Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
My shaking limbs demand I lower to the couch, and he follows me down, rolling me onto my side so my back is to his chest, his warm arms coming around me.
Once my heartbeat returns to normal and I remember how to breathe steadily again, I lift his hand and press my lips to his knuckles. “So, what now?”
Ian kisses the back of my neck. “We figure out what’s next.”
We.
The word’s both dangerous and comforting.
I look back at him. “Can we deal with it a little bit later?”
Ian smiles in understanding, then, giving a mocking frown, reaches above me and jerks the pillow out from under my head.
He holds it in front of my face. “You smooshed my manly throw pillow.”
I push back against him, relieved to have a reason to laugh. “Okay, Mr. Manly. Go get me my wine.”
He sits up and hands me my glass before going into the bathroom. He comes back, tying the drawstring of sweatpants, and tosses me a T-shirt and pair of clean underwear I’d left at his place over the weekend.
He picks up his drink and sits beside me on the couch, watching as I pull the shirt over my head. “Have you ever seen Grease?”
I pause in the process of pulling my hair out from the neck of the shirt. “Like Sandra Dee Grease?”
“Yeah. So, fair warning . . . the next time we see my friends, there’s a good chance there will be a sing-along. You’re to tell them that I was sweet. Just turned eighteen.”
“Do I have to? Because that’s super weird,” I say, looking to see if he’s serious.
“It’s either that or you tell them you’re hopelessly devoted to me.”
His voice is teasing, but I press my mouth to his rather than respond because I’m too afraid that I’ll admit the truth . . .
That hopelessly devoted’s not too far off base from what I’m feeling.
31
IAN
Week 5: Tuesday Morning
I may not know much about relationships, but I know this woman.
I know that she’s a lot more devastated by her unemployment than she lets on.
I also know if I push her on it, she’ll wriggle away.
I’m trying for patience—I really am—but it’s never been a strong suit of mine. I fight for what I want, remember? And what I want is for Lara to have her job back. Hell, I want for her to have the FBI, but I’d settle for whatever makes the shadows in her eyes go away.
“Maybe we should bring in your lawyer,” Lara says, picking up her coffee mug. She’s dressed in little shorts and my T-shirt again, and it’s alarming how much I’ve come to enjoy the sight.
Focus, Ian.
It’s eight a.m. the morning after she quit her job and I got served my subpoena, and Lara and I are no closer to figuring out why her boss is so determined to take me down.
Or who his mysterious source is.
After being up half the night reviewing every single name, note, and connection that could possibly tie me to J-Conn, we agreed to give it fresh eyes in the morning.
A solid plan.
With no results.
“I’m meeting Vanessa at ten,” I say, glancing at the clock on the stove. “I just hoped to have some good news for her. She’s working her side, but we’re both hitting dead ends.”
Lara takes a deep breath, then pulls her hair into a messy knot with the hairband around her wrist. “Okay, let’s go through this one more time. Maybe we’re approaching it the wrong way.”
“How so?”
“Well, we’ve been focusing on a J-Conn connection.”
“Yeah . . .”
She chews her lip. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, because it sounds like a B-movie plot, but what if the connection isn’t you and J-Conn but you and Steve?”
I stand to get us both more coffee. “Explain.”
“Well, we already know that you didn’t get a tip about J-Conn . . .”
The casual confidence in how she says this has me closing my eyes with emotion, and I’m relieved my back is turned so she doesn’t see it.
“And,” she continues, “we already know that there isn’t any circumstantial evidence tying you to J-Conn that could be misconstrued. Because if there were, I’d have found it.”
This time the confidence in her tone is for herself, and it makes me smile as I top off her mug.
“So what if J-Conn’s not the key? What if it’s just the most convenient, believable way to set you up?”
“Makes sense.” I drop back into my chair. “But why? I’m sure I’ve pissed off some people over the years, but I can’t imagine I’ve done anything deserving of fucking jail time. And how the hell is your former boss involved?”
She shakes her head and fiddles with her earlobe, deep in thought. “I dunno, but my gut tells me he is. I’ve never seen him act like this. It feels . . . personal for him.”