Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“What the fuck?” I lift my head and stare at the place it used to be.
“Is anything else missing?”
“Nothing, not even my stack of money I keep in the safe.”
“You need to call the cops to let them know.”
“Right,” I mutter, wondering who the fuck would have the code to my vault and why the fuck they would take just that gun when there are five others in there that are worth a whole lot more. And that’s not even including the thousand dollars in cash I always keep in there.
“You want me to come down to you?”
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I sigh into the phone. “I’ll see you in a couple hours and let you know then what the cops say.”
“All right,” he says, as I hang up.
Searching online, I find the number for the sheriff’s station and call them directly, not wanting to dial 911 when it’s not an emergency. I’m transferred to a Detective Mitchell, and I let him know about the gun and give him the serial number and information. I thankfully don’t have to go in to see him in person, but he promises to let me know if the gun turns up.
Once I hang up with him, I reprogram the code for the door of the vault with a different combination, then head inside. That missing gun is setting off alarm bells like crazy, making my skin prickle and my gut twist. Wanting to check on Gia, I head up to my room where I expect to find her getting ready. She’s not there, and I know she didn’t come back outside, so I head back downstairs and open the door to the room she had been using. Finding her in the bathroom standing in front of the sink, wearing a T-shirt and nothing else, I lean against the doorjamb and watch her as she curls her hair.
“You could have gotten ready upstairs,” I inform her when her eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“My stuff is all down here,” she retorts, and I try not to let that bother me even though it does. I don’t want her shit down here. I want it in my space, next to my stuff, but I also know I shouldn’t push too hard to get my way, even though everything in me wants to do just that.
“Are you okay?” she asks after a minute, and I pull my eyes off her hair to look at her eyes.
“Yeah,” I lie, and her head tips to the side.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I step up behind her and wrap my hand around her waist, dropping my face to her neck. I breathe in her scent, letting it take away the feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I should be ready in fifteen minutes or so. Do you mind if we head out a few minutes early so I can stop at the store on the way, to pick up some flowers for your mom?”
“You don’t have to get my mom flowers.” I smile, and her hands come to rest over mine against her stomach.
“I know I don’t have to, but it’s something my mom would do if she were going to dinner at someone’s house, and I like the idea of doing it too,” she says, and my gut twists for a different reason.
“We’ll stop,” I promise, kissing her neck then lifting my head to look at her in the mirror. As much as I love the fact that she’s willing to open up to me about her parents, I hate the sadness I see in her eyes when she talks about them.
“If I’m going to get ready, I’m going to need you to let me go,” she whispers after a moment. Turning her in my arms I kiss her, then let her go to finish getting ready.
Heading up to the loft, I change my shirt and call my dad back, letting him know what the detective said. Before I hang up, I tell him not to say anything about it in front of Gia, since I don’t want her to worry. She’s already dealing with enough and I hate that some of the stuff she’s dealing with is because of me. Lisa hasn’t been back to the bar or done anything else to Gia, but a couple of days ago, her friends came into the bar trying to fill Gia’s head with bullshit when one of my friends from the military was in town for a visit.
By the time I get back downstairs, Gia is standing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of dark jeans that are tight and cuffed at the ankle, with black heeled boots. They’re the same ones she wore the day we met. She also has on a cream-colored soft-looking sweater that has a deep V cut out of the back with strips of black satin material going across, keeping it together. Turning toward me when she hears my boots hit the wood floors, she smiles and I notice that, for the first time since I met her, she’s wearing makeup. It’s not a lot, but the effect is enough to make a difference in the brightness of her eyes and the fullness of her already plump lips.