Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Wanna bet?” he says.
“Fine, then you can’t save me from the ugly truth. My best friend is missing. I need to help look for her.”
"You can help me by keeping yourself safe, baby." He kisses the inside of my palm. “Daddy can’t do his job right if he’s worried about you.”
I frown into my granola, watching it grow soggier by the minute. He doesn’t understand that I have to do this. It’s not enough to know that he’s out there doing the best he can. Kenzie’s my family.
"What if it was your sister?” I ask. “What if it was Vicki out there all alone, and someone told you to stay put and let the professionals handle it? Would you leave her out there?"
Cal’s throat shifts. Something in his whole demeanor changes, like he’s bracing for impact. Whatever feeling or memory hits him does so fast and furious. It occurs to me that Cal always talks about Vicki in the past tense. Did something happen to her? And did I step on a nerve just by saying her name?
Slowly, his posture softens.
"You're not gonna stay put, are you?"
I shake my head. "I can’t."
He runs a hand over his hair and sighs.
"Maybe seeing your face will jog Stephanie’s memory.” He aims a finger at me. “But at the first sign of danger, I'm bringing you home."
Home... I like the sound of that. Cal’s home. My home. Our home.
I’m getting way ahead of myself.
“Deal.” I pick up my spoon and start eating. “Where’s your breakfast, by the way?”
“I don’t do breakfast,” he says. “Just coffee.”
He slips a gray button-down over his tee shirt, probably to make his gun less noticeable. Cal’s a big guy—after last night, I’m even more acutely aware of just how big. One or even two gallons of coffee wouldn’t be enough to fuel him for a long day of hunting down bad guys.
“I think if I have to eat, then so do you.” I tell him.
“You think so, huh?” He braces his hands on the table and smirks down at me. “Aren’t we full of demands today, baby girl.”
“You say demands, I say compromises. Besides, I’m used to reminding Kenzie to eat before a shift. Otherwise, she’d go to work on an empty stomach and get sloshed on a single shot of tequila someone bought her at the bar.”
“You’re saying it’s your turn to take care of me now, is that it?”
I nod.
He opens the fridge, grabs a leftover chicken thigh from a container, and bites off a chunk.
“Happy now?” he asks.
I smile. “I will be, after you’ve eaten at least two more of those.”
Chapter Fifteen
Holly
Cal plugs the Heartwells’ address into his phone’s GPS and then we’re off. When we get there, the first thing I notice is that their neighborhood is obscenely normal. Subarus and Toyotas in the driveways and sprinklers on every lawn. Actual white picket fences.
We pull up in front of a light-gray two-story house with black shutters. My heart pounds as we make our way up the stone walk. Cal rings the doorbell. A man in a green button-down shirt over Hawaiian-style swim trunks answers the door, greeting us with the scent of skunk.
“Can I help y’all?” He squints at us with bloodshot eyes from behind wire-framed glasses.
“We’re looking for Mrs. Stephanie Heartwell,” Cal says. “Is she home by any chance?”
“She’s my wife.” He glances at my tits, then scans all six-plus-feet of Cal, including the distinctive bulge under his shirt. “What’s this concerning?”
“We’d just like to ask her a few questions about a gathering she attended recently. Should only take a few minutes.”
He sways in place, like he’s considering his next words very carefully.
“You police?” he asks.
Cal smiles. “Just a couple of concerned citizens interested in locating a friend. Your wife may have heard from her.”
Steph’s husband glances inside the house, then turns back to us. “She’s not here. You’ll have to come back another time.”
“We’ll do that, Mr. Heartwell,” Cal says.
The door slams.
“He’s lying,” I say, pointing out the two cars parked in front of the garage.
“Sure is.” Cal ambles down the front walk and then veers off toward the garage and the side of the house. A brown fence separates the front yard from the back. Two tall garbage bins, one blue and one red, stand at attention with their mouths open beside the gate.
Cal tries the handle, but the gate won’t budge.
“Boost me over so I can unlock it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “No way, sweetheart. You go wait in the car.”
Fat chance of that. With the big trash bins pushed up against it, the fence is easily hoppable.
I close one of the garbage bins and climb on top of the lid.
“Holly,” Cal hisses, grasping my ankle. “Get down from there.”
“Do you want inside or not?”
“Hell yeah, I do. But I’m not dragging you into a B&E.”