Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
The powerful muscles of his neck bob and he cuts his gaze before he releases me and moves away. I rotate to find him halting at the window, his hands pressed to the glass.
I was right. His father’s dead.
My fist balls over my thundering heart. This can’t be happening. I don’t want him to go to jail. The very thought has me stepping to his side.
He pulls me in front of him, presses me against the glass. “What do you want to say to me?”
“Why are you so angry with me?”
“I thought you were running,” he surprises me by admitting.
Relief washes over me. His father must not be dead. “Why would I leave you?” I ask wrapping my arms around him. “I love you. I can show you on my phone. I googled the address to Walker Security. I was going there. The only place I’m running—is to you, Eric.”
“God, woman,” he murmurs, and he dives his fingers in my hair, inhaling as he does. “I love you, too.”
“Then why would you think I’d do such a thing?”
“You thought I went to kill my father.”
“Did you?”
“No, but we need to talk.” He captures my hand and guides me to the couch and sets me on the cushion, while he claims the table directly in front of me.
My throat is tight, nerves dancing in my belly. “What happened?”
There’s a nervous energy about him. He sighs heavily as if working up to the words that follow. “He wasn’t dead when I left him. He’s in the hospital and we have to go there.”
My eyes go wide. “What happened?” I repeat.
“I took him coffee. Playing nice when I knew he wouldn’t expect that from me. We were in the living area of his suite, he took a sip, and that was it. He started choking.”
“Did he have a heart attack?”
“If he did, it was drug-induced. I know what poison looks like and it was definitely poison. And no, it was not in the coffee I gave him.”
“I didn’t think it was, but who and how?”
“A hitman.”
“What?” I blink and air lodges in my throat. “What—I—what does that even mean?”
“There was video footage of a man at my father’s hotel door, delivering him a tray and no one in the hotel knows who he is. Walker saw him here, too, on the camera footage outside the building.”
My mind races with the possibilities this creates. “Does this mean, that at the warehouse—”
“Yes. I think so. There were several of them that night, which means this is not one man, but an operation. I just happened to be there at the right time and place.”
“You wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t left you those voicemails. Isaac made sure he got rid of you. He made you hate me. He has to be behind this. He didn’t think he could kill you, so he was going to blame you.”
“I’d bet my money on him. Yes.”
“You took your father coffee, Eric. The police are going to blame you.”
“I’m willing to bet the drug won’t show up on any test. Not unless I’m being framed and that’s not likely, not at this point. And if I wanted him dead, I wouldn’t have called an ambulance or did what I could to ensure he kept breathing.”
“You made me think you were going to kill him. You saved his life by showing up.” No sooner than I say those words, does my heart jackhammer.
“Will the assassin go after my mother?”
“Your mother is well protected. I know how important she is to you.”
“I know you do,” I whisper, aware that he lost his mother, that he knows how much I fear losing mine. “But we’re talking about assassins here, Eric. They came at me. They got to your father.”
“They won’t get to your mother.”
“But do you think they’ll go after her?”
“At this point, we have to assume yes, and protect her.”
“The minute she knows your father’s in the hospital, she’ll come here. She’ll come right to the assassin. Maybe that’s the plan. Does she know about your father yet? If she does—”
“We won’t let your mother come here. And no, she doesn’t know yet. I talked to Savage on the way over here. Blake is controlling the flow of information, using their connections to law enforcement to help us. He’s talked to the police about the man he caught on film. They know about the safety concerns.”
“Are we all targets? Is that what’s happening? Your father was distracting us while he tried to fix what couldn’t be fixed because the union or the mob, or whoever they’ve pissed off, was already too angry? They now want everyone who is a Kingston dead?”
“That idea has crossed my mind,” he agrees, “but the mob wants to get paid. They don’t get paid if we’re all dead.”