Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Going to the kitchen, I shut off the light there, then pick up my cell when it pings with a text.
Emma: Rest easy, Mr. Thatcher. I’ve made it safely to my car.
Me: Smartass!
I text back with a smile.
Me: Message when you get home.
Emma: Bossy.
Her reply was quick, and all I can think is, She has no fucking idea, as I go join Winter on the couch.
Closing Winter’s bedroom door after checking in on her one last time, I head to the kitchen and pour myself a drink before taking my cell with me to my office. Not bothering with the light, I walk to my desk and take a seat, setting my drink aside before dialing Hazel’s number.
“Hey,” she answers before the second ring. “Did Winter get to sleep okay?”
“She passed out before I got through another chapter of Harry Potter.” I turn my chair to the side when Skye comes in and rests her head on my lap.
“School days wear her out.”
“They do,” I agree, then ask, “So, what’s going on?”
“Well, I know this is probably going to piss you off, but I wanted to ask you about Emma.”
“What about her?”
“Are you sleeping with her?” The question might catch me off guard, but the annoyance that seeps into my system is instantaneous.
“That’s none of your business, Hazel.”
“Miles—”
“It’s none of your business, Hazel,” I repeat.
“Don’t you think I have a right to know?” she asks softly.
“Fuck no,” I clip out, picking up my glass and taking a gulp of dark amber liquid that burns on its way down. Our relationship ended for good when Winter was around a year old. Prior to that, we attempted time and time again to figure out how to make things work between us for the sake of our daughter. All the while knowing it was never going to happen.
She wanted a man she could boss around, and she and I both knew she was never going to get that from me. Neither in nor out of the bedroom, where she likes to be in charge. It took a little time after our final spilt for us to get to the place we are now, but we eventually became friends again, something that was easy to do with our history and the respect we’ve always had for each other. That’s not to say we haven’t had issues over the years; we have. But none of those issues have ever involved anything or anyone outside of Winter, until this moment.
“Miles.” She sighs my name like I’m an exasperating child.
“Early on, we agreed we would stay out of each other’s relationships. I didn’t ask questions when you started dating Davis. I trusted your judgment,” I remind her.
Shit, before either of us even thought about dating, we had that conversation, because we knew it would eventually happen. We agreed then that we’d trust each other, and I gave that to her when she began dating her now husband. But apparently, she feels like I don’t deserve the same respect.
“So, you’re dating her.”
My jaw clenches.
“She’s around Winter. I just want to know what is happening between the two of you.”
“She’s been around Winter for months. Something you didn’t have a fucking issue with until this evening.” The phone goes quiet, the silence so deafening I’m about to ask if she’s still on the call.
“She’s very pretty.”
There it is—proof her questions about Emma’s and my relationship have nothing to do with Winter but are from some kind of fucked-up jealousy or possessiveness she has no right to.
“Are we done? I’ve got some work to take care of, then I need to get to bed.”
“Miles—”
“I’ll remind Winter to call you tomorrow when she gets home from school.” I hang up without saying goodbye and drop my cell to the top of my desk.
Scrubbing my fingers through my hair, I drag in a breath, then finish off my drink. What I don’t do is acknowledge the real reason why I didn’t tell Hazel the truth—that there is nothing going on between Emma and me and that we’re nothing more than friends.
Sitting in one of the rooms at the station, with Martinez next to me, the two of us go over the tape Officer Ceding sent over to us, a tape we knew nothing about until this evening, when he called and let us know he was releasing it to us.
“There they are,” Martinez says, pointing at Grace’s car when it comes into view on the screen. “The timestamp says this was taken at 11:22 p.m.”
“So, after dinner with their friends at Waffle House, they left and went downtown,” I mutter, jotting down the time.
“Grace’s phone was already shut off by that point.”
“It could have died.” I watch the grainy image of the two girls as they get out of their car in one of the parking garages downtown. From the looks of it, they were alone at that point, or at least I can’t see anyone in the back seat, and no one exits the car when they do.