Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Sure,” he answers, as if he doesn’t care one way or another.
They’re silent for a moment, then low murmurs and thuds over the carpeted hallway alert me that they’re on the move. I quietly track their movements, following the length of the parlor room as they head toward the front door. I stop before the parlor room’s open archway to stay out of their sight.
The front door releases a long, low squeak as it opens. Margot must be making it clear she’d like them to leave now.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Cedarwood,” the younger cop says, his voice coming from farther away now.
“Of course.”
I risk peering around the corner. The detectives are on the porch, angled toward the street. I catch a glimpse of Margot’s profile. Her arms crossed over her chest.
“That motorcycle out there belong to you?” one of them asks.
Well, fuck. Guess they took time looking around the house before they knocked on the door. I parked my bike in the same place I always do, tucked into a nook where it’s not quite visible from the street or back porch.
Damn, it’s killing me that I can’t see more of Margot’s face. I creep closer to the front door.
“Gosh no,” she says in a wide-eyed, scandalized tone. “I’ve never been on one.”
I’ve known this since the beginning, but a pang of regret still hits me.
“Nice woman like you shouldn’t be gettin’ mixed up with bikers,” walrus cop says in his gravelly huff.
Weird that’s their first assumption.
Without skipping a beat, Margot says, “We serve all of our clients equally.”
“I’m sure you do,” the older detective says. “What I’m trying to say is Slater County’s home to the Wolf Knights Motorcycle Club,” he says in the slow, patient tone you’d use to educate a toddler on the finer points of finger painting. “Looks like a skull and crown on that bike. Doing business with a rival club could be dangerous to you personally.”
For fuck’s sake. As if we’d ever start some petty turf war over the location of a funeral or involve civilians. Lying assholes.
A smirk spreads across my face, cutting through my annoyance at their lies. These dumbasses don’t even realize the Wolf Knights aren’t running shit in New York these days. Slater County belongs to the Lost Kings now. Cops need to update their NY Outlaw Biker Clubs for Dummies handbook.
“I appreciate the concern,” Margot says in a tone that doesn’t sound appreciative at all. Could she be more perfect? “But we serve a wide variety of clientele and haven’t had an issue yet.”
From my limited view, Margot’s posture remains strong and steady. She doesn’t giggle and gush about how her boyfriend’s a member of the Lost Kings MC. She doesn’t try to convince the cops that we’re really a bunch of nice guys. Nope. Her manner stays distant and indifferent, giving them nothing at all.
Just like a perfect ol’ lady should behave when talking to the cops.
CHAPTER TEN
Margot
Thoroughly rattled by the two detectives, I watch their unmarked black sedan drive away before going inside.
“You think they’d have better things to do,” I grumble as I close the door behind me.
Two big hands clamp down over my hips, spin me around and yank me backward.
Jigsaw swallows my startled yelp with a kiss.
“What are you doing?” I ask between greedy slides of our lips.
He stares down at me with reverence in his eyes. “You handled that like a queen.”
Embarrassment heats my skin. I press my hands against his chest, pushing myself back. “You heard everything?”
I hated pretending I didn’t know whose motorcycle they were talking about. I hate that he heard me claim I don’t know anything about his club.
Worse, I’m embarrassed that I bragged about how careful and clever I am with my kills. Having two detectives drop by to ask me questions today feels like a Karmic nudge not to get too cocky.
But Jigsaw doesn’t say “I told you so” or lecture me about the risks I’ve taken.
No, he’s staring down at me with nothing but affection and admiration in his expression.
His hands, still firm on my hips, give me a gentle squeeze. “I caught the highlights of the conversation. You were perfect.”
“Perfect? I thought I was going to puke.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Do you think they suspect me? Why did they have so many questions?” I cast a glance around the house, still worried they’re somehow listening nearby or bugged the place.
“Not saying that I’m an expert.” A hint of a smirk twists his lips. “But if anything, I think they’re suspicious of your client.”
He thought so too? “I’d confess and go to prison before I’d let her get in trouble,” I warn him, in case he thinks I’m the kind of person who would let an innocent person pay for my crimes.