The Big Fix (Torus Intercession #5) Read Online Mary Calmes

Categories Genre: Crime, M-M Romance, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Torus Intercession Series by Mary Calmes
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
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“Again, Colonel, let me do my job. I record all my autopsies, so you will have that as well as”—she looked to Arden—“an immediate phone call.”

Arden smiled at her, nodding.

Dr. Lens sighed, clearly at ease with my pilot. It wasn’t a surprise. Everyone always warmed to Arden.

“Okay,” I agreed, too weary to argue. They were both right. I had little to offer the forensic process beyond my impatience. I was jet-lagged as well, and my body wasn’t adjusting to the time change with so little sleep. “Thank you.”

I turned to Lee. “Do you know what hotel I’m staying at?”

“Of course. Do you want me here, or with you at the hotel?”

“You can go home, Lee. I don’t—”

He stopped me with a lifted hand. “It’s a simple question. Here, watching over the autopsy, or with you at the hotel?”

What did I want? “Here,” I said, my voice cracking. I felt fractured, terrified to know the truth and needing to know at the same time. “Jing will go with me to the hotel.”

He glanced at Jing. “Are you good?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “More than capable,” she assured him, her tone icy. She was not a fan of people second-guessing her ability just because she was beautiful and wore four-inch heels.

“Then I’ll stay,” Lee said. “There’s a car outside waiting for you.”

“Okay,” I husked, then looked at Arden. “You’ll call.”

“You know I will.”

With a nod, I turned and left.

“Hasana packed you a small bag,” Jing informed me. “Arden picked that up from her before she flew to Bangkok to get us. I had that put in the car already.”

“What about you and Arden?”

“Yeah, I’ve got our stuff too. Don’t worry about it.”

“How did you know the car was for me?”

She huffed out a breath. “If you weren’t so tired, you wouldn’t be asking these inept questions. You’re dead on your feet, so let’s go.”

To the right, I saw a black Mercedes S550 idling, and the driver got out to greet me. He was young, dressed in a black suit and tie with a white dress shirt underneath.

I thanked him for being there, and he gave me a smile and a nod. In the car, with Jing beside me, I called Hasana.

“Thank you for the clothes.”

“There’s a shaving kit as well, so do clean up once you get some sleep.”

“I will.”

“Let me talk to Jing.”

“Go ahead,” I said, putting her on speaker.

“How—”

“Wait,” Jing snapped, hitting a button to raise the partition between us and the driver. “Go ahead.”

“Oh dear God,” Hasana groaned. “Boss, since when do we chat in front of people we don’t know?”

“He’s fuckin’ exhausted,” Jing told her. “You should see him. He looks like how he did when you were delivering Benny.”

Her first child had been an emergency C-section, and neither she nor her son were expected to live with whatever complication there had been. It had been touch and go for what had felt like days.

“No shit?”

“No shit,” Jing repeated. “He asked me a moment ago how I knew this was our car.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” I growled at them.

“Fine,” Hasana agreed. “Instead of asking Jing, I’ll ask you how you are.”

“It changes minute by minute,” I confessed. “Where did you put us up?”

“The Dwarika. I secured you the best suite available given the notice.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you for being on top of this.”

“Always,” she whispered, and I knew she didn’t want to cry in front of me. We were all worried. We were a family, and Owen was an integral part. If he was gone, it wasn’t just my loss. It would affect them all. “Now please get some rest so Jing doesn’t have to knock you out. I packed her a blow-dart gun, so don’t test her.”

I turned to Jing, who raised an eyebrow and held out her hand for my phone. I passed it to her, and she took it off speaker and spoke at length to Hasana. I got lost in listening to her; she had a soothing, mellifluous voice. She could have made a mint narrating books for a living, and I told her that often.

I nodded off, safe in the car with Jing, the sound of the tires on the road and the lulling speed too soothing to not succumb. Jing woke me an hour later as we pulled up in front of the Dwarika. The eighty-room hotel, a meticulous melding of the valley’s indigenous Newari architecture and contemporary luxury, was an oasis in the bustle of Kathmandu. I was a bit bleary, watching Jing give the driver a tip and her card—apparently, she wanted him to come back for us later. Inside, she went to the front desk and checked us in. The concierge was helpful, asking Jing about luggage. But I had my bag and Arden’s, Jing carrying her own.


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