Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He studied me, his pupils darting over my features and closing in on my eyes. “Don’t appease me, Bell.”
I closed my eyes and let out a breath. Opened them back up and gave him my best attempt at a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s go before we get slammed from behind by an asshole.”
He didn’t pull out. He waited for a minute, one so long that it almost stretched into two. He waited for me to say something, but I didn’t. I buried my emotions, my fears, my anger. I stuffed it all deep inside me, letting it fester and spoil, and forced my expression to calm, my smile to brighten, my voice to lift. He shifted into drive, and I fiddled with the radio. The car ripped up to speed, and I blared a pop song about kissing boys and spring break. His hand found my knee, and I closed my eyes and fought the urge to vomit.
THE FBI
The Robert Hawk estate was a monstrosity. Twenty thousand square feet full of locked doors, wall safes and the best security money could buy.
A mobile command center squatted on the manicured front lawn, uniforms swarmed the house, and cadaver dogs sniffed the four-acre property for hours without discovery. It took twenty-seven hours and a comparison of the original architectural plans with the current layout to discover the room. Three hundred unaccounted for square feet in between the study and the master suite. The original floorplan had it as a nursery, the door to which was now a solid wall with a hundred-thousand-dollar oil painting hung in its center. They moved the art and found drywall and wainscoting. Searched every seam for a hidden door and finally went Pablo Escobar on the wall, bringing in sledgehammers and splintering through the construction.
It was worth it. Inside, in the cramped, dust-filled space, they found her.
BELL
The greeting was awkward. Dario walked me up the steps, introduced himself and extended his hand. Dad stared at it as if it was diseased. Mom invited Dario to come inside. I declined on his behalf, then practically pushed him down the front stairs, giving him an apologetic kiss before I scampered back inside.
That was five minutes ago, and Dad still stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and peered through the screen door as if it was a Magic Eye puzzle.
“Stop staring, Dad.”
He sniffed. “Fancy car he’s got. What’d that put him back?”
My mom glared at him from her spot by the stove. “You haven’t seen your daughter in a week, and you’re interested in the man’s car? Get in here.”
He didn’t move. “Bell’s not going anywhere. I think he’s talking to himself.”
I looked past him, watching as Dario slowly reversed, his mouth moving. “He’s on the phone, Dad. It’s called Bluetooth. The car has a microphone that connects to his cell phone.”
Mom let out an exasperated huff. “He knows what Bluetooth is, Bell. He’s just being ornery. Mike, are you gonna eat or gawk? Go wash your hands.”
I popped ice from the trays and filled up the glasses with water, watching as Dad slowly ambled up to the sink, his hip nudging me to the side as he took over, working the bar of soap over his hands. He dried them off on the towel, and I passed him his water, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Mom set down the plates, and I settled in at my seat. Mother said grace, and I barely had time to grab a napkin before Dad started in on me.
“So… the news first told us that you were dead. But actually…” He jabbed a thumb in the direction that Dario had been. “It was this guy’s wife who died. And now he’s driving you over here. And called us and talked to us about you without telling us anything at all.”
I looked to Mom for help, but she said nothing, her eyebrows rising in their own request for an explanation. I stuck in a giant forkful of mac and cheese and took my dear sweet time chewing it.
He waited, his own plate ignored. Mom waited, her hands clasped together as if still in prayer. Even Rascal, sitting beside me, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, let out a whine that seemed to say confess everything, you heathen.
So, I did. I took a deep breath, swallowed the chunk of cheesy goodness, and started at the beginning, skipping over my sexy times with Ian, my slutty texts, and every thrust, moan and naked moment.
I confessed it all and waited for judgment.
THE FBI
The girl drank, guzzling back the Gatorade, her throat flexing, eyes closing, both hands cupped around the bottle as if it were gold. Her name was Katy Dunning. Her boyfriend had reported her missing three months ago. She’d come to Vegas for a bachelorette weekend and never came home. Vegas PD hadn’t thought much about it, and her face hadn’t been in Hawk’s file of potential victims. Agent King watched the girl and wondered how many other tourist abductions they’d missed.