by CW Browning
“I wanted to remind myself that if I could beat you in boot camp, I could beat anything they threw at me in Afghanistan,” he told her.
Alina gasped indignantly and tried to pull away from him. His arm tightened around her shoulders, hauling her closer.
“Oh no you don't,” he murmured. “I don't trust you not to fall over. You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” Alina muttered. “I just let that bitch beat the crap out of me so I could get her confession documented. I'm entitled to look like hell.”
Damon chuckled.
“Like your gunny said, 'well done, you,'” he said, squeezing her gently.
Alina felt a rush of warmth at the tone in his voice and she smiled in the darkness.
“He's not my gunny,” she retorted, resting her head tiredly on Damon's strong shoulder, suddenly exhausted.
“Good.”
Hawk murmured the word so softly that Alina wondered if she had really heard it.
Neither of them gave another thought to the lifeless body of the traitor left behind.
Epilogue
Alina drifted in a pleasant state between dozing and wakefulness, the hot sun warming her skin as she laid back in a reclining chair. The sound of waves lapping gently against the sand a few feet away had lulled her into a relaxed state of mindlessness as a soft breeze blew in off the water. She breathed in the scent of sunbaked sand, enjoying the state of just being.
A shadow fell over her and she opened her eyes reluctantly behind her sunglasses, watching as Hawk set down a drink on the table beside her. It was in a hollowed out pineapple and had a straw and an umbrella sticking out of it.
“That's a pineapple,” she said, sitting up.
Damon settled in the recliner on the other side of the little square table and glanced at her with a grin. He set a bottle of beer next to the pineapple and shrugged.
“You told me to get you a drink with an umbrella,” he retorted. “As you can see, it has an umbrella.”
“That it does,” Alina agreed with a laugh, picking it up and stirring it with the straw. “What is it?”
“I don't know,” Damon answered with a yawn, laying back on his chair. “The bartender said it's their best-selling drink.”
“Well, who am I to argue with the masses,” Alina murmured, sipping the drink. It was pineapple and coconut and tasted like a sugary piece of heaven. “Mmmm. It's good.”
Alina sipped her pineapple and stared out over the startlingly blue water lapping at the island beach before them. It was Saturday. Raven was back at the house in Medford, where Alina would join him as soon as she and Hawk got the all clear. Harry and Charlie had hustled them out of the country as soon as Alina handed over her evidence. Charlie wanted them both out of the way while he cleaned up the loose-ends in Washington, and Alina was glad to be away from the chaos. She had intended to go to Europe and begin the tedious task of selling her safe houses and locating new ones, ones that would not go into any file, fake or otherwise, but Damon suggested the Islands instead. Viper felt guilty enough about Peru to agree, and now she was very glad that she had.
“I'm glad I let you talk me into this,” Alina said, setting her pineapple down at last and settling back on her chair. Damon glanced at her with a faint smile.
“You've earned it,” he murmured. “But I can't take all the credit. Harry was the one who suggested it.”
“Harry! Of course he did.” Alina closed her eyes behind her sunglasses.
“Here is the paper, Señor.” A resort employee appeared next to Damon, handing him a thick newspaper. “Just came.”
“Thank you.” Damon took the paper and the man headed back to the beach-front bar behind them.
Alina opened her eyes and glanced over, watching as Damon opened the New York Times and scanned the headlines. After a moment, he folded it again and passed it over to her without a word. Alina grabbed it and unfolded it, her eyes falling on the block letters:
ALEX LUDMERE DIES UNEXPECTEDLY TWO DAYS AFTER RESIGNING THE VICE PRESIDENCY
Raising an eyebrow, Alina scanned the article quickly. Ludmere had died the night before at his southern estate, the cause of death unknown.
She folded the paper again and dropped it onto the sand between the two chairs. Glancing over, she found Hawk watching her.
“Charlie?” he asked.
“It wouldn't surprise me,” she answered.
Damon nodded and settled back again on his seat, keeping his head turned toward her. Alina followed suit and they looked at each other for a moment in silence, absorbing the news. It really was over.
