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)
A vibrating noise sounds off behind him, and he realizes this is why he woke up. His phone was ringing. He snatches it up and answers.
“Boaz? What do you have?” Dominic climbs out of bed, heading to the mini fridge and retrieving a bottled water.
“Found an ID on that woman in the picture you sent. She goes by the name Shavonne Peters, attended Loyola University, and was an intern for a kids’ summer camp in 2015. That’s the last thing I really have on her up until 2020, where she takes a job in North Carolina as a waitress in a diner called Pop’s.”
All of the words Boaz says swim away from Dominic but two. Loyola University. “Wait. She attended Loyola?”
“That’s right.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirty-eight.”
Dominic’s eyes bulge out of his head. “She’s the same age as Brynn. She went to the same college. She must know her.”
“Could be a friend wanting answers,” Boaz states.
“But how would she know I was involved?” Dominic snaps. “Why would she be asking me anything?”
“Well, if the woman you had at the rental never went back home that night, this friend probably had questions, asked around the lounge about her. They must’ve been close. It’s possible the woman you had over told her friend who she was going to see.”
Dominic’s back hits the wall and his body sags to the floor. “No, no, no. Boaz, this can’t be happening. This woman can’t be sniffing around right now. Everyone knows if you search for answers, you’ll find them. Tell me that body can’t be found, Boaz,” he pleads.
“I went to New Orleans, poked around. No one has said anything about a body and no missing person reports were filed with her name. As far as you and I are concerned, she’s gone. She was hardly breathing, and I buried her near a marsh. There was no surviving that.”
“What about her belongings? Her purse? The phone?”
“Buried it with her. No one will find it.”
“So how the hell was that same purse inside my apartment last night, Boaz? There’s blood and dirt all over it. Someone is fucking with me, and I bet it’s that friend of hers!”
“Calm down,” Boaz snaps. “Anyone can buy a bag, get dirt, and make fake blood. If it is this woman, you need to put a pin in this straightaway and burn the evidence. Do you want me to handle it?”
“No.” He thought Boaz had it handled years ago but clearly, he didn’t. Now, he’s certain that was Brynn standing across the street from Executive Mansion, staring back at him. What if she’s not dead? Boaz said he drove for miles with her body in the trunk until he ventured to a forest near a marsh, dug a hole, and dumped her. He said the place was often infested with gators, and that even if she did miraculously wake up and dig her way out, she wouldn’t survive it, not with her wounds.
Now, Dominic is having a hard time accepting any of what Boaz told him. There is a possibility Boaz is in on this, that he wants to see Dominic fail. Maybe he was pissed that he’d been dragged into it, so he set Brynn free and told her to never speak a word of it, paid her off or something, but she’s thought about it all and now she’s back. He could have lied about it just to save face. Sure, it was a risk on his part and, no, Boaz didn’t like loose ends, but people change. And if there was one thing Dominic knew about Brynn, it’s that she was smart as hell. She’d conquered many odds with quick thinking and this could’ve been one of those situations. Say she woke up, saw what Boaz was about to do as he dumped dirt onto her body, and begged to be freed. Would he have let her go?
“Just give me the night to think,” Dominic finally says when Boaz clears his throat. “I’ll let you know what to do when I figure out more.”
He hangs up, then chucks his phone across the room.
There is no one he can trust.
He has to take care of it himself.
THIRTY-ONE
DOMINIC
Four years ago
Dominic had made a lot of mistakes growing up, but none of them could amount to this one. He stood in the master bedroom of John’s rental home, mouth ajar and body stiff as he stared at the body on the floor.
He’d shoved Brynn a little too roughly and she’d hit her head on the sharp, wooden corner of the dresser. She was face-down on the ground, and blood was pooling around her head. He started to bend down, flip her over, but didn’t want to touch the body.
Fuck! What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just let her lay there and die. Why couldn’t she just sign the damn papers? Why did she have to make the situation so difficult?