Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“I’ll eat what you don’t want.”
She laughed. “I can’t possibly eat all that.” She nodded down to the six containers, four still filled with food.
“You might be surprised.” He shot her a wink, then turned and gathered two water bottles out of the minifridge and set them on the desk.
She looked up at all the clippings and notes he’d taped to the wall, chewing as she considered each piece of evidence from the case. “Real life,” she said, the first unpleasant sensation she’d felt since she’d woken up taking hold. “We have to figure out who’s using Dr. Sweeton’s formula against people.” She turned to him. “Tell me what you’ve learned so far or come up with while we’ve been apart.”
His expression softened as he looked at her. “You’re not going to expose the project.”
She took another bite, chewing more slowly before swallowing. “I mean . . . I’m still probably just a little bit high, so I’m not making any definitive decisions at the moment.”
“Wise,” he said, with a cock of his head.
She smiled, but it quickly dwindled. “But I think . . . I think we have to protect the project. It’s . . . the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, and I didn’t consider myself damaged.” She thought for a moment about the stories she’d listened to on The Fringe, about the way so many people suffered. And she didn’t know how to make something like this available to more people, but the fact that it was being given to any seemed like a small miracle she refused to deny to anyone. “The problem, Ambrose, is that it’s been corrupted. We have to figure out how—and why—or it won’t be up to us whether it ends. It will have to.”
“Agreed.”
Lennon opened a container of lasagna and took it over to the bed, where she sat against the propped pillows, eating and considering the wall again. Ambrose was obviously experienced with investigations. “How’d you become a bounty hunter anyway?” she asked. “I read about the crime you helped solve in Kentucky,” she said, feeling a moment of apprehension that he’d be angry that she’d looked him up.
But he just nodded, as if he’d already figured out that she’d looked into his past. Of course he had—he’d possessed this uncanny knack for figuring her out from the get-go. Instead of being annoyed by it, like she’d been at first, now it made her want to smile, though currently her mouth was too full of food to do that. “Well, like I told you, I started out as a correctional officer. After going through Dr. Sweeton’s treatment, and what happened in Kentucky, I knew I wanted to work in law enforcement. When I returned to San Francisco, the quickest way in was a job at San Quentin.”
“Wow, you started in the prison big leagues.”
A smile flitted across his lips. “That’s one way to put it. Anyway, long story short, I made some solid connections in the law enforcement community, and then I went into business for myself. There was a prison break a year later, and I was called in and ended up apprehending both prisoners within days. After that, a few agencies contacted me to assist on cases, and I proved beneficial on those as well. It snowballed from there. Over the years, I had to turn down more jobs than I could take.” He looked at the curtain-covered window for a second. “I seem to have this sixth sense for locating people, especially once I have a profile. Maybe I’m just naturally good at the job, but I think the treatment I went through sort of . . .”
“Honed your instincts?”
“Yes. Others have said similar things. I think you’ll find it’s true of you as well,” he said.
She took another bite, and he watched her for a moment. “Speaking of which, do you want to talk about your experience?” he asked somewhat tentatively.
She thought about that. “Not yet, but I will. I’d like to let it settle for a little while longer. But I’d like to tell you about it, and I’d like to hear about your experience, too, if you’re willing to share.”
“I’d love that,” he said before walking to the bed and sitting down on the edge.
She focused back on the wall, going over the victims and the crime scenes. Her mind felt both slightly foggy and clearer than she could remember it feeling in a long time. She recalled all those illuminated but also translucent lines that had connected one thing to the other while she’d been under the influence of Dr. Sweeton’s drug cocktail, and something told her she should take advantage of any connections the residual effects of that might allow her to make. “I think our killer somehow found out about the project and is using it for his own purposes,” she said.