Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page A

like every jerk that had tried to date her in high school. He acted like one, too.
    Raven made a face. “I’m already qualified with it and I don’t carry one as a sidearm. I’d be better off throwing rocks.”
    Weaver smirked. “I am well aware that Agent King lets you carry that cannon of yours. But here, we play by the book or we don’t play at all.”
    Raven glared at him then took the weapon and faced downrange with it by her side. She could feel her hand shaking and willed it to stop. Then, in a smooth motion she pushed the dummy so it fell backwards and raised the pistol. Her focus narrowed on the target twenty feet away and in that moment she saw her father’s face. Her aim faltered and she lowered the weapon, unfired.
    “What’s wrong, Storm?” Weaver asked. “Do you still see you father?”
    Raven ignored him and tried again. She pushed the dummy and raised the pistol, every motion natural and practiced. Until she tried to pull the trigger. She couldn’t; The blank face of the target, every target, was Mason Storm. She set the Sig on the counter and closed her eyes.
    Weaver picked up the Sig. “Go home, Storm. You aren’t ready yet, you may never be.”
    Raven looked at him with his smug self-satisfied smirk, and she wanted to hit him, wanted to be furious. But she just felt sick. She’d been shooting since she was ten years old, this drill had been beaten into her so much it was second nature to her. At least it had been until a month ago.
    She shrugged into her jacket and walked away. Outside, the sun was just coming up over the city and it made her wince. Nothing was worse than sunlight when you were a night person who hadn’t had a full eight hours of sleep in weeks. She put her sunglasses on and slid behind the wheel of her black and red 1967 Shelby GT500. The custom-built engine grumbled to life, but even the throaty roar she trusted with her life couldn’t shake the dead feeling in her stomach. Today, it was just a noise.
    Forty minutes later she pulled into a space behind a non-descript white building on Third Avenue. The FBI building was technically on the other side, but they owned the unmarked building, the parking lot full of black sedans and, in fact, most of the block. Raven climbed out of the Shelby and hurried toward the back entrance. She waved her security badge at the clock and pushed through into back foyer, a small room that always smelled of old socks and cheese. A Marine behind an old desk sat up and offered a smile. “Good morning, Agent Storm.”
    Raven handed him her badge and he scanned it through the system. “Good morning, Jimmy. Is King in?”
    Jimmy handed her badge back. “He never went home, I think he’s in his office.”
    “Thanks.”
    He buzzed her through the magnetic door and she walked down the hall to the bank of elevators. At this hour, the building was as silent as a tomb and the elevator’s normally soft ‘ding’ echoed up and down the corridor and made Raven jump. She stepped inside and rode to the basement, where the denizens of Section Thirteen lurked. The doors opened on a hallway bare of anything except the silver stars of dead agents and glass doors that bore the eagle and stake insignia of Section Thirteen. The everpresent Marine, Blake, was seated at the desk beside the doors. He stood and opened them for her and she smiled a thank you before stepping into the cool, dark office on the other side. The office consisted of two rows of army surplus desks on top of pale blue carpet and surrounded by walls covered with fake wood paneling. On one side was a row of closed in offices, one occupied by Abraham King, another by Mason Storm and the rest empty. Raven paused to drop her jacket off at her desk, which had another stack of UFO files on it, and turned toward King’s office, which was as spartan as the quarters on a Submarine, with nothing but a desk, sideboard and three chairs. The old man was inside, staring at the computer monitor. On the