Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Sure, I get her need to stand up for herself. Even Dean’s disgusted by how her ma orders her around like she never aged a day past sixteen.
Still, her family drama can’t hold a candle to winding up at the business end of Bat Pickett and his thirst for blood—figurative and literal.
Bastard hasn’t shown up yet, but he will. If he’s not already out of jail, he will be any week.
That’s why his goons are here, swarming an unsuspecting Dallas. So he knows exactly where I’m at, my schedule, my vulnerabilities.
Namely Tory.
Bat’s gonna use her to try to get to me. His own psycho brand of payback.
I can’t have that shit.
There’s a showdown so imminent I can feel it in the air.
While the girls were chatting this morning at the Larkin place, I pulled Drake aside and we talked.
He’s planning to fly North Earhart Oil’s helicopter over the lake to see if there’s any activity at the old Nelson place. He also said he’d check out the cameras at Granny’s.
Things I should be doing myself but can’t because I need to keep my eyes glued to Tory.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, darlin’.” I heave out a frustrated breath.
Hands on her hips, she stares at me, assessing whether or not she wants to believe me.
“Why did you say I should go home then? That’s a pretty big power move, Mr. Bossypants.”
I avert my gaze, racking my brain for excuses.
“What aren’t you telling me, Quinn?” she asks softly.
I shake my head.
“Fine. You don’t want me here, I’ll take the hint.” She turns and starts walking, leaving me burned again by my tongue-tied bullshit.
“Wait.” I catch up in a few quick strides and grasp her arm. “I want you here, Tory. It’s just not safe.”
“What? That goon from Oklahoma again with the emo kid tattoos? Pssht.” She shakes her head. “Nice try, mister.”
“It’s the damn truth. That goon is connected to the asshole in prison, who’ll be walking free anytime, if he ain’t already. And he’ll beeline it here with a score to settle.”
Frowning, as if she doesn’t believe it’s all that serious, she shrugs.
“So tell the sheriff. He’d probably enjoy some real excitement in a little town like this.”
“Wallace knows, believe me, but it goes a lot deeper than you think.”
She pulls her arm out of my hold and heads for the door, a sadness in her blue eyes. “You don’t have to make things up to get rid of me, Quinn. I’ll go.”
She can’t be serious.
I start to say I’m not trying to get rid of her, but stop, because technically...isn’t that exactly what I’m trying to do?
Send her sweet butt off to safety, where she won’t be another pawn for Bat to check me permanently.
Annoyed, I follow her to the house, trying like hell to keep my anger under wraps.
“Listen, I’m not just spinning stories. I meant what I said. I want you here. I want you to stay, but it’s not safe with a mad dog who could show up on our doorstep any time. Don’t you get it?” I bite off.
She stops in the kitchen once we’re through the door and slowly turns to face me.
“I might, if you’d tell me the truth,” she says, crossing her arms.
“I’ve been telling you nothing but,” I say.
Hurt crosses her face as she shakes her head.
“Not enough to make me believe that’s the whole reason you want me to leave. What are you holding back?”
A frigging boulder, I think to myself. A mountain of grief and regret, all wrapped up in the biggest clusterfuck of my life.
The worst part is, she’s right.
I haven’t told her enough to make her believe anything. Not about the Pickett case and not about what happened.
“You really want to know?” I growl, raking a hand through my hair.
“Try me,” she says, never peeling those endless blue eyes off me.
Fine.
Fuck it.
The fact that I’ll try, for her sake, tells me I must be in love—one more scary, unexpected, all-too-complicated thing to deal with. But first, story time.
“The Pickett case was a shitshow from the very start,” I begin, slowly pacing the kitchen. “Jake Pickett was a lowlife, a low-grade meth dealer who worked his way up and managed to get a pretty slick operation going with distribution based around local laundromats. That’s what put him on the DEA radar. Petty drug dealing doesn’t usually fall under FBI jurisdiction, but when it also involves a lot of illegal weapons moving around to keep his crews secure, blackmailing local businesses, and a heap of money laundering? Yeah, then it’s Go Go Gadget Feds.”
I know I’m running my mouth like a fool because she smiles at the Inspector Gadget reference.
If only any of this shit were worth a laugh.
“Eventually, the DEA busted a larger drug cartel based in Texas, working its way up through Oklahoma. One of their guys who flipped gave us solid leads on the laundromats, and a repair business Jake Pickett was definitely involved in. I was assigned to follow up on the lead with my partner, Justin Franklin. It was like a spiderweb, no clean line straight to Pickett, yet he was weaved in here and there.”