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)
As I dress, I think about everything that’s transpired between Libby and me. Everything that’s been said. And I wish, for the first time, that I was a free man. Really free. I wish that I could have her. Not just for a night. She’s not that kind of woman. And when I’m with her, it turns out I’m not that kind of man.
I think about all the food I cooked for her breakfast. I never cook. I never want to. But I want to feed Libby. I think about how I let her touch me with her eyes open. I let her look at me, and I didn’t feel anxious the way I used to when I slept with escorts. In fact, it’s the opposite; I like looking into her blue eyes. I think about her up there in my bed, and I’d give anything to be there with her. Kiss her. Fuck her. Fly around the world with her. I’d like to take her to New Zealand. The Alps. Lake Como. Some place that’s as beautiful as she is.
Instead, I get my gun and call Marchant to see if any of our people have a lead on Priscilla’s location. He tells me she’s still M.I.A., so I head out to try to find her. I check out with Hal and open the doors to the front porch, already thinking about how I’ll get the little recorder stashed in the truck and put it in my pocket, just in case I actually find Priscilla and can get her talking.
I lock the porch door, turn around, and jump as a slender arm encircles my waist.
“Hunter.”
Priscilla! Now that’s a surprise. She’s in the nook where a huge potted palm stands right beside my porch doors. The overhead light is on, and in the amber glow, her hair looks white, her eyes almost black.
“Priscilla,” I growl. I want to throttle her right here and now, but I need the recorder to make any of this worthwhile. I push her against the side of the house, pressing my palm against her ribcage, and look into her coy face. “You and I need to talk. Somewhere not here.”
I guess she sees the rage on my face, because her eyes widen and she arches up against the stone wall. “I didn’t pick you, Hunter,” she says quickly. I try not to let my surprise show as she leaps right into a confession. “Not for anything but sex. I wanted you beside me on screen. We look great together. That’s really all I cared about.”
“So it was all Lockwood?” I murmur.
She leans up to kiss me, but I move my hand from her chest to her throat. “Don’t try that shit,” I hiss.
She sticks her hands up like I’m holding her at gunpoint. She’s worried, and I’ve never seen her worried. Is this a game? Why is she here? Why is she talking?
“He knew I had drugged you that night—just for fun,” she insists, “and he wanted to fuck Sarabelle. She never would take him on as a client. He didn’t like that.”
“So—what? What did he do to her?” I need to know, but I’m afraid to know, and that just stokes my anger. I grip Priscilla’s blouse and tug her toward my truck. She slips and falls. I jerk her up and wrap my arm around her wrist, and now I’m tugging her behind me.
“Hunter, stop!” She shrieks, and it’s loud enough to wake the fucking dead. “Listen to me! Listen to me!” She wraps her free arm around a little tree near my truck and looks up at me with her mouth hanging half open. “I can’t control what he does, Hunter!”
“What did he do?” I growl.
“He slipped into the room. She was asleep and you were out. I think he gave her some of what I gave you and then he—” She swallows. “It’s disgusting—I know it is, but I had nothing to do with it!”
“And then what?”
“You can’t expect me to tell you anything extra,” she says, suddenly haughty again. “You’ve made your bed, and now you’ll have to lie in it. You took her out to the car and put her in! I asked you to, and you did it without question!”
“You’re a goddamned liar.”
“You did it,” she snaps.
“If I did, I was fucking drugged!” I grab her by both wrists and drag her toward my truck. “You’re a sick bitch, Priscilla,” I say, wanting to get her riled up before we get into the cab. “Do you think I believe Lockwood did this alone?” I want to throw out what I know about the governor’s missing mistress, but I’m not sure it’s the right time to play that card.
I pin Priscilla against the side of my truck as I fumble for my keys.