Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Could I?” A low, lazy drawl.
This could be my only chance. I say it all in one breath, unblinking as I speak to him.
“I need your help to find the people I’m after.”
God, I could’ve done better than that. They make it look so easy in the movies.
He cocks his head to the side, all traces of humor gone from his face. “And who are you after, Miss Price?”
I lower my voice as I stay my course. I’ve never been in the military, but something about his presence makes me speak to him as if I were. “That’s a conversation for a much more private audience, sir.” Though we’re alone here, we both know anyone could walk in on us at any moment.
I want to bite the little nail of my pinkie on my left hand or tug a lock of my hair and fiddle my worry away, but I force myself to stand still and wait.
Several beats pass before he responds. Outside the window, his gardener walks by with a trowel and a rake. Far in the distance, the tide goes out behind him. I can almost hear the waves lapping at the shore.
“Let’s take a walk.” My heart flutters in anticipation. I’m a drowning woman, and he’s thrown me a length of rope.
This is what I wanted, privacy with him, but a little warning voice in the back of my head tells me I should tell him no. I should talk him into speaking with me in his office or someplace neutral.
I came here for a reason, and I don’t take no for an answer.
I go against my every instinct and follow him.
CHAPTER TWO
Violet
It isn’t until we walk into the kitchen that I notice there are a lot more people here than I initially thought. Somehow, it helps me draw in a breath. They’re just quiet, their presence and work seamless in the background. Two more of his staff are in the garden, and only paces away from them, four strong men dressed in military attire look like they’re doing… drills? It’s hard to tell from here, but it’s clear they’re training.
The guard at the door inclines his head at us as we pass, and Cain holds his palm up when he begins to follow us. Either he has guards outside as well, or he trusts that I’m not here to ambush him.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so trusting.
The side door leading to the garage opens, and a portly, middle-aged Latina woman with pretty brown eyes and short brown hair enters, her arms heavily laden with brown grocery bags. Cain pauses, his hand on the door to exit, when he sees her coming in.
“You know better than to carry those in yourself,” he scolds, clucking his tongue at her as he walks over to her. “Alma, why didn’t you call me?” Reaching her, he plucks the bags out of her hands before sliding them onto the countertop.
She smiles at him. “Eh, thought you’d be busy, and it’s good for me to still do things sometimes, señor,” she says.
“And you’re no good to me laid up in bed because you threw your back out again,” he mutters, rebuking her. I nearly cringe at the sharp edge in his tone, but she only winks at me.
The door shuts behind us. The warm summer air tickles my skin.
“Mr. Master—”
“Call me Cain.”
Skipping the formalities so soon. Interesting. “Cain. That’s a unique name. I’ve only known one other man with a name like that, but he spelled it differently.” The son of one of my foster parents.
“You’ve looked up my name.”
“Of course.” I am not going to lie to him unless I have to.
A shadow crosses his features for a split second before he grows serious. “You don’t hear the name Violet every day either.”
“My name was supposed to be Angela, but when my mother saw my eyes, she changed her mind.”
“You were born with eyes that color, then?”
A curious question. It shouldn’t please me that he’s noted the color of my eyes. Everyone notices them, but he seems the type that only notices you if it matters.
“Yes.”
We walk in silence down a path made of stones that leads past the garden to the barn or shed or whatever it is.
“I’m not going to waste your time, Mister—Cain. You own a private investigation agency.”
He walks with his hands in his pockets, which might look casual but really only serves to make the muscles along his arms and neck bulge that much more. God.
“Depends on who you ask.”
I have to walk faster to keep up with his long strides. I’m falling behind him. For one brief, crazy moment, I’m tempted to smack his back and tell him to slow down. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs a large shoulder and scowls at the path in front of him. “I don’t advertise.”