Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) by Douglas Wickard Read Free Book Online Page B

and walked down the aisle past the magazine rack to the back of the store where the coffee station was located. Glass brew pots were lined up, tiered on different levels, steam rolling out from the tops. He could imagine Wallace adding all that cream and sugar standing at the little condiment station. Dan knew that store like the back of his hand. He’d been there a thousand times. On the slim chance, he lost the toss.
                 
    Dan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He whistled a ditty. He watched a teenage girl in a flimsy tank top exit the store. She hurried down a side street, her tits all loose and floppy. He watched bugs collect in a swarm around the streetlamp. The night was humid. Very humid.
                 
    Then, something changed.
                 
    Dan wasn’t exactly sure when he realized it, but something was off. He cocked his head to get a better view through the windshield. He wanted to see Wallace. There was a need to check on him, but he didn’t know why. Make sure Wallace was okay. Where the hell was he?
                 
    A little too late, a car revved its engine. Not in the parking lot, but on the side street. Lights flashed, a gun fired and before Dan knew it, Wallace was being escorted out of the store, a gun to his head, an arm throttled around his throat. And Wallace wasn’t a small guy. In fact, Wallace was six feet tall and sturdy which made the asshole holding him look like a fucking giant. Dan reached for his pistol and flicked off the safety. The coolness melted in his hand. His eyebrow started twitching, a nervous tick.
                 
    No sudden moves, Dan .
                 
    If he opened the door, the inside light would turn on. Dan didn’t want to draw any attention. He watched for a few seconds from the bottom of the passenger window. He inched his way across the vinyl seat to get a better look. A closer shot. The person dragged Wallace halfway down the sidewalk before releasing him.
                 
    Now!
                 
    Dan made his move. He pounded the passenger door open, held it for cover and rolled out and onto the blacktop. Wallace yelled out, “Stop! Police. Drop your weapon!”
                 
    Then, the unexpected happened. Another gunshot. Dan looked up as Wallace took lead in his chest. He watched his fucking partner be shot. The bullet hit with such force, it hurtled Wallace backwards against a dirty white trash can. Empty soda cans rattled across the asphalt.
                 
    Did Wallace have his vest on? Did he?
     
    Dan got to his feet and ran toward him. Screaming. No words. No sentences. Just sounds. Distorted, fucking sounds. A car peeled out to the right. Rubber burned as another gunshot split the silence. The bullet whizzed past Dan’s ear. Lucky, he guessed. Dan grabbed Wallace by the shirt and pulled him up to his chest. He started crying. Somebody ran from out of the Quick Mart. Dizzy commotion surrounded them. He yelled for somebody to call for an ambulance. Officer down. 10-53. But Dan knew. He knew they weren’t going to need the EMS.
                 
    That night, looking into Wallace’s blank eyes, Dan wanted to kill somebody. That humid summer evening, Dan felt enough rage to last an entire lifetime.
                 
    He lost his partner that night. His best friend.
                 
    Green light.
                 
    Dan accelerated, foot down on the pedal. He’d driven this way home so many times, the car practically steered itself. He passed by the familiar landmarks. The underpass that always reminded him of a concrete spider web, the sprawling tenement shacks that lined the Avenue, a boarded up Church’s Chicken with a huge FOR SALE sign dangling in the cracked window. Soon, he’d pass by the naval shipyard. A big empty hanger of darkness. When the Navy pulled out of Charleston,