Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Where’s Raina today?” I lower onto the armchair with a direct view of that closed door.
“She’s not feeling well. Too much whiskey last night, I’m afraid.” He winks and pours himself a glass of the stuff from the liquor cabinet in the sitting room.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dread builds in my throat. “I hope she feels better.”
“So you found Rogan Cassidy?” He sits in the chair across from me, heaving his round gut over his belt.
I assume he knows Rogan’s dead, but I won’t admit to anything that incriminates Jarret and Jake. “Yes, but he’s not speaking to me.”
He chuckles. “I s’pose he’s not.”
“I thought you could help me fill in some gaps.”
He lifts the tumbler to his lips, studying me over the rim. “Ask your questions.”
I start with the easy ones. How long did he know Rogan? When did they meet? How often did they talk? I know the answers, but I’m here to keep him talking with the hope that Raina will emerge from that room.
I speak loud enough for her to hear my voice. If she opens the door, she’ll see me.
After ten minutes of stalling, there hasn’t been a peep from the hallway, and I’ve run out of easy questions.
“Did Rogan…?” I pull in a deep breath and release it. “Did he deliberately steal from me with no intention of returning?”
John leans back in the chair and balances the whiskey glass on his knee. “He took you to the cleaners, sugar. You were one of many. Just another con in a long list of cons.”
“What?” My voice strangles as ice prickles my cheeks.
“He married you for your inheritance. Same with the others before you.” He cocks his head. “You didn’t know he was married six times?”
“No.” My fingers bite into the armrests, and my stomach sours with disgust.
“The man was a con-artist. Mighty good at it, too. Till he got greedy. My boys would’ve never given up that land. Too much attachment to it.”
The room wobbles around me, distorting his voice.
I was just the target of a con. All that guilt and self-loathing over a man who didn’t love me was a joke. I really am naive.
“How are my boys?” His eyes drop to my boots again.
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“I worked on the ranch for a while. They didn’t trust me. I didn’t trust them. It was a waste of time.”
It was the best time of my life. When I’m finished here, I’m going to call Conor and beg for an update on their lives.
“I miss it.” He kicks out a boot, sprawling in the chair. “Nothing beats herding cattle on a hot day like this.”
As he drones on about his life on the ranch, I steal peeks at the door down the hall. Is she actually in the room? Is she hurt? I need to see her.
My plan got me into the house. Whatever comes after is on a wing and a prayer.
“May I use your bathroom?” I need time to think, without his wandering eyes and nonstop jabber.
“Behind you.” He gestures at the door.
“Thank you.” I shut myself inside the small room and pinch the bridge of my nose.
I need an excuse to go into that bedroom, but I don’t have one. I could demand to see her. My threats worked on him before, and I have enough evidence against him to make him sweat.
Problem is I would never follow through. If I reported John Holsten to the authorities, he would take Jarret and Jake down with him.
I have nothing.
Flushing the toilet, I step out and into an empty room. A shadow passes across the window, and I spot John outside. Standing on the porch, he holds a phone to his ear, head down and back to me.
I lurch into motion.
Shutting the bathroom door, I slip into the hall. If he glances inside, he’ll think I’m still on the toilet.
Adrenaline spikes my veins at a full pelt as I sprint toward the closed-off bedroom. I grip the handle, push, and it doesn’t give.
What the—?
There! On the top edge of the door, a barrel bolt holds it in place. I slide it open and shove, stumbling in and…
“Oh my God.” The sharp scent of blood hits my nose, and I gag.
The room is unfurnished, the wood floors smeared with dark crimson stains. A heavy blanket hangs over a single window, letting in a crack of light. I follow that dim glow to the corner, where the bruised and bloody form of a woman’s body curls in on itself.
Steel shackles encircle her wrists, connected to chains that fasten to the wall. Her face is unrecognizable, swollen and lacerated, black and blue, and caked in dried gore.
Full-body tremors hold me frozen as I glance at the empty hall. The moment he ends his phone call, he’ll be inside the house, waiting for me to emerge from the bathroom.