Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Statistically—”
She held up her hand. “Spare me your crime lectures. Could you at least try to protect your heart?”
“I’ll wear a bulletproof vest. That’s the best I can do.”
“Dammit, Eric, you know what I mean.”
I did, and if I were honest with myself, I would admit she was right. Part of the reason I called her was to talk about Ambrose. I just didn’t know if I could actually do it now that we were on the phone.
“Talk to me, Eric.” She might be my little sister, but she ordered me around better than anyone else ever had.
“I really don’t always fall for straight guys, and I…”
“What?”
“I’m not sure about this one. He’s… interested.”
“That’s worse. He’s going to play around with you, satisfy his curiosity, and then go back to his safe life dating women.”
“I’m not sure he dates.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s the worst thing you’ve said yet.”
“No, I don’t mean he plows through hookups.”
She giggled. “Literally.”
I scowled at her. “He’s a recluse. He lives way out in the bayou and barely talks to anyone.”
“Great. You’ve fallen for a straight weirdo.”
“He’s not—” Fuck. I was giving myself away by defending him so strongly.
Candace sighed. “Eric, what are you doing?”
“Being a fucking idiot.”
“Don’t. Forget about this guy.”
“I have to work with him on this. I can’t do this alone.”
“Fine, I trust your instincts on law enforcement. On men…” She shook her head. “Keep everything professional.”
“Candace, I doubt I’ll have a chance for anything else, but just so you know, his brother is gay, and his cousins are either gay or bi. It’s not like his life would be over if he admitted he wanted a man.”
“But does he?”
“I’m sure he wants something.” Peace. Comfort. Sanity. “I’m just not sure what.”
“Be careful. Shit, I’ve got to go. Check in with me tomorrow, all right?”
“Yeah. Thanks for listening.”
“Always.”
8
Eric
I tried calling Ambrose that evening, but he didn’t answer. I left him a message but had little hope that he would return my call.
I was just falling asleep when my phone rang. There’d been a bad accident involving a drunk driver, and I’d been needed on the scene—for hours on the side of the highway, at the hospital, and then at the station—and I made it home in the wee hours of the morning. The little sleep I got was fitful. My dreams were a mix of mangled cars and men bringing in crates and crates of drugs until they overflowed the shack and began to stack up in the woods. No amount of coffee was going to make me feel awake. I downed two cups before leaving the house and planned to stop for another on my way in.
Once I was in the car, I called Ambrose again. No answer. I should have known he was going to shut me out, no matter what he said. But then I thought about the way he’d looked at me as I knelt on the floor, fixing the hole he’d shot into Dax’s hardwood.
I thought about the way he’d opened up to me and remembered the moment when I’d almost kissed him. Fuck. I slapped my hand against the steering wheel. I had to stop thinking about him that way. He was an asshole, a loner, a mobster. He was only interested in me for the ways he could use me to get to his enemies. The more I told myself that, the better off I’d be. Candace was right. I was looking for trouble.
I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad that there was so much shit for me to deal with that morning that I hardly thought about Ambrose again. Bad guys in the jail, a gambling ring that one of my deputies had busted the day before, a woman who seemed to think it was my job to get her neighbor to repaint her fence a color she found less offensive, a lost cat, and a domestic dispute I ended up in the middle of.
I’d finally gotten a chance for a lunch break and gone to the café. I was about to take a bite of my roast beef sandwich when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but the call came from New Orleans. It wasn’t Ambrose, but my instincts told me to answer it.
“Sheriff Winston?” A gruff voice I didn’t recognize came over the line.
“Yes.”
“Is Ambrose with you?” the caller asked.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. You just need to let me know if he’s there.”
What the fuck? “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
The man was silent for a few moments. “This is his cousin Lance. I need to know where he is.”
My pulse sped up. I knew Ambrose could disappear like a puff of smoke, but I also knew he was committed to staying with Hope while Dax and Travis were gone, and he was supposed to be making plans with his family to move against Carlotti. “He’s not here. I haven’t seen him since we spoke yesterday.”