Free The Guardians (MORE Trilogy) by T.M. Franklin Page A

was a nut. Not that she blamed him.  
    “Yeah,” he said. “I took it out a few hours ago. Are you sure you’re all right, Ava?”
    “Me?” Ava floundered a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Really. Sorry to bother you.” She backed down the porch stairs, waving weakly. “You have a good night.”
    She turned to hurry down the street, checking to make sure he’d gone back inside before getting into the car. Katherine was already there, of course, waiting in the driver’s seat and wearing a wry smirk.
    “Care to tell me what that was all about?” she asked as she started the engine.
    Ava sighed. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
    She stared out the window as they made it through the quiet town back to campus. She’d been so certain that her dream was more than a dream. Obviously, either she’d misunderstood it or it was just her subconscious messing with her. Ava should have felt reassured, but she didn’t. Instead, an unsettled tension weighed on her shoulders, and just like with Caleb, her intuition continued to prod at her, insisting that something wasn’t right. The problem was she had no idea what to do about it.

    Sloan Bartok stood on a rooftop a safe distance away, watching as the red Mustang finally turned around and left the neighborhood. His pale red hair curled around his head, blowing wildly in the wind, and he shoved it distractedly out of his face, annoyed.  
    He’d never been one to question orders, mainly because he knew he wouldn’t be given any answers, but the night’s assignment had proven an exercise in frustration. First, he’d been sent to intercept the cop, only to be diverted to Allenmore to the girl’s dorm then back again to the cop’s suburban neighborhood, but simply to watch from afar. It seemed a ridiculous waste of time, not to mention a waste of his particular skill set.
    He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a familiar number, breathing deeply to maintain his composure.
    “Yes?” a voice answered.
    “The girl was here, just as you said.”
    The line was silent. Only Sloan’s slow breaths measured the long seconds until the voice replied quietly, “And?”
    “She’s gone now. She spoke with the cop and then took off with Katherine Ross.”
    “Katherine? Really?” the voice said. “That’s a bit surprising. I was unaware the two had become friendly.”
    Sloan didn’t say anything. He’d learned that often it was simply best to wait for instructions.
    “You know what to do. It should look like a crime of passion. Cover your tracks carefully. We don’t want any inconvenient questions.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “A witness or two might be helpful, though. I assume you can handle that?”
    Sloan almost rolled his eyes, a bit insulted by the question. “Already taken care of, sir.”
    “Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Bartok. Your efficiency will be rewarded.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Inform me when the job is done,” he said. “Oh, and Mr. Bartok?”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t forget the wife.”  
    The phone went dead, and Sloan slid it into his pocket as he rolled his shoulders to loosen his muscles. He checked his weapon, then thought better of it and holstered the Glock. He reached down and slid the hunting knife he kept under his pant leg out of its sheath. Even in the darkness, the blade flashed as it caught a glimmer of light from the moon, and Sloan smiled in satisfaction. He didn’t often use weapons—given his gift, he didn’t need to—but this particular assignment called for unorthodox methods.  
    He leapt from the rooftop and walked casually down the sidewalk toward the cop’s house, the knife gripped loosely in his fingers. He whistled and flipped it in the air, catching it first by the blade, then the handle. If things went according to plan, he’d be done before dawn. Maybe grab some breakfast before he went home. He could go for some pancakes.
    Sloan stopped at the curb, looking up at the front porch for a moment as he flipped the