Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
He snatches open the bottom drawer of his desk, pushing loose papers, packets of gum, mints, and loose cords out of the way until he collects a clunky Nokia flip phone. The phone is dead, so he snatches one of the cords out and plugs it into the nearest outlet. When there is one notch of battery and it powers to life, he calls the only number stored in the contacts, but not before closing his office door as quietly as he can. The last thing he wants is Jolene hearing his conversation.
Dominic clings to the phone, his ear flush against the receiver as it rings and rings until finally, an answer.
“Boaz,” a gravelly voice answers.
“Someone knows,” Dominic whispers.
“Knows what?” Boaz snaps.
“About that night. The girl. The rug.” He tries speaking vaguely—no names, no locations.
“How would someone know?” Boaz counters.
“I got a letter in my mailbox. Handwritten. They know where I live, Boaz. You said you took care of it! Why the hell am I getting anonymous letters?”
“Look, just calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Dominic snaps. “The only people who know about this are you, me, and that cleaner. I know you aren’t stupid enough to tamper with this, and you said you’ve worked with that cleaner for years. Why would he be doing this?”
“It isn’t us, boy. Are you crazy? Look, it’s probably just someone trying to mess with you.”
“You said no one saw us that night.”
“They didn’t.” Boaz pauses. “They couldn’t have.”
“So how . . .” Dominic trails off, drawing in a long breath. He isn’t sure what to say. There are so many questions running through his head, and none of what’s going on right now makes any sense.
“Look, no one can know a thing. I was careful,” Boaz goes on. “I wouldn’t put my life at risk by leaving loose ends.”
Dominic wants to find relief in that, but he can’t. Boaz is meticulous and safe, but that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t watching. The house he was in with Brynn was on a private property and there were so many trees and places for someone to hide. But who could it have been? No one knew where he would be except John, the owner of the house, and he damn sure wasn’t behind this. John had his own secrets that Dominic knew all about, and if he wanted to keep them contained, he was guaranteed to keep his mouth shut.
“I have to go,” Boaz grumbles. “Don’t call this phone again unless it’s life threatening.” With that, Boaz hangs up, and Dominic lowers the phone, hunching against the door.
A lump forms in his throat as he racks his mind for possibilities. Only Dominic and Boaz were there that night. No one else. Not even Jolene knows. He told her he was staying at the Ritz Carlton. He thought he was careful, but clearly, someone was watching. He doesn’t know who, or when, or how. But they were.
I KNOW WHAT U DID. WHERE’S BRYNN?
The words taunt him and suddenly he can’t breathe. He clutches his chest, stumbling toward his chair and slumping in it. He drags in breath after breath, stomach coiling into knots.
In this moment, as the burner phone slips into his lap, Dominic is certain of one thing: the life he built is over if he doesn’t find out who’s doing this.
TWO
JOLENE
Red juice spills on the cutting board as I slice the grapefruit with a hum. Turkey sausage sizzles in the pan, and four eggs are boiling. I slice again, locked on the glint of the knife, the handle stiff in my grasp. I relax my grip and sigh.
I have no idea why I’m preparing a meal for my husband. He likely won’t sit down and share it with me. I suppose it has come to this—a loveless marriage where our actions are only a performance. I never wanted it to be this way, and it should show considering I’ve devoted the last eleven years of my life to him. I give him stability. I give him drive. I give him every single part of me, some of which he doesn’t even deserve.
I hear the door of his office click shut and know he’s hiding something. Again. I stop humming and start listening. I hear the murmurs, the mumbling. He has secrets. We all do.
I dump the flesh of the grapefruit into the juicer and watch it blend into a beautiful, pink-red concoction. It isn’t until I’ve poured the juice into two slim glasses that I hear his office door open and Dominic’s footsteps drifting down the hallway. He enters the kitchen, impeccably dressed in a navy-blue suit with an American flag pendant attached to the lapel. The suit is creaseless and clean, courtesy of our local dry cleaner, and the suit is tailored to perfection, molding to his body perfectly.