Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
The anger that lights in the flecks of amber dotting his irises is exactly what I’m after. I need him off guard, I need him reckless so I can get any information at all from him. “What exactly is this?” I dare to question as his nostrils flare.
His posture stiffens as his hands slip into the pockets of his black suit pants. His white button-down is crisp, and his thin, black tie dangles in front of him as he paces along the wall opposite from me, seemingly checking every inch of my prison.
In some ways, his stature and clothing are out of place in this shithole. In other ways, though, a man like him belongs here. It’s like a piece of him feels right at home and there’s an air about him that confirms it.
“What is this?” he hisses, echoing my question and a chill runs down the length of my body when he smiles thinly and says, “It’s called revenge. We had a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Not with you,” he adds and the coldness penetrates my skin, seeping down deep. If it isn’t about me, then taking control of the situation is out of my reach.
“Then with who?” I manage to speak, although my question is shaky.
A snort of a laugh leaves him, and his right hand slips out of his pocket so he can run his thumb along the stubble covering his jaw. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“Why on earth would anyone feel sorry for me?” I respond morosely but as I do, the pain gets the best of me and whatever false armor I wore cracks around me. Even worse, Brass sees it.
With his back to me, Brass doesn’t answer me as he signals for the two men to leave, but what he says next gives me one more piece of the puzzle before following behind them:
“He interfered and took what was rightfully mine, so I’m taking what’s his.”
Cody
As I lean forward in the cheap chair planted in the corner, heat rolls down my shoulders. It’s an anxiousness that doesn’t quit and leads my foot to tap, tap, tap on the rug below. I’ve debated even being here in this hotel room. According to Evan, I’ve been told to go home and stay there. It’s an unofficial house arrest from my superiors.
That’s hours away from where Delilah was taken, though.
My home address is where the two detectives will go first if they find any evidence that can lead to yet another arrest. They’ve been informed of the decision to send me home and keep me off the case. Courtesy of Evan himself. With Skov hell-bent on pinning this all on me, I’m certain he’ll demand he be the one to take me in. It’ll give him some sick sense of satisfaction.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to lean back and then rub my sore eyes with the heel of my palms before checking my phone again. It’s habitual. Between the articles I’ve flicked through on my laptop and the texts on my phone, I’m going crazy from the waiting.
Evan still hasn’t messaged since he told me he was looking into a lead and to stay here. Delilah stayed here before. Not this room, but here in this hotel.
I have to force myself to stop thinking of her. I covered every inch of her sister’s place and left no stone unturned. I searched it up and down and found nothing.
Evan wouldn’t give me all the details over the phone, and at first it pissed me off. Now it’s left me with a churning feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure what he had a lead on or where it will take him, but he knows where I am. He knows, and now Marcus knows since I left him a message. Delilah’s sister knows too as I reached out to her, telling her I’m an investigator on her sister’s case, needing to get any information I could, but only reached a voicemail.
Every trail has led to a dead end.
What’s to come is uncertain, and without control and without allies … without knowing Delilah is still alive, it feels as if death has its grip on my shoulders. Holding me down and forcing me to watch as the devil strips everything from me, claiming his pay for my sins.
Knock, knock, knock.
The thuds on the door aren’t gentle or expected, and instinctively, my right hand jolts to my gun on the side table. Until I hear her voice.
“Special Agent Cody Walsh??” She knocks again. “Are you in there? Please! It’s about my sister.”
Delilah introduced me to her sister years ago, but it still takes me a moment to realize it’s her sister. The rhythm and subtle inflections in her tone mimic Delilah’s. The ache that travels through my chest is undeniable.