He reached out his hand and Alina's fingers touched his, entwining with them over the sand. She smiled slowly as their hands hung, joined, between their seats.
“Viper?”
“Yes?”
“If you ever drug me again, I'll kill you.”
“Understood.”
Damon nodded and turned his head back to the sun, closing his eyes and tightening his fingers on hers. Alina smiled and closed her eyes. The sun was hot and the breeze was cool, and there was nowhere else she could imagine being at that moment.
It was over, and they were free.
The resort employee who had taken the paper over to the couple on the sand watched them from behind the bar. After a moment, he turned away and made his way to the phone at the back. Dialing, he kept an eye on the couple and waited while the phone rang. It was picked up on the second ring.
“It's definitely him. The Hawk.”
“You're sure?” the voice on the other end demanded.
“I'm sure. I have the picture the woman in Washington sent.”
“Good. I will let the new head of the Cartel know,” the voice paused. “Keep an eye on him.”
“Of course.”
The man hung up and went back to the front of the bar, smiling at the customers and leaning forward to greet them, all the while keeping an eye on the couple holding hands between chairs on the white sands of the island beach.
Note from Author
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed Next Exit, Pay Toll, please take a moment to leave an honest review. Reviews are invaluable to authors, and it would be greatly appreciated!
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Copyright © 2013 by Clare Wroblewski
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Dissect Designs / www.dissectdesigns.com
Book design by Clare Wroblewski
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
CW Browning
Visit my website at www.cwbrowning.com
First Printing: 2013
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Did you love Next Exit, Pay Toll? Then you should read Next Exit, Dead Ahead by CW Browning!
Alina Maschik expected to have a few quiet days alone in New Jersey.
She should have known better.
FBI Agent Stephanie Walker has a problem. Whenever Alina comes int
o town, someone ends up dead. When the enigmatic Damon Miles follows, that count is doubled. Now, a mere week before Halloween, Stephanie's main informant has gone missing. When part of him shows up in a reputedly haunted prison, the local attraction becomes the center of a macabre and baffling spectacle. As bodies start to fill the morgue, Stephanie must trust in Alina's particular skill set to prevent further bloodshed. But that trust comes with a price, as Alina and Damon bring their own brand of trouble, uncovering a sinister web of deadly intrigue reaching far beyond the familiar South Jersey suburbs.
A prison haunted by tortured souls, a puzzling federal investigation, a rising body count, and a pair of deadly assassins...what could possibly go wrong?
Book 3 of The Exit Series
Read more at CW Browning’s site.
Also by CW Browning
Kai Corbyn Series
Games of Deceit
Shadows of War
The Courier
The Oslo Affair
Night Falls on Norway
The Iron Storm
Into the Iron Shadows (Coming Soon)
The Exit Series
Next Exit, Three Miles
Next Exit, Pay Toll
Next Exit, Dead Ahead
Next Exit, Quarter Mile
Next Exit, Use Caution
Next Exit, One Way
Next Exit, No Outlet
The Exit Series Box Set #1: Books 1-3
Watch for more at CW Browning’s site.
About the Author
CW Browning was writing before she could spell. Making up stories with her childhood best friend in the backyard in Olathe, Kansas, imagination ran wild from the very beginning. At the age of eight, she printed out her first full-length novel on a dot-matrix printer. All eighteen chapters of it. Through the years, the writing took a backseat to the mechanics of life. Those mechanics, however, have a great way of underlining what genuinely lifts a spirit and makes the soul sing. After attending Rutgers University and studying History, her love for writing was rekindled. It became apparent where her heart truly lay. Picking up an old manuscript, she dusted it off and went back to what made her whole. CW still makes up stories in her backyard, but now she crafts them for her readers to enjoy. She makes her home in Southern New Jersey, where she loves to grill steak and sip red wine on the patio.
CW loves to hear from readers! She is always willing to answer questions and hear your stories. You can find her on Facebook and Twitter. If social media isn’t your thing, she can also be reached by email at [email protected] and on her website at www.cwbrowning.com.
Read more at CW Browning’s site.