Page 74 of PSYCHOlogical

What are we going to do when this is over?

He flipped the archaic-looking phone open, read the text, and grinned.

New Dawn’s operators didn’t carry their personal phones with them when they went on missions. They used unregistered throw-away phones and never kept them for much longer than a week. It prevented them from having their locations traced through their phone numbers.

“When are you leaving?” I asked while he was typing his response.

He paused and glanced at his watch. “I should probably leave in about—”

Mid-sentence, the shrill sound of the alarm’s siren sounded.

I nearly jumped from my skin.

Vincent, as if it were an everyday occurrence, walked to the kitchen counter and began to press buttons on the monitor. The siren stopped. He nonchalantly flipped the screen from zone to zone with his thumb.

I swallowed heavily. “Are they here?”

He turned around. His face was emotionless. Without so much as an ounce of urgency, he walked to where he’d placed the canvas bag. He silently searched through it and removed a pistol. Then, a silencer. His golden-brown eyes met mine. Methodically, he screwed the silencer to the end of a pistol’s threaded barrel. He shoved the pistol into the waist of his pants and stepped directly in front of me.

“You’re…you’re going to go…out there?” I stammered.

He gripped my shoulders firmly and looked me in the eyes. “If anyone comes in the house, shoot them. I’ll call you on your personal phone before I come back inside. Keep it handy.”

Holding the pistol loosely in my hand, my arm dangled at my side. I swallowed hard and then gave a nervous nod of reassurance. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, breaking our embrace.

I tightened my grip on the revolver. “Promise?”

Without responding, he disappeared down the hallway.