Imperfect (Triple Canopy #3) - Riley Edwards Page 0,36

of meth, over four pounds of it.

“Why isn’t the DEA involved in this?”

“They are. English is only a cog in this operation. We want him to flip—tell us who’s running the heroin.”

“Never fucking ends,” I muttered.

“Nope. Never fucking does, little sister.”

Echo threw a big, heavy arm around my shoulders and tucked me to his side.

“Easy there, big guy,” I grunted and pulled my cheek off his vest. “You’re gonna take out my eye with a corner of a mag.”

“Wuss.”

“Buffoon.”

“Be safe in there. I clocked three shotguns in the living room, an AR in the weighing room, and English was strapped. And watch the women—”

“Not my first time kickin’ in a door,” I cut him off.

Echo sighed and squeezed my shoulder.

“My sister the badass. Where did I go wrong?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Brat.”

I elbowed Echo the best I could through his vest.

“You love me.”

“So much fucking much, Sunny, so fucking much.”

Damn, my brother was a big ole softy when he wanted to be. Which luckily for me wasn’t often because when he was, my heart filled to bursting and my eyelids got wet.

“Go, go, go,” Valentine called.

McCarthy swung the battering ram and the door splintered. He tossed the Donker to the side and Soloman charged forward behind the riot shield with Reyes behind him. The rest of us followed.

Shots rang out.

Not from us—from English or one of his women.

More automatic gunfire and I was thinking my brother and the DEA was gonna be shit out of luck when the crack of a bullet whizzed by my head.

Be safe.

Luke’s words flitted through my mind.

My go-to answer was “always”.

But until that moment I wasn’t sure I really meant it.

I didn’t have a death wish.

I just never thought about my quick retort.

However, that night with drywall dust falling from the ceiling, glass shattering, the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air, the butt of my rifle pressed against my shoulder, I knew I was going to do everything I could to get home and text Luke.

I broke left, followed Gordy up the stairs, and cleared the rooms.

They were all empty of persons but Echo wasn’t exaggerating. There was a shitload of drugs, stacks of currency, scales, baggies, latex gloves, masks, and everything else needed for packaging.

By the time we got back downstairs, all three occupants were facedown in the living room. Echo was in the house with a black mask covering his face, a long-sleeved black tee covering the tattoos on his arms, and gloves. He kept his distance when he looked over the man in custody. Without saying a word he jerked his chin at Valentine, then his gaze came to me. He did a sweep, tipped his head, and silently walked out of the house and he was gone.

Such was his life with the narcotics task force.

By the time I was done with all the after-action reports the sun had come up. I waited until I was showered and in bed before I texted Luke.

Home safe.

I thought that said it all.

My eyes were drifting closed when my phone beeped.

Good, baby. See you tonight.

I dozed off immediately and I didn’t have a single nightmare.

11

I felt his presence before I saw him.

Echo Kent.

I also ignored him and concentrated on the shooter in front of me who was looking to me for instruction.

“Your muzzle’s high,” I told Glen. “You’re bowling down with no sights then leaving yourself a lot of clean-up. You’re also going too fast. Half that speed and you’ll have a smooth draw stroke which will leave you with less clean-up and faster target acquisition. Next fifty rounds practice slow.”

“Got it.”

When Glen turned back to the shooting platform to reload his magazines I took a long inhale and faced Shiloh’s brother.

My first impression was he was a big motherfucker. My second was he looked like one pissed-off, mean, big motherfucker.

There was no mistaking he was Shiloh’s brother. Same light blue eyes, same tanned skin tone, but unlike Shiloh, Echo had dark blond hair instead of Shiloh’s honeyed.

Even if I hadn’t expected him to show up I wouldn’t’ve missed the family resemblance. But I was expecting him. Truthfully, I was surprised it had taken him four days.

“Luke Marcou,” he greeted.

“Echo Kent,” I returned then continued. “Figured you’d be here sooner or later. I’ve got ten minutes left in the class. You can stay and wait or you can call the office and make an appointment with Lauren.”

“I think I’ll wait.”

Right. Of course, he would.

“Great. Need you to wait behind the yellow line.”

Echo glanced at

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