thedaa.blogg.se - Finding kyle sawyer bennett

The case started just over five years ago after several informant tips started adding up to a plausible decision to go in. The club was long suspected of running drugs, guns, and sex slaves. That's because I went deep undercover, immersing myself into a sinister motorcycle club named Mayhem's Mission. We worked together at the ATF on a very dangerous and high-profile case that started ages ago, but that doesn't mean we've spent a lot of time together.

Over the years, he's lost a little more hair on top and gotten a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but, otherwise, he's not changed much. "We're going to go ahead and move you," he says, and then watches me carefully for my reaction. "The wiretaps have been approved and are going into place as we speak." After he swallows, he gets right to the point. He twists the cap off, setting it on the counter. He follows me into the modernized kitchen, which is done all in stainless steel and granite, and accepts the bottle from me. Instead, I walk to the fridge to pull out a beer for him. I don't address his comment on how I look. The walls are closing in on me, and all I can do is ride it out. Winter in Chicago is no fucking joke, but I wouldn't know as I'm not allowed outside this apartment. "You look like shit," he returns casually as he shrugs off his heavy wool overcoat. "I'm fine," I say before he can ask, stepping aside to let him in. He's always fucking worried around me, and it's grating on my nerves. Joseph Kizner stands there with a worried look on his face. It's way too contemporary for my taste, but what do I know? I've pretty much lived the past three years in a shit hole.Īfter a quick look through the peephole, I'm unlocking the door to pull it open. It's done in whites, grays and blacks with plenty of leather, chrome, and glass. With a sigh, I push back up, set my beer on the black lacquered tabletop, and move my way through the sparsely furnished apartment.

My ass hits the couch cushion, but no sooner do I twist the cap off my bottle of beer, then there's a knock at the door. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Published by Big Dog Books This book is a work of fiction.