CHAPTER TWO
663 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Agent Tom Sawyer sat in his truck, his hooded eyes fixed on the gray building beyond the chained fence. The faint odor of sandalwood and sawdust lingered in his borrowed vehicle. The license plate wouldn't check out if anyone ran it. The windows were slightly tinted, hiding him from the cameras. For now, he was here on a fact-finding mission.
He watched as the guards changed and checked his watch. His finger tapped against the glass face of the device.
"Bingo," he muttered to himself.
Now would be the perfect point for entry. He wasn't going to breach the place guns blazing, of course. But the more confusion, the better. He already had a fake ID and a badge lined up. He already knew his entrance strategy. He'd been tracking the shifts and guard changes. A couple of the guys at this facility would even recognize him. But he knew when they were off and was planning to strike when no one would know who he was.
No one except for that psycho in solitary.
Agent Tom Sawyer's fingers tensed against his steering wheel, and his eyes narrowed as he stared beneath his baseball cap towards the prison.
The monster had killed his sister. Had played with Sawyer. Had intended to cause Tom suffering.
He could still remember his baby sister, her smile, her laugh. She had been one of his best friends. Hell, one of his only friends.
And that monster inside those gray walls had taken her from him.
It seemed only right that Sawyer return the favor.
As he sat there, inhaling the recycled ventilation, he could feel his temper rising. Why did that man deserved to breathe for another second when his sister was in the ground?
It wasn't fair.
His teeth pressed tightly together, and he inhaled shakily, trying to think straight. Part of him wanted to go there now. Wanted to just march through those gates, use his own ID, and get a shot at the prisoner that way.
But no. No, he wouldn't give that monster the satisfaction of taking out two Sawyers. Tom still had to figure out an exit strategy.
He rubbed his chin, his fingers testing the bristle. Beyond all of that, he knew there was another problem.
Dr. Beck. Ilse had a way of prying into people's business. She didn't really mean to. It was almost as if she couldn't help herself. She was inquisitive by nature. Clever. Good at her job. Both jobs.
Tom admired her. But having her snoop around would only make things more difficult.
No, he would have to figure this one out on the down-low, without letting Beck sniff out his intentions. She'd asked questions the last time they'd been on a case together. Prying questions. Almost as if she thought she could help him. Trauma counseling.
He snorted, adjusting the brim of his baseball cap to block out the sun.
He didn't need counseling. He needed a couple of minutes alone with the monster, and a body bag. And maybe a spare shovel.
His fingers drummed against his leg, and he reached to turn the key.
Just then, his phone began to ring.
Tom wasn't one to show his emotions. Inwardly, he jolted with fear. Was that the alarm? A second later, his mind registered the device on the seat next to him. Outwardly, he didn't so much as twitch. He glanced slowly over at the phone.
The supervising agent was calling. He'd once punched the man. This wasn't a social call. Work.
He sighed, reaching out and picking up the phone. He didn't even wait for the voice to say anything.
"Case?" Sawyer guessed. Again, he didn't wait for a response. "On my way."
He hung up before Rawley could get a word in edgewise. He turned the key, floored the pedal, and squealed out of the parking spot, moving once again away from the prison. For now.
He'd be back soon enough.
- Writer
