Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“I don’t either.” Although I haven’t ever had the chance, and with him, I think things could be different.
“I’m in if you are.” He strokes his palm over my hair. “You give me half an hour and I’ll come find you. Sound good?”
I nod, clutching the bar stool so I don’t fall off.
“Okay.” He trails his hand down my arm and squeezes my fingers, so gentle it almost takes my breath away. Then he kisses my cheek and starts to back out of the kitchen. “One V-card,” he says, making a check mark with his finger, “claimed.”
Chapter 25
Hunter
I FEEL LIKE I’m living in a dream—part nightmare, part fantasy. The fantasy is easy enough to dwell on. I’ve got Libby in my house, and soon I’ll have her in my bed, underneath me, with those long legs spread and her hot pussy wet for my cock. It’s a good feeling. One I could enjoy for hours. But I don’t have hours, because of the nightmare part.
I step into my study, shut the doors behind me, and go immediately to the bar beside the shelves. If I’m going to call Marchant, I’ll need this.
As I toss some back, I try to remember what I did after I heard about her death the night before. I know I drank. I had a dream about Libby, but it almost feels like a memory. I awoke this morning with an awful headache, and even now, after a shower and breakfast, I feel like absolute shit.
I feel worse when I think about telling Libby. About Sarabelle. It has nothing to do with her, but if I am declared a suspect, I don’t want her to feel duped—like she gave herself to me under false pretenses.
I don’t think I’d be found guilty were I to be charged, being that I didn’t actually do anything, but I’m not naïve. I know my father has his enemies, and so do I. I also know Governor Carlson is involved in this. Powerful players produce powerful results.
I feel ill thinking of that, so instead I think of Libby’s breasts. How I’ll get to kiss them soon. We’ll have a good fuck. I’ll make sure it’s one she can remember fondly.
I pull my cell phone out. I need to hurry, get upstairs to Libby before she turns on the news. I don’t think my name would be on it, but I can’t be sure, and I don’t want to lose my chance to touch her one more time.
I lock the doors of the study and dial Marchant. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, dude. You free?” he asks.
I frown. Wasn’t I the one who called him? “What do you mean, am I free?”
“I’m surprised no one’s knocking at your door. I’ve had someone in a dark suit poking around my penthouse, trying to get past security.”
I frown. “You’re not at the ranch?”
“We’ve closed for a few days for Sarabelle.”
“How you holding up?” Sarabelle was one of the women I visited from time to time, but she was Marchant’s employee and friend.
I can see him clenching his jaw when he says, “If Priscilla Heat did this, I swear I will kill her with my own two hands.”
I shut my eyes and rub them. “You and me both. Tell me what you know.”
“Dave heard the news on the police scanners about ten minutes before I called you last night. He’s also got a guy inside the FBI. Says the cufflink has your initials in capital letters. He called me asking if I thought you did it.”
Fucking great—our own guy turning on me. “What’d you say?”
“What do you think I said?” He snickers.
I rub my eyes. “What’s going on with Priscilla and Lockwood now?”
“Lockwood’s been MIA since yesterday. All our people are looking for him.”
That’s news. “And Priscilla?”
“She’s at her house. Hasn’t moved.”
I take a swallow of my drink and force myself to ask: “Sarabelle was...found in San Luis?”
“Yes,” Marchant says tightly.
He doesn’t tell me where, and I don’t ask. It’d be best if I don’t know, in case I’m questioned.
I hesitate before asking my next question, because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know. “What color was the cuff link?”
“Color. Uh…I think Dave said that it was black.”
“Goddammit.” I jump up, curling my hands around the phone although I want to smash it. “That one came from my dresser drawer.”
Elizabeth
AS SOON AS I get back to my room, I see a message on my phone from Loveless. ‘Call me ASAP.’
That seems random. I hope nothing is wrong. I pick a cozy-looking wing-backed chair to sink down into, prop my feet on the foot stool, and count the rings. She answers on the third, and I can hear in her voice that she’s been crying. “Scarlett. How are you?”
“I’m fine, but what’s wrong?”
She sniffs, and there’s a long pause before she whispers, “It’s Sarabelle. They...found her body.”