Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
She roused a bit. “Stay away from him though.”
“Who?” I clicked the lamp off, shrouding the room in darkness.
“Tall, dark, and deadly.”
“Sebastian?”
But she was already asleep again, her snores sawing through the quiet.
8
Sebastian
Anxiety coursed through me as Anton wove through New York City traffic toward my high-rise penthouse. I’d become more and more of a wreck as the days passed and I didn’t have any contact with my prize. But I did have something that could take the edge off, if only Anton would do his fucking job and get me home.
My land attorney droned through the speaker phone. “The acreage in the upper basin isn’t for sale. We’ve tried at length to get Mr. Sartain to negotiate with us, but he wants to keep the land and raise sheep. Won’t even talk about splitting up the parcel and selling the wooded parts, and definitely won’t entertain a lease. He’s resolute in his refusal.” His voice shook the slightest bit. Telling me “no” was never a good thing, and like any well-trained dog, he knew the price for disobedience.
“Resolute in his refusal?” I kept my tone even as Anton turned onto Fifth Avenue.
“Yes sir.”
I could imagine the sheen of sweat on the attorney’s pasty brow, the dread in his eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, doesn’t Lindstrom own the tract to the southwest of Mr. Sartain?”
“Yes sir.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and spoke slowly so he could follow. “Is there not a narrow river there flowing from our property to his? The Green Branch?”
“Yes sir.” No clarity, no light bulb going off. Just a dead affirmation from him.
“Would you say, Travis, that he relies on that river to water his sheep?”
“Yes sir. Oh, I see.” Fucking finally. “I’ll make some calls. Surely we can divert the river for a while. I’m not sure if we’ll need permits or what, but—”
“Permits?” I wasn’t entirely sure that I wouldn’t backhand the man if he were sitting in front of me. “Block the fucking river. Starve him out. If he complains, tell him it’s a beaver problem. Tell him it’s the dry season even if it’s pouring rain. Tell him we’re working on it. I don’t care what excuse you use.”
“Yes sir. He’ll file suit over it, though. I just wanted you to know that before we started down this road.”
“Of course I know that!” I took a deep breath as Anton pulled up in front of my building. “His sheep will be dead and gone before he can even get so much as an injunction against us. Cut the water. When he comes to the table, get me a lease on his timber. I want it now, and I want it when the next stand comes of age thirty years from now.”
“Yes sir. I’ll handle it as soon as—”
I clicked off the call and climbed from the car. My doorman greeted me as I hurried past and toward the elevator deck. I felt like a bomb ticking down to its last seconds. The elevator opened, and I used my key to access the penthouse level. Standing close to the silver doors, I sighed with relief when they finally opened onto my living room. The lights of Central Park shone through the night, and the skyscrapers across the way gleamed in the moonlight.
I tossed my jacket and tie on a side chair and turned left, past the kitchen and into what was supposed to be a guest room. Flat screen monitors hummed with soft life, though their screens were black. Sitting down in my leather chair, I tapped a key on the laptop and watched as my obsession came to life.
“Fuck.” She was at Link’s place. A million tiny bugs crawled beneath my skin as I saw them sitting together on his couch, his arm around her shoulders. They were watching a movie, a discarded popcorn bowl sitting on Link’s coffee table. His apartment was easy enough to have wired. A little cash in his super’s palm got my men inside with cameras and microphones. Camille’s cottage near Trenton was even easier.
Was it wrong? Yes. Did I give a shit? No.
I settled in, staring at her as she smiled or laughed at something she saw on screen. She was so expressive, her eyes telling the story for me such that there was no need to watch the movie. I followed along with her emotions, matching my expressions to hers.
For over an hour, I simply stared, immersing myself in her. Ignoring the dolt beside her was easy until he decided to make idiotic sounds with his mouth.
“Why do you do that?” Link paused the movie and grabbed the empty popcorn bowl.
“Do what?” Once free from his grasp, she leaned on the sofa’s arm, finally looking relaxed.
He walked toward the kitchen. “You sort of fidget whenever the bad guy’s on screen.”