Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
He couldn’t just wait for them to shake something loose.
Granted, shit was dragging out, which sucked for Ryn, but Cisco had been feeling it a lot longer.
It was nearly two weeks after his parents left town. Ryn was officially out of PTO, but Smithie was still paying her and she wasn’t liking that. Keeping a man on her was getting difficult. And with nothing happening anywhere at all with anything on that, the team had had two discussions on whether they thought a man on her 24/7 was necessary anymore.
Hawk was feeling better safe than sorry.
Boone was torn.
He absolutely agreed with better safe than sorry.
But Ryn was struggling. They were closing in on sending a press release that Smithie’s was going to a revue and they were going to have a big thing the opening night. Smithie had installed additional lighting, special effects apparatus and modified his stage to accommodate the range of the girls’ routines.
It was almost go time.
And although Ryn was working with Lottie and Pepper and Dominique on their routines (not Hattie, Hattie was in full shutdown mode, which was something else Ryn and all the Dream Team were struggling with), they weren’t getting Ryn any closer to getting back to her life.
And obviously, with this, Ryn’s Felon Fairy Godfather had decided to take matters into his own hands.
Again.
“Fucking Cisco,” he said to Hawk.
“What?” Ryn whispered, part sleepy, part concerned.
“It wasn’t Cisco,” Hawk said. “Murder suicide.”
Holy fuck.
“Say what?” he asked.
“Just get here, Boone,” Hawk ordered. “And fast. I don’t know how long Eddie can keep this scene clear for us to take our look. Axl’s on his way to keep an eye on your place and Ryn. His ETA is five minutes.”
“Text me, I’m there,” he said.
“Out,” Hawk replied and disconnected.
Boone dropped his phone hand and looked through the shadows to his woman.
“I gotta go, sweetheart.”
“Is Brett okay?”
“As far as I know, but I gotta go.”
“Why’d you say his name?”
“Baby, he’s not involved.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I jumped to conclusions. But I gotta get somewhere and I gotta get there fast. We’ll talk when I get home. Yeah?”
She didn’t even take a beat.
She nodded.
Christ, he loved this woman.
A realization he came to the instant she walked out of the bathroom in her chemistry teacher getup.
That wasn’t about sex.
That was about Ryn homing in on something he thought he told her as a throwaway and moving on it to give him a memory he’d never forget.
Not an orgasm he’d never forget (though he might not forget the ones she gave him that night either).
He could not imagine the courage it took to put herself out there like that for him.
But she went all out to put herself out there for him.
She knew now she could go for it.
But it took some serious fucking guts to make herself vulnerable to him in a way that was beyond their current play, but could serve to enhance it, or she could have fallen flat on her face.
Doing it for him.
Boone loved that.
And he loved her.
She’d been demonstrating how much there was to love before she did that.
Oh yeah.
Absolutely.
As well as after.
Case in point, him saying he had to get gone from their bed at three in the morning, and her not laying him up by asking questions.
But his sweet Ryn in glasses and pumps, looking out for her man, that was the moment he knew.
He just knew it now even more when he kissed her quick, she rolled away from him, and he got out of bed.
Boone got dressed and kissed her quick again before he went out the door.
He had the text, and with their investigation, he already knew the address.
It was Bogart’s house in Englewood.
He spotted Axl’s Jeep before he got in his car and knew his bud was out there somewhere, keeping an eye on things.
He then drove to that address and parked three blocks away, in the shadows between streetlamps, and he took alleys and walked close to fences, swinging wide of the glow of streetlights, until he hit Bogart’s back gate, which was ajar.
He went through, opening the gate slowly with his shoulder so he could stop it if it made noise. He moved up the back walk, and Hawk had the back door open before he got there.
Light above it was motion sensor, but it didn’t activate.
Bulb still there.
Boone couldn’t see clearly through the dark, but he could still see some of the silver at the turn of the bulb.
Someone had unscrewed it.
And he doubted Hawk came equipped with a ladder.
In other words, they weren’t the first ones that night who arrived in stealth mode.
Boone walked in.
Eddie was there.
Hank was not.
Mag was there. Mo wasn’t.
Too many people, too much attention.
Crew was few.
There were also two dead bodies illuminated by Eddie and Mag’s cell phone lights, and at first glance, it said murder suicide.