Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“You got it.” I’ve only left her long enough to do the bare necessities on the farm and talk to my brother Lawson. He’s the oldest of the bunch of us brothers, and he also has a friend who can help me out with a delicate situation. I watch as Birdie sinks back into the pillow, staying where I am until I know she’s back asleep. The last thing I want is her finding out what I’m doing or who I’m going after. She’s been adamant about letting the police do their thing, and that’s fine. They can, but that doesn’t mean I can’t push the process along with a call to Fletch. He used to live here after his stint at the academy but transferred back to Georgia a while ago back to work in another division. Then he moved again, hating being undercover and in the bigger city. Now he's working in a more rural area, his hometown, much like here in Arrowleaf, only he’s a detective in Peachtree.
I grab my black sweatpants off the chair, slide them on, and go to my nightstand to pick up my phone. Then I make my way out of the bedroom, pulling the door behind me but leaving it open just a crack. I don’t want Birdie to think I’m hiding something from her, even if I’m bending the truth a smidge. Which is why I’m taking this to the back porch, not even bothering with a cup of coffee first. If I don’t get this taken care of, there’s no telling how long it’ll go on with that piece of shit roaming the streets.
I unlock my phone and scroll through my contacts until I land on Fletch’s number. My thumb hits dial, and I put the phone up to my ear while unlocking the back door. It’s early in the morning here, which means Fletch is a couple of hours ahead in the day. He’s probably already been at the station for most of the morning while we’re about to start our day, fucking time zones can be a bitch.
“This is Fletch,” he answers the phone, probably not bothering to look at his display.
“Hey, it’s Lane. Lane Johnson.” Fletch and Lawson are closer in age and were thick as thieves for a while. The two of them would raise hell any way they could, at the rodeo, at the bar, and even on the farm. . That all changed once they hit twenty-one. Fletch stopped wandering and went to the police academy. And while Lawson had a job, he became more goal focused. At least that’s what Mom and Dad tell the younger brothers, probably to keep us in line.
“It’s been a minute. How are things going your way?”
“Good, Birdie’s home. How about yourself?” He keeps in touch with us enough to know the ins and outs of what’s happening.
“I heard. Bet you’re happy.” He lets out a chuckle.
“You could say that. Lawson talk to you lately?” I’m sure he’s got shit to do, which could be said for myself.
“A couple of weeks ago. Everything okay?” I hear the creak in his chair as if he’s sitting up and taking notice.
“For the most part. This is about Birdie. I was wondering if you could take a look into an investigation.” Fletch lets out a breath of relief.
“Sure, what am I looking at?”
“You know Birdie’s full name. Her boss’s son attacked her this week. She made a statement and is pressing charges. Birdie came back home and has yet to hear anything back. Apparently, this Sherman guy is well-to-do and can grease palms of the law. You catch my drift? Birdie, being Birdie, wants to put it behind her, but in the meantime, it’s her who’s out of a job and it’s her who has to deal with recovering.”
“How bad of a recovery are we talking?” Fletch, like most men, our minds go to the worst case possible. I know mine sure as fuck did once I saw the bruises. It took me a minute to realize she wouldn’t have let me eat her if that were the case.
“She wasn’t raped.” Saying that word alone has my gut roiling. “Bruised rib or two. Torso suffered the same fate. If she hadn’t gotten away when she did, I have no reason to think he wouldn’t have taken it a step further.”
“Thank fuck for small favors. I’m willing to bet this isn’t his first rodeo in this scenario. I’ll do some digging. See what I can find out. I’ve got a buddy who works in Colorado. He may know more about the guy than we would,” Fletch explains.
“You’re not wrong about that. Still eats at my gut every time she winces or makes a sudden movement.”
“Text me the details. It’ll be easier to plug in the information and go from there. Everything else good at the ranch?”