Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
-Booth’s secret thoughts
Booth
“So let me get this straight,” Delanie said crossly. “Our father bailed the man responsible for almost killing you out of jail?”
Dillan nodded.
We’d been avoiding this very conversation. We’d done well at avoiding it, too, until Delanie had heard some news about it today while doing whatever she was doing.
It’d been almost a week since Kerrie had gotten himself sprung from jail, and a week of living life trying not to think about how the piece of shit was out.
The good thing is, I always had a constant idea of where the fucker was located at all times.
Not that Kerrie or anybody else knew that, exactly—well, anybody but Dillan and Bourne. They knew.
I had help. I’d contacted a man named Bruno.
Well, I hadn’t contacted him. Dillan actually had.
She’d become friends with Bruno because he’d come into the shop once a week for years. Eventually, they’d gotten to talking, and she’d learned that he had a friend that was a hacker.
A hacker that seriously didn’t like the justice system, apparently, because he was more than willing to help us in any way he could the moment he heard what Kerrie had done—and how he’d gotten out.
“And…”
Bourne’s and my phone went off simultaneously, signaling an emergency SWAT situation, and interrupting Delanie’s tirade.
“Shit,” I sighed as I stood up with my phone in my hand.
Dillan looked at me worriedly.
“Gotta go,” Bourne said as he started to walk out of the room without another word.
I watched as Delanie’s eyes, the ones that had been avoiding Bourne since they’d walked in the room earlier, followed him.
I ignored them both and went to Dillan. “Don’t wait up for me.”
She pressed her mouth to mine, then said, “Love you.”
I winked at her. “Love you more.”
With that, Bourne and I got into his truck and hit the road.
We arrived at the station in less than five minutes to find almost the entire team there, sans Dax.
But it wasn’t much longer before Dax was there with a ferocious frown on his face.
“I was literally in bed, getting a blissful night’s sleep, which I so desperately need.” He groaned as he stomped in.
“Why do you desperately need it?” I asked curiously as I fitted my new Kevlar vest onto my chest and strapped it on.
“Because Rowen thought she was in labor last night,” Derek said. “But she wasn’t. So they spent half the night in the ER.”
Then Dax had to do a full shift.
That sucked.
“Balls,” I said as I looked at my watch. “And tomorrow is your baby shower. You’ll never get caught up on your sleep again.”
Dax flipped me off and went to his own locker, grabbing his shit and piling it all on top of his clothes.
The rest of us were ready to go, and Dax carried his boots out the door to the armored vehicle.
“What’s going on?” I asked Foster, our team leader.
“What’s going on is a hostage situation at your girl’s donut store,” he said as he put the truck into drive and headed out. “There’s a woman that snuck in the store using a key that was apparently hidden at the back behind a brick. Officers say that the woman is holding a man hostage who’s there to clean.”
I closed my eyes on a groan.
“Son of a bitch.”
The situation turned out to be just as bad as we thought.
When we arrived, Moshe was holding Ken hostage with a butcher knife.
“We gotta get this cleaned up fast,” I found myself saying. “Tomorrow is Dillan’s grand reopening. I’d rather not have to shoot anyone and ruin that for her.”
“No shooting. Got it,” Dax grumbled, wiping his eyes free of sleep.
I rolled mine.
“You’re really going to have to get used to this,” I said. “It’s only going to get worse.”
Derek started to chuckle, but I turned my eyes to him.
“You, too, Mr. Chuckles,” I taunted him. “You’re not much farther behind Dax.”
“Don’t call me Mr. Chuckles,” Derek grumbled.
“How about Mr. February?” I teased.
His eyes narrowed. “Not unless you want me to go announcing you’re Mr. June to every fuckin’ person that I can think of.”
I rolled my eyes.
“We should’ve never done that,” I admitted.
The calendars were still fucking selling.
When the idea of the calendars hit, I’d been fresh on the team, and hadn’t really wanted to admit that I didn’t want to do a calendar photo shoot. I should’ve complained.
Even now, six months into the year, the damn things were selling still.
We were now international phenomenons, and people came up to us on the street as if they knew us.
They didn’t.
And it was damn inconvenient to be writing someone a ticket only for them to whip out their calendar and ask you to sign that, too.
“Has anybody noticed that we’re falling for women in the order of the months that we posed for?” Derek asked suddenly. “First it was Dax, then it was me. Followed by…”