Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
She might be my new client but that went out the window the second I laid eyes on her. No matter how long it takes, I’m going to help her. But what is her father up to?
She’s gorgeous, and I want her to be mine. But she’s only eighteen. Is this right? Maybe I am going to hell, but damn it, she’s worth it.
I will do anything to protect her even if that means digging into her father’s life. But what is he hiding? And is my woman in danger?
The age difference is huge – almost twenty years. But when I look at her, I know that the truth is, it doesn’t matter to me. It’s never going to matter to me.
Wrong or right? I need her, and I need her now. But will she forgive me when keeping her safe means keeping her in the dark?
* Claimed By The Detective is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Jenna
I stand in the middle of the street and turn in a circle, utterly confused and lost.
I’m sure the map said to go left. So I went left, and now I’m on a residential street – but looking for an office. This can’t be right. Did I go the wrong way?
More importantly, when did I go the wrong way?
Feeling a headache building up in my temples, I press my hands to my head for a moment.
Navigating on my own is not my thing. I’m practically useless. How I’ve managed to get to be eighteen years old and this bad at surviving on my own I will never know.
I act like an adult right– but every time I try to strike out on my own, it just makes me feel like a kid.
This is the worst part if I don’t get the answers I need, and maybe even if I do, I will be on my own very soon.
Sighing I take a deep breath. I need to take a look at the map again, and maybe then I can figure it out.
Something hits me square in the back, and I spin around, ready to confront whoever just attacked me.
Instead, I see a group of boys on the other side of the street. They are laughing behind their hands and shuffling their feet at each other, and my heart sinks.
They look like they’re getting brave enough to do something else the way that boys do when they hang out on street corners. Daring each other to do something worse and worse each time.
“Thought you’d like some lunch!” one of them guffaws, though half-hidden behind the others, still not brave enough yet to confront me directly.
I look down at the ground. A balled-up chunk of bread roll is at my feet, clearly having hit me and then bouncing away.
“Did you take the sausage out?” one of the boys asks the other.
I look up to see one of them nodding yes.
“Good,” says the one who asked the question. “Otherwise, that would be cruel, you know. Cannibalism.”
There’s a scattering of laughter, and then someone starts making pig grunting noises, and they all join in. I should really walk away, I think.
Should go somewhere else so they can’t taunt me anymore. I don’t have to listen to this.
The problem is, I still don’t know where I’m going.
I look down at myself miserably, at my rounder figure. That’s just how I’m built. I enjoy food and don’t enjoy most types of exercise – although I love to swim.
That’s just how I am. Most of the time, I don’t feel like I need to justify myself to anyone. I am how I am, and that’s it.
And then there are days like today.
I take a deep breath and start walking in the direction I haven’t been yet, thinking that I might as well go somewhere to get away from them, and in doing so, there’s actually a chance that I might find the place I’m looking for.
I hold my breath inside for a moment to hold back everything else I might want to do – like cry, yell at them, or throw the bread right back and start finding anything else I could throw.
To my horror, cackling comes from behind me, and when I look back over my shoulder, I realize they’ve started to follow me.
“Earthquake!” one of them shouts, which I guess is supposed to be a joke about how heavy my footsteps are. How they can find humor in a natural disaster is anyone’s guess, I must have missed the memo.
I look around in despair, still not going in the right direction. There’s nothing here that looks like an office. And worse, I’m heading down a dead end.
There’s nowhere to go from here.
Once I hit the end of the road, I will have to do something, or these boys will know I have no idea where I’m going. I’ll be cornered and defenseless, and I don’t want to find out what they will do when that happens.
My heart is racing. How do I get out of this one?
Something else hits my back, and another peal of laughter rings out behind me. I flinch, wondering if there is bread, grease, or sauce smeared over the back of my coat.
I almost falter, my steps stumbling, when the third projectile hits me.
Needing to see when the next blow is coming, I turn to look over my shoulder, almost against my will.
And, of course, that’s when the next bit of bread hits me in the face.
I turn around and start to hurry, wondering what’s going to happen first. Will I reach the end and have to turn around or break into someone’s property?
Maybe I’ll curl up in a ball on the street, hold my head, and cry.
And when I hear someone yelling angrily, all I can do is flinch, even more, trying to make myself as small as possible, and hurry on.