Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not being brave, are you?”
“Me? Brave?”
He chuckled warmly. “Okay, fine. But I think I should come pick you up anyway.”
Ira was being so nice, worrying more than usual, and that was so…out of character. So why was he? “Oh, hell no,” I flared irritably. “You do not get to use me as an excuse to bail on dinner.”
“What?”
“Stop,” I warned him.
“I’m sorry, what dinner?”
“Fuck you, Ira.”
“Oh? Wait. Is that tonight?” He sounded so innocent.
“Worst. Actor. Ever,” I pronounced. “You know it’s tonight.”
“What?” he said with way too much squeak in his voice. He was looking for any reason not to go. He was like a wolf ready to gnaw off its own foot to get out of seeing his mother.
“I’m fine, Ira. You’re the guy taking the shiksa goddess home to your very nice, very kind, but extremely volatile Jewish mother.” I snorted. “Lemme know how it goes. You can stay with me if you need to hide after.”
“You could come,” he said brightly.
“No.”
“But my mother loves you. Plus, you’re hurt,” he said, and I could hear the wheels turning in his mind. “She would feel sorry for you, and—”
“And if you were engaged to me, she might let you live.” I laughed evilly.
He groaned. “But she really does like you.”
“All parents like me. I’m an accountant, for crissakes. I’m the poster child for dependability.”
“Are you really okay?”
“I am. The bullet only grazed me. It’s like a deep scrape, that’s it. You and I both know if I were really dying, I’d be working it to my advantage.”
“True.”
“Yeah, see? So it’s fine. Call me later if your mother doesn’t kill you.”
“You’re so funny,” he said sarcastically.
“And by the way, I told Breckin he could come with us on Saturday.”
“What?” His voice started rising. “What did you say?”
“Bye.”
“No, you—”
My cell phone beeped, and since I was done anyway, I ended the call because my father was trying to get a hold of me.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I said immediately.
“You’re certain?” he asked, and I could hear the concern in his voice.
“It was no big deal,” I lied to the man who raised me, because him being worried, or coming to the hospital to sit with me, would be a huge waste of his time. “Really.”
“Well, you sound good.”
I was being as careful as I could not to let my voice shake, since I was slowly freezing to death. Hospitals. Why did the temperature need to be set at arctic?
“Well, Alex is on his way, so prepare yourself.”
I scoffed. “Gird my loins, you’re saying.”
“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “Gird.”
“Hang up the phone!” came a sharply yelled order.
“Oh, there he is now,” Dad teased me.
“Love you,” I said, then hung up and gave my attention to my brother, who’d just stormed into the room.
“What the fuck, Trace?” he snarled at me.
And because my luck was never that good, I was not only looking at my older brother, but also at his ex-partner, Cord Nolan.
It hit me then, the reason why he’d popped into my head earlier. Cord and Alex were a packaged set. Even though they weren’t partners anymore, as Alex was no longer a cop, they were still best friends. I was certain that when the officers on the scene had contacted Alex, his first call had been to Cord, the second one to my father. It followed that since I’d known Alex was going to show up, I’d get Cord as well. That was the reason I’d thought of him earlier. I felt infinitely better for figuring it out. I didn’t want to have my mind occupied with Cord Nolan for no reason. I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
“I’m going to kill you myself!” Alex bellowed.
With his volume, yes. I was going to have a monster headache; of that I was certain.
The two of them charged across the room, and as they were both big—my brother at six feet two, Cord two inches taller—I felt crowded and smothered, though at five eleven I wasn’t tiny myself.
“How many times have I told you that working with Dimah Mashir is gonna get you fuckin’ killed?” Alex barked at me.
I shook my head.
“Yes,” he insisted. “Yes it will. And you can talk that fuckin’ bullshit about how Dimah’s the good brother and Kirill is the monster, but so you know, there is no record of a Kirill Mashir ever coming into this country. He died in some Russian prison when he was eighteen, and that was the end of him.”
Dimah Mashir and I had met when I was fresh out of college and looking for my first job as an accountant. My degree was in management accounting, but I had no great desire to be a CPA. He’d offered me a bookkeeping position at his company, but said there would be a lot to the job.