Quidam13
3 Published Stories
Quidam13's Books and Stories
Agent 57 (Book 2)
Modern "She was my best friend. Someone I trusted far more than anyone else."
"What was she like?"
"She was worse than Devin if you can believe that."
***
When the team goes on the hunt for Agent 77, aka Garrett, they discover some key information in finding him...Only one problem, the last person who had it was Agent 57.
While they retrace her last steps, they run into Eliane, a civilian who gets caught in the cross fire. When they are put in charge of protecting her till the mission's over, they learn exactly how much Thirteen hates other girls.
But when Eliane starts getting closer and closer to Cody, Thirteen begins to revert back to her cold self. While Chase and Devin blame it on jealousy, Jason tries to look at it more closely, coming to the conclusion that while Thirteen seems to not be able to stand this Eliane girl, there is something more to it that's fueling her anger.
While Thirteen struggles to prove that there's more to Elaine than they can see, she gets a blast from the past.
Thirteen's a closed off and secretive person, so how will the team react when they find out exactly how open she can be around the right people? And what will they do when they have some questions that only she can answer?
Thirteen's always known more about the case than she's let on. But when she refuses to answer their questions they need find some one who can.
Unfortunately the only other person with answers, is Garrett...
***Book 2*** You might like
Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect
Fritz Heaney I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon.
The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat.
I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant.
"Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive."
There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission.
For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment.
When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself.
"Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."