Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I cock my head. The expression on his face is serene. He’s not fabricating one bit. “The billionaire rancher who does grunt work,” I say softly.
“Don’t ever look down on grunt work.”
I chuckle. “Are you kidding? I grew up at the trailer park, remember? Any work is good work. I think it’s wonderful that you help around the ranch.”
“I do more than help, kitten. It’s my ranch. I don’t help. I do everything. I feed the stock some days, build fencing on others. Clean the stables. Hell, I’ve even been known to shovel manure.”
“That’s endearing.”
He laughs. “Shoveling manure? I’ll be sure to tell my brothers that. Not that they need to be any more endearing to their women. They’re so in love it’s kind of sickening.” He touches my cheek. “Though I’m feeling a little sick myself…”
No. No, no, no. This has to stop. I need to get ready for work. If he keeps talking, he may say…
And I can’t hear that. Not yet. Not while I’m keeping such a big secret from him. I rush toward the bathroom, snagging my panties on the way. “I’m out of time.”
Before I close the door, he stops me with his big bare foot. “Dinner. Should I pick you up here or at the sheriff’s office?” He gives me two options, which means it’s happening no matter what answer I choose.
“Depends on the time.”
“You tell me,” he says. He stands there in only his jeans, and they aren’t even buttoned. God, he’s so amazing I want to tug him back to bed even though we just fucked. I want more. I’m insatiable with him.
“Okay. How about seven? Pick me up here.”
He nods. “Good enough. I’ll get out of your hair for now.” He brushes his lips over mine, so sweetly in contrast to how he took me against the wall. “Until tonight. And kitten?”
I arch a brow.
“If you wear panties later, they may not make it.”
An hour later, after picking up the package from Mom at the front desk of the motel–she came through just as I hoped–I’m sitting across from Jarvis at our table in the corner of the sheriff’s office searching my inbox.
“Eureka!” I say.
“Good news?” Jarvis cocks his head.
I lean in to read. “From Dr. Hayes. It’s the DNA results from underneath Joey Hopkins’s fingernails. Now to run them…” I plug the results into the database and then I call Dr. Hayes.
“Hayes,” he says into my ear.
“Dr. Hayes, it’s Special Agent Avery Marsh. I just got your email, and I’m running the sample through the database. But I need a favor.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“I have a sample I need DNA analysis on. A rush.”
“I can give you the name of the nearest lab, but it’ll be in Billings,” he says.
Not great, but expected. “Yeah, I figured as much. Can they do a quick turnaround like you did?”
“They should be able to do twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” he says. “That’s standard.”
I frown. “I need better than standard.”
Silence.
“Dr. Hayes?”
“I have to go. Someone just walked into my office. I’ll give you a call right back.”
“But the lab in Billings—”
The call drops.
Great. Just great. He’d better call me back pronto. Who could have walked into his office more important than an active case?
My phone rings while it’s still in my hand. Hmm. Not a number I recognize. “Marsh,” I say.
“Agent Marsh, it’s Dr. Nolan Hayes.”
I stop my jaw from dropping because I thought he had someone to tend to. “Hi. Where are you calling from?”
“I need you to call me back in five minutes.”
“But—” Then it dawns on me. “Of course. Thanks.”
He wants me to call from a burner. Not a problem. Jarvis and I keep several available at all times. Some of them McGuinness knows about. Others, he doesn’t.
I rise. “I’ll be back in a few,” I tell my partner, who gives me a questioning look, but stays quiet. He knows I’ll fill him in if it’s case related. I head out to the rental car, unlock it, and pull out one of the burners from the safe in the trunk. Then I take a little walk across the parking lot. When I’m a safe distance away from the sheriff’s office, I return Dr. Hayes’s call.
“Agent Marsh?” he says into my ear.
“Yeah, it’s me, Dr. Hayes.”
“I’m going to text a number to this phone,” he says. “It’s a colleague of mine in Billings who runs a lab. He’s the best in the business and he can usually get results back within a day. It’s still early. If you hurry, he can probably take care of you by the end of the day.”
This is a surprise. “Really? How?”
“I don’t ask, but I can vouch for the accuracy of his results. The problem is that it will cost you.”
In this case, when it comes to clearing Chance, it doesn’t matter. I tell him so. “I don’t care. I’ll pay him.”