Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
She got a promotion only hours later.
I won’t lie, I was both proud and shameful when the truth was exposed. Shameful I ever doubted her, but proud she can see through the lies of others, and the reminder has me adding more work onto Fitz’s already overloaded plate. “Run Fabien’s name against Warren Scholte. He’s—”
“Bad news,” Fitz interrupts, his tone peeved.
I squash my phone in close to my ear before asking, “Has his name come up during your searches?”
I can’t see him, but I imagine him shaking his head when a whoosh sounds down the line. “He’s an old colleague. As nasty as—” His reply is cut off by a shouted demand. “Demand for the elevator to be returned to the penthouse!”
“I can’t. We don’t have access to those codes yet,” replies a female voice, her composure registering as high-strung even with it only exposed over the line.
“What’s going on?”
Fitz works the keys on his laptop a million miles an hour before replying. “It’s Octavia.” I’m on my feet in an instant. “She’s fleeing.”
“From where?”
“A penthouse Jack recently purchased.” The silence is excruciating, and it isn’t any better when he adds, “Morris is out front. Get here as soon as you can.”
“Does Jack not have a handle on it?” I push out before I can stop myself. It isn’t that I’m backpedaling on my promise to always put Octavia first, I just told Jess we’d talk in the morning, and I hate reneging on promises.
Although I loathe people who backpedal, after scribbling a quick note to Jess, I’m out the door like my ass is on fire when Fitz replies, “Jack doesn’t have pants let alone a handle on anything.”
CHAPTER 43
JESS
When a knock jolts me out of a restful slumber, I rub my blurry eyes with the back of my hand before straying them to the alarm clock on my bedside table.
“What the?” I murmur to myself when it displays the early hour.
The sparrows aren’t even up yet, but it seems as if Caleb is. My bed is empty and cold as if he left hours ago.
“I’m coming.” I groan when my unwanted visitor knocks again, my annoyance not for them. Even with Caleb’s light being as bright the past three years, he’s never backtracked on a promise before. When he said we’d talk in the morning, I took his word for it.
Silly me.
“Hold your horses. I’m coming,” I shout again, my steps quickening. If it were a little later in the day and the second Sunday of the month, I could have believed it was my father coming to collect me from my monthly penance. He hates tardiness as much as I loathe my inability not to want more from Caleb than friendship.
With my frustration high, my caller doesn’t get the chance to knock again. I yank open my door so fast he stumbles into my entryway so haphazardly my arms automatically shoot out to steady him.
When my early-morning visitor snaps out, “Don’t touch me,” I almost mistake him for Caleb. The only reason I don’t is because of the darkness of his hair. It is as black as his massively dilated pupils and drenched through like he’s been seeking a dry place to sleep with the homeless.
“Mr. Carson.” I tuck in the dressing gown I tossed over my bra and panties in a hurry, suddenly fretful the stringent conduct rules he demands in the office stretches to functions outside it. “If this is about last night, I can assure you—”
“Where would Octavia go if she needed time to think?”
His question throws me off for a minute. “I don’t know. Why? What’s going on?” I look past him, certain I’ll find the answers I’m seeking behind him.
All I get is more confusion. The building is swarming with law enforcement officers, and there are even more flashing lights outside.
Suddenly panicked, I ask, “What’s going on? Where is Octavia? Caleb—”
“That is what I’m trying to find out.” Jack’s voice is stern but brimming with so much panic my heart aches for him. “You’d have to know where she’d go to seek solace. You’re her friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m her friend.” I roll my shoulders back, bringing my height closer to his six-foot frame. “That’s why she would usually come here, but you made that impossible by placing security on every corner of the block.”
“For her—”
We’re interrupted by the squeak of a pair of polished black shoes on a battered wooden floor. Just like Jack, Caleb and Octavia are drenched head to toe and the sluggish movements of their soaked forms are nowhere near fast enough for Jack to miss their dart down the hall.
“Octavia…”
Caleb wordlessly demands Jack to stand down, but he ignores him. After shoving him to the side as if he weighs nothing, he pulls Octavia into his chest then continues up the stairs.