Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
“Welp, thanks for everything,” Lauren says, swinging open the door. I see we’re back at the bakery. “Wait, you told him where we lived,” she quickly realizes.
“Does it matter? He knows random John’s whole life,” I point out, but it’s making me wonder who Jay actually is. How the heck did he find all of that information so quickly? What does he know about me already?
“I’ll be seeing you very soon, Mila,” Jay says, but it sounds more like a promise than anything.
I smile back at him as Lauren grabs my hand, pulling me toward the bakery. For the first time in my life, I understand what people mean when they talk about butterflies in their stomach.
“We’ll see about that,” Lauren tosses over her shoulder to answer for me. I can tell from the look in Jay’s eyes that Lauren is most definitely wrong.
six
JAY
“Men in what?” I thunder on the phone.
“M-men in underwear,” the man stutters in reply. “I don’t know if they’re shooting a porno or what, but your girl is here, and the guys are undressing. I heard someone say something about underwear and then oiling up bodies, but I got shoved out because I wasn’t part of the essential crew.”
“You’re sure you are at the right place with Milana Carson? Brown hair, blue eyes, about five four if she’s standing straight up.”
“I mean, I think so. You said she’s sort of clutzy, and this girl tripped over a lighting cable and fell into a platter of cupcakes. She said ‘oops’ and—”
“That’s her.” I grab my keys and start for the door. “Stay where you are. No, if you can find the electrical unit, cut the power.”
“I can’t do that. I might electrocute myself,” the man whines.
“I can shoot you and put you out of your misery.”
“I’ll go look for the main power box.” He hangs up, and I sprint toward the elevator.
“Jay?” I hear from behind me.
“I’ve got an emergency meeting,” I say without looking back. Outside of the boardroom, Dax hops to his feet. “Sir?”
“I need to be at Forty-second and Carroll stat.”
“This is an emergency meeting!” yells Klip Harris. “I’ve got a warm body in my basement. I can’t be having warm bodies around.”
“Then make it cold.” I don’t know why all these other guys are always crawling up on my doorstep with problems that need to be fixed.
“I’m not a killer, Jay! That’s not what I do. I sell drugs and sex!” He follows me out, four black-suited lackeys trailing behind him like cartoon ducklings in formal attire.
“And you’re not doing a good job of it or you wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s not fair, Jay. I’m good at what I do, but now and then we run into problems. How was I supposed to know the guy’s ticker was bad? We don’t ask for health forms at the club.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Please, Jay.”
Klip sounds so pathetic and desperate. I sigh and pull out the card to the private physician I have on call—the one that looked Mila over yesterday. “Call this number, and my doc will come and take a look. Don’t do anything stupid, and follow her instructions to the letter. Got it?”
Klip clasps the card to his chest and is still in the process of thanking me as we drive away.
“Forty-second and Carroll is in the university district,” Dax informs me.
“Poor students taking their clothes off to pay for tuition? Sounds about right to me.” I dial Mila’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I should’ve gotten Lauren’s number. “Do you know the bakery’s phone number?” They share a landlord. They might have exchanged numbers.
“No, but I can get it.”
“Concentrate on driving. I’ll look up the bakery.” But the bakery knows nothing.
“We just knock on their door if they need anything. Mila is usually home,” the barista explains to me after I threatened—I mean, cajoled—them into giving me information.
After what seems like a half-dozen years, Dax pulls up in front of an old five-story building with a gothic exterior. The stone façade was once an impressive piece of architecture, but the university’s inhabitants have taken a toll. The noses have been knocked off most of the carved reliefs. The two lion heads flanking the front door are barely recognizable. Unchecked ivy climbs the walls like Mother Nature is about to enact her revenge. It looks like a place a porno would be shot. The main door is unlocked, and inside the building is divided into what looks like different studios. BNC Studio. Lifestyles Portraits. Forever Memories. All of the ones on the first floor look to be closed. No light coming through the doorways. No noise inside. I take the stairs two at a time. There’s music playing in the studio at the far end. I throw open a door to see a woman in a wedding dress being photographed. Her mouth falls open at the sight of me. “Sorry,” I say.