Son of Cerberus (The Unusual Operations Division Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

quizzically for a moment, contemplating whether or not he had actually seen what he thought he had. He rubbed his eyes and thought hard about whether he had seen a man—his man—jump from the back of the boat. 
    This was definitely bad news.

Chapter 3
     
    “The local police called the FBI, who in turn called the CDC, the NSA and the DOD,” Gregory said, droning on about the case already. Marcus barely paid him any attention. He still had Julie’s taste in his mouth. Where usually it was sweet, soft, and lingering, today it was tart, confusing, and nagging. He had hardly expected his girlfriend to be happy about going on a long weekend together, let alone delighted at the marriage thing. They had long had an understanding that work came before their relationship. Not six months ago, they had both agreed that marriage was quite possibly the last thing they would ever think about.
    On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine life without her anymore. As he glanced across the table to where his deceased friend Bishop used to sit, he couldn’t help but reminisce. The scars were finally healing, at least physically, and Julie had been a big help in that process. He had inadvertently opened up in nearly every way because of the last serious case his team had worked.
    Since then, a lot had changed. Lambert Frederickson, the mysterious old man that owned stashes of Relics across the globe, had been added to the agency’s rolodex as a consultant for everything Relic-related. He had warned the agency about multiple sites for the ancient pieces of history thus far and promised to have more up his sleeve. The only thing he wanted in return was free rein to pick and choose the most important pieces for his collection.
    Though the agency frowned heavily upon the prospect of having strange artifacts out and about in civilization, especially after what had happened with John Flipske, they reluctantly agreed. After all, his knowledge of the existence of such things predated even the inception of the Unusual Operations Division. Without his expertise on the subject, the UOD would undoubtedly be without a much needed advantage.
    John Flipske, as it turned out, was a unique case. He had taken the lives of quite a few people, including UOD employee Bishop. Though he had a spotless military record as a Special Forces soldier, he had succumbed to the influence of a powerful Relic. It had forced him to commit murder, destroy his own family, and seek an end to the world as everyone knew it.
    It was easy to say that the agency had changed significantly since then.
    The crew itself had changed, too. Cynthia Gordon had taken to remaining much quieter than usual. Her dark hair was worn down more often, covering her soft Asian features as it fell. She had started frequenting the gym even more than usual, and it showed. Though she had always been toned, she was becoming a well-oiled machine. The black slacks and tight fitting blazer she wore left no room for doubt that she was all about business.
    Though her beauty was still present, she seemed much more insecure. She wore long sleeve button ups and a single elbow length glove over her wounded hand. It protected the thin gauze dressing she used to cover the scabs. The scarring disfigurement had been caused by breaching an ethereal wall to free Marcus and kill John. It would not heal. Even though she had undergone multiple surgeries and various skin grafts, the wounds looked as fresh as the day they occurred.
    She did well to hide the pain the injury had inflicted. Though it obviously caused her discomfort, she never once complained about it. She would continue on, whether or not it hurt. Everyone knew she was tough, yet no one could have guessed just how tough she actually was.
    She caught him looking at her from across the desk and gave a light smile. Marcus smiled back and tried to play like he had been daydreaming. He had been, after all, but she didn’t know that.
    Brenda Vaughn and Stephen