Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Miles, I’m at my father’s. You’re not going to believe what I–
The text stops. And she didn’t leave me a voicemail.
The cement block is back, and it’s heavier than ever this time.
Why the hell is she back at her father’s place? He clearly had no interest in her.
Why would she send an unfinished text?
From there?
My heart races. This can’t be good news.
We’ve just arrived back at the ranch after lunch, and I’m getting ready to go check on the tractor Chance wanted me to look at.
The tractor will have to fucking wait.
My woman needs me. I feel it in my bones. No way would she leave me a half-assed text and nothing else.
Without bothering to tell my brothers, I race outside, scramble into my truck, and plug in the GPS coordinates from yesterday’s visit to Curt Hopkins.
I make a quick call to 911 and then I gun it out of town.
26
SADIE
* * *
My father walks in, wearing jeans, a red and black flannel shirt, and holding a bright yellow hard hat. He looks me over, clearly not happy to see me. “What the hell are you doing back here?”
“Can’t a daughter visit her father two days in a row?” I ask, sarcasm lacing my tone.
“I checked you out, Sadie Jane Hopkins,” he says. “You’re a fucking cop.”
“I never hid that fact. You’re my father. I assumed you knew.”
“How the hell would I know?” he snaps. “You know I don’t like cops.”
“Uh…you’re my father. Shouldn’t a father know what his child does for a living?”
“Your mother never mentioned it.”
I huff out a laugh. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”
“Around the fifth of never.” His gaze drops to my waist. “You armed?”
“I’m off-duty,” I say.
It’s not a lie. I am off-duty. But I’m also armed. My Glock is strapped to my ankle. Good thing boot-cut jeans came back into style.
Rainey ambles out from the kitchen, cigarette in her hand. “What are you doing home so soon?”
“Storm’s coming in. We stopped for the day.”
My father eyes the living room, the mess on the floor and the coffee table. “What the hell happened here?”
“I was going to empty the ashtray for Rainey, but I dropped it. I’ll replace the glass.”
“Damn right, you will.” He nods to Rainey. “Get me a beer.” Then back to me, “This mess isn’t going to clean itself up.”
All he sees me as is another woman to do his bidding.
“I’ll take care of it.” Rainey heads back into the kitchen.
“Did Joey give you that ashtray?” I ask.
He gives me a look as if I’m crazy. “How the hell should I know? It’s just a damned ashtray.”
“It’s an ashtray with the logo for the freight company he was working for.”
“So?” He drops his hard hat on the couch.
“Did you know the company is out of business now?”
“Why the hell would I know that? It’s just a stupid ashtray.”
“Rainey tells me you had some money a few years back,” I add, pushing.
“Rainey is a damned liar.”
I pause a moment. Listen for sounds of Rainey in the kitchen. There it is—the soft vacuum sound of the refrigerator door closing. She’ll be back with his beer any moment. Did she hear him call her a liar? This place is tiny, so I’m betting she did.
“Is she?” I ask. “She said you got into some kind of investment, got six figures out of it, but blew most of it in Vegas. Probably blew the rest on beer and cigarettes.”
“If you’re looking for money, Sadie—”
I hold up my hand up to stop him. “I haven’t taken a penny from you since I was eight years old, and I don’t plan to start now. Besides, look at this place. You clearly don’t have a pot to piss in.”
“Then I suppose you can be on your way.”
“I’ll be happy to get the hell out of here,” I say, “as soon as you tell me about Joey and Racehorse Hauling.”
“Joey was a pain in my ass.” My father runs a hand through his greasy hair. “I got him a sweet deal with that freight company.”
My pulse quickens. “I think, Dad, that you’re the one who got a sweet deal with that freight company.”
He inhales with a snort, and for a moment I think he may hock a loogie right in his living room. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
I step forward and close the distance between us. “Don’t I?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming here, snooping around—” he gasps. “Rainey, what the fuck?”
I turn, and then I nearly stumble over my own two feet.
Rainey stands, shaking, and in her hand is a Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter pistol. An M&P with a polymer chassis, from what I can see. A gun widely used in law enforcement, but of course anyone can get one. They’re costly, so how the hell does Rainey have one?