Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I take in the veins, the scar near his thumb, and his blunt nails. His hand looks masculine in comparison to my smooth skin, and I like the way it feels. Really, I like how it feels anytime he touches or kisses me. It doesn’t feel fake or forced; it’s not out of habit or duty. Each time, it’s felt natural, like it’s always been that way, which is odd, considering how our relationship started and the length of time we’ve known each other.
“How far are we driving?” I ask, trying to get my mind off the way the warmth of his palm is radiating up my leg, making parts of me tingle.
“She speaks.” He glances over at me, his eyes twinkling with humor. “That only took twenty minutes. I thought for sure it’d be at least an hour.” He squeezes my thigh affectionately, and I jump, almost dropping my coffee, as a bolt of desire hits me square in my core. “You okay?”
I lick my lips. “Yeah . . . yep.” I shake my head. “Just still trying to wake up. I’m not used to being up so early.”
“I’m used to early mornings. I forget that not everyone else is,” he says. “We got about an hour drive ahead of us. You can sleep if you want. There’s a blanket in the back seat.”
I look into the back seat, grab the blanket, and then ask, “Where’s Bane?” I don’t know why I didn’t notice he wasn’t with us before. Maybe because I wasn’t really awake.
“With my partner. He took him home last night. He wants to do some training with him today. I’m sure that was a lie—his kids have known Bane since he was a pup, so they like when he’s around, and Herb likes to give them what they want.”
“That’s sweet of him,” I say, then chew the inside of my cheek. I want to ask him what happened last night after he left my place, but since he said he couldn’t talk about work, I don’t think that would go over well.
“I can hear the wheels turning in your head. I can’t talk about work, especially when the case is open, but the woman who came forward last night didn’t know anything I didn’t already know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It happens. It sucks when it does, because you never know what will lead to a break in a case or who might know something. Unfortunately, I’m still at square one.”
“I don’t think I could be a cop.” My heart wouldn’t be able to deal with seeing the worst parts of human nature up close or the lack of humanity some people display.
“It’s not always easy,” he agrees as I settle the blanket over my lap and his hand, still on my thigh.
“How long have you been a police officer?” I ask him, leaning the seat back slightly.
“Since I was twenty-two. When I graduated high school, I enlisted in the military and served four years. When I got out, I moved home and joined the force, then went back to school and worked my way up to detective.”
“How old are you?” He doesn’t look older than thirty, but I learned early on that looks can be deceiving. My mom is in her sixties and looks forty, tops. I mean, that’s with surgical help and Botox, but still.
“Thirty-three, or I will be in two weeks. What about you?” He glances at me quickly.
“I’m thirty. My birthday was a month ago.”
“You look closer to twenty-five.”
My nose scrunches. I’ve always hated looking younger than I am. When I was twenty-one, I looked eighteen, and no matter where I went, people checked my ID and called the cops to confirm that it wasn’t fake. It was annoying and embarrassing each time it happened and made me resent looking so young.
“It’s not a bad thing. Just think: when you’re in your forties, you’ll look like you’re still in your thirties.”
“Maybe I’d feel differently if I looked older than my age, but it really doesn’t bother me that I’m getting older.”
“With age comes wisdom.”
“Exactly.” I take another sip of coffee, then rest it in the cup holder between us. I settle back deeper in my seat and slouch slightly to the side, resting my arm on the console between us and getting more comfortable. “Do you go fishing a lot?”
“Not as often as I’d like to, but I try to go at least once a month to clear my head,” he says as I cover my mouth to yawn and try to force my eyes back open. “Sleep, Anna.”
“I’m not going to be a very good copilot if I’m sleeping.”
“Copilot?”
“When I was learning to drive, my instructor told me being the copilot is just as important as driving the car, because I might see something you don’t and then be able to warn you.”