THE GUARDIAN (Taskforce Series) by Marliss Melton Read Free Book Online Page A

done this kind of thing before. They couldn’t even monitor her phone calls. Jackson ’s agitation mounted. “So we do nothing?”    
    “Your best friend’s going to follow her home tonight to find out where she lives,” Ike said. “Then you and he can have a party at her place tomorrow, while she’s at work,” he added, significantly .
    Ah, so there was a method to Ike’s madness. Ike had Toby keeping an eye on the journalist. “Cool.” And by party , Ike meant that Jackson and Toby would raid her place of residence and seize her camera, her laptop, and anything else that could be used to jeopardize his cover.
    “You’ll want to convince her that your college isn’t right for her,” Ike continued on a steely note.
    In other words, scare the crap out of her so she’d leave.
    “Right,” Jackson agreed, relieved but also reluctant. He drew the line at intimidating women. Plus, he didn’t necessarily want to see the last of her. Having her around offered respite from the otherwise tedious experience of working through a program that redeemed ex-cons when he wasn’t one, and looking for evidence for the Taskforce that he doubted even existed .
    As far as he could tell, Gateway was everything it was held up to be.
    “Anything new?” Ike asked.
    Jackson thought about the book he’d glimpsed in Ibrahim’s office the other day. Just because the logo on the spine had looked familiar, that didn’t make the book suspect. “No, nothing. I can’t wait to come home,” he inserted, aching to hold his daughter whom he hadn’t seen since the start of summer when she’d left for Girl Scout Camp.
    “Tomorrow,” Ike reminded him.
    “Yep. See you, Pops.”
    “’Night, son.”
    Tucking his phone back in his pocket, Jackson flinched at the terrific crash of thunder that shook the ground under his feet. For a split second he was back in Iraq , his battalion taking mortar rounds.
    Working for the Taskforce was a lot like war, he reflected. Sometimes the line between ally and enemy got blurred.
    What was Lena Alexandra, aka Maggie? Friend or foe?
    One way to find out was to visit her tonight at the store with the other parolees .
     
    **
     
    Lena cast another anxious glance through the windows at the front of the store. This was her first night of handling the store on her own. She was relieved when floodlights came on outside at either end of the building, driving the mantle of dusk to the perimeter of the parking lot. The gas pumps stood empty under the illuminated shelter. The store was lit up like Las Vegas , only no one was coming to gamble, not even the Lotto-loving Amish man . She hadn’t wanted to be too busy, but the lull that had followed the initial rush made the time creep by.
    Nerves frayed by the continual classical music, Lena found the source and turned it off. How long would she have to wait for the parolees to venture over? Surely they would take her up on her invitation. The refrigerators hummed and the percolating coffee hissed. Then above those noises, a sing-song voice permeated the store. Seeking the source of the sound, Lena pushed outside to find Gateway’s parking lot crammed with vehicles. The eerie incantation was the muezzin , she realized—the Muslim calls to prayers, floating down from a minaret that pricked the cobalt sky. Lights shining out of the mosque’s high windows suggested a service was underway. No wonder no one had paid her a visit yet .
    But as long as the service didn’t last till midnight, she might have visitors yet.
     
    **
       
    “Go forth with Allah’s blessing,” Ibrahim called from the minbar, the high, tower-shaped podium from which he’d issued his sermon. Sweeping down the long steps he stalked to the back of the room to fling open the heavy doors to the foyer .    
    Freed to move, at last, Jackson unfurled his numb legs and rose from his prayer rug trying not to bump his neighbors. Dozens of men, visitors and current parolees alike, had been