behind his head, impatiently waiting while his slower-than-snail-mail computer ran a new software program, checking all his accounts and following any signs of meddling, too much interest, or hacking.
Once again he patted himself on the back, congratulating himself on a job well done. Under the guise of moving Santora to a smaller jail where he would be less likely to end up dead from a rival gang member's homemade weapon, Thomas signed him out, delivering him into the hands of his employees, both in on the plan and partaking of a small portion of the drug lord's vast wealth. They transported him to an isolated location where Santora's driver waited before dashing off toward freedom and the safety provided by their fortress-like base of operations. The two men would return with stories of how they were ambushed, knocked out, and woke up to find their charge long gone. He would use his powerful influence to make sure they received no more than a slap on the wrist, ensuring their future presence in case something came up at a later date.
His own bank account should fatten with bonus pay from having to do more than his typical influential command for authorities to remain hands off and out of Santora's territory. Linking his name to Santora could mark the end of his lucrative career, but it was an opportunity he couldn't pass up with the piles of money flowing in his direction for modest effort on his part.
He would bet nearly all government officials believed their coworkers resisted the temptation to take under-the-table money or work for the other side, taking faith and confidence in each person's honor and unscathed morals. Just like he wanted it. However, a few proved
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