Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
I make sure the listener is recording.
“…have time for this,” Xavier says irritably. “Thanks to the container delay, we have trouble.”
Bowden hitches his belt up with a grunt. “Window’s closing, that’s for sure. But with a little extra security and a few more hands on deck, we might pull off a miracle. Push the timeline up.”
“We have a two-hour window. Two,” Xavier hisses. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to arrange a complete blackout on Customs and Border Protection for an entire day? A day. And thanks to these bloody idiots, we have two hours left to load up and make an entire ship disappear. A few hired mercenaries won’t fix that.”
Ship?
Wait.
Didn’t Talia say she heard Xavier throwing a tantrum over something to do with a ship?
“So hire more than a few.” That coldness is there in the chief’s voice, too.
It’s unnerving how much it reminds me of myself, whenever I shut down and focus on my obsession.
“Look,” Bowden says. “Shit happens, man. We can’t control the weather. Storm at sea means the boat’s gonna be late. Load up as many of the hillfolk as you can, and I’ll call in a few dozen guys. We’ll make it work.”
Xavier pins Bowden with a frosty look that’s no doubt intimidated many—and if Bowden were the man he seems, he’d be wincing and wringing his hands. But he only meets Xavier’s eyes, flat and unaffected.
For the first time, I think I’m seeing the real Chief Bowden.
“Be there by two a.m.,” Xavier bites off, and turns back to the town car. “Take care of all of… all of this.” He flicks a hand at the Jacobins.
“Uh-huh. Sure thing, Your Highness,” Bowden sneers.
The only answer is the town car’s door slamming shut.
Snarling, I check my watch.
Nine p.m.
That gives me five hours to figure out where the hell they’re going and call in the cavalry. I don’t have time to wait for the DEA to get off their asses and do something like, you know, enforcing drug protection laws.
Whether I like it or not, I need help.
And I know exactly where to find it.
The lobby lights are still on at The Rookery when I pull up.
Janelle tends to keep it open late for the folks straggling in at all hours of the night. I think it also helps her feel a little less lonely when her husband clearly isn’t home as often as he should be.
The white columns of the massive building are tinted gold by the light spilling through the front windows and glass doors, reflecting off the glossy wood paneling inside.
Gerald Grey’s work, I think.
I can see his touch now.
So very similar to Talia’s.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Old Gerald must have been the one to consult with Janelle when she first bought this place and had it converted into a B&B, long before I ever came to Redhaven.
I wonder if anyone ever thought we’d wind up here.
I step out of my patrol car and stand at the foot of the walkway.
Janelle is a distant, lonely figure behind the reception desk.
When I step up the walk and open the doors, a soft jingle mixes with the low, pleasant piano music playing in the lobby.
Janelle’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t look up. Her hair falls down around her face as she writes something in front of her.
I step up and lean against the counter, folding my arms. “Evening, Janelle.”
She looks up with a guilty smile.
“Oh, Officer Ainsley! Micah. How can I help you this evening?”
I think she knows.
Deep down, some part of her knows why I’m here.
Doesn’t make it any easier to say.
I wonder when I started to care.
Maybe when I found out exactly how it feels when a woman realizes the man she trusted was the worst sort of asshole there is.
“I’m looking for the chief,” I tell her. “He’s not sleeping at the office tonight. I’m guessing he’s not at home. Do you know where he is? Because we both know he’s not here.”
Her eyes close.
Her pen stills against the ledger, its soft scratch falling silent.
“I… I couldn’t tell you,” she whispers.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t know.”
I hate pressing her.
It feels cruel, but fuck, I have to do this.
“I can’t play around, Janelle. I have one chance to catch him,” I tell her. “Him, and a lot of others. We’ve looked the other way for years. Pretended it was just moonshining up in those hills because we couldn’t prove anything else. But you know it’s not moonshine, don’t you? And you know your husband is in deep.”
Her hands tremble.
She swallows hard.
“What do you want from me?” Her voice shakes.
“To know where the hell he goes when he disappears.” I hesitate before reaching across the counter to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I know whatever he’s involved in, it’s not your fault. But if you’re willing to speak up, you could help a whole lot of folks tonight.”