Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
“And her apartment?” Monty’s jaw tightens.
“She hasn’t gone home, but I have a team stationed there and more combing the vicinity.”
“Continue the hunt until she’s located.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s time to go home.” Monty meets Leo’s eyes, who nods and starts to stand.
“No. Not without Kody.” I remain seated at the far end of the bar, watching him interact with his guests. “This is his night, and we’re not bailing on him.”
So we stay.
We sit at the bar and put on smiles while Kody sails through the opening of a shiny, promising future.
When we arrive on the island in the dead of night, Sirena is still missing.
45
Monty
—
Three days later, the hunt for Sirena Fisher continues.
What a fucking nightmare.
My head pounds as I stand at the kitchen sink and guzzle water and aspirin.
Leo and Kody are in Sitka today. But not without their bodyguards. Kody needs to be at the distillery while they work through typical growing pains. Leo is meeting with contractors to do walk-throughs of his seaplane base, mapping out the water for landings and takeoffs, the appurtenant shore, hangars, and facilities. He has a lot of decisions to make over the next few weeks.
Frankie isn’t scheduled to work at the hospital until next week and hasn’t left the island since Sirena went missing.
Thank fuck for that.
As much as she resents Sirena, she’s worried about her. My wife has become withdrawn, quiet, seemingly lost in her head.
All of this puts me on edge.
“What?” I brace my hands on the counter, refusing to meet the judgmental eyes at my back.
“You need to eat,” Oliver says in an unruffled tone.
“That’s not why you’re here, digging your beady little eyes into my skin.”
“So uptight. You need to get laid.”
“Also, not why you’re here.”
“You’re right.” He drifts closer.
I don’t hear him moving, but I feel him like a shadow creeping up my spine.
Peering over my shoulder, I don’t find him there.
What the fuck?
I twist, glancing over my other shoulder.
When did he move to the other side of the kitchen island?
He glares at me with a carving knife poised in his hand.
Fucking creepy.
The blade drips with juices from the slab of meat he’s cutting. While wearing a suit, no less. The gold watch chain glints under the soft kitchen lights as he studies me.
If I didn’t know better, I would suspect him of sending morbid gifts to my wife. His hidden accent and old-world manners hint at a sophisticated yet dangerous past.
But over the years, I have dug and dug, trying to unearth dirt on Oliver Popov.
He’s just an old Russian chef, who manages my diet and well-being with a precision that borders on obsessive.
“You should not have involved the police.” He saws into the meat. “They will only slow things down.”
“The police are our best chance of finding Sirena.”
He sets down the knife, wiping his hands on a white towel, leaving streaks of blood. “The police are…bureaucratic. They follow procedures, protocols. If the woman I loved were threatened, I would cut down every person who looked at her. I would take matters into my own hands.”
This old guy?
“What are you suggesting?” I narrow my eyes. “Should I cut you for looking at her?”
He shrugs.
Sitka authorities are only involved in part of the investigation. They don’t know about the heart or threats to Frankie’s phone. They don’t know she murdered Denver.
I’ve been in contact with Wilson constantly, trying to glean the truth about Sirena. He swears she was fully vetted when he hired her a few years ago. He personally assigned her to my investigation when I was looking for Frankie.
He’s as shocked as I am by her confession about the anonymous client. That’s against his policy for obvious reasons. She may have compromised the entire investigation, my search for Frankie, and our ongoing hunt for the cabin.
“I’m saying…” Oliver meets my gaze, his wrinkled features cold and blank. “Sometimes direct action is more effective than lawful action. You have resources. Power. Use them.”
“I’m not my father.”
“No, you’re not.”
A chill runs over my scalp. There’s something in his tone, something I’m missing.
He returns to his cooking.
Before I can question him further, movement snaps my gaze to the kitchen window.
Outside, Frankie steps onto the patio, dressed in her running gear.
With summer drawing to a close, she runs the trails every day. I join her when I’m not on the phone.
Other than me, only a few of the guards can keep up with her.
Bending closer to the window, I scrutinize the guards hovering nearby.
Nope. She’ll outrun all of them.
Fuck.
I just came from the gym and still wear my workout clothes. I’m also exhausted and fighting a headache.
Doesn’t stop me from racing out of the kitchen to join her.
“Coming with me?” She stretches her calf.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
We take off, jogging along the trails through the trees.
Her petite frame moves with power and endurance, her legs pumping furiously, three times as fast to keep up with my long-legged strides.