Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“How do you do that?” I asked. “The mind-sharing thing?”
He polished off his bourbon and poured another. He wasn’t going to answer.
“Fine, Jack, I get it. You’re a man of mystery and trust no one, but I need to know where this ends. With me, I mean.”
“Our arrangement will end after I have taken care of those responsible. You will take your place in this world as a very powerful woman.”
I stared for a long moment, searching for any sign of truth or sarcasm in his eyes. He was dead serious. No pun intended. “Why do you think that?”
“Not think. Know.”
I didn’t believe him, but he believed it, and clearly he had no intention of disclosing why. I hated that he wouldn’t trust me and tell me what he knew. Especially because it involved me.
“Well, let’s get you some clean clothes while dinner cooks.” My father was about six one, so his old pre-accident clothes should fit Jack. He had some boxes out in the garage.
“Do not bother. I will venture out and find what I need.”
“But you don’t have money.”
“This will not be an issue.” He left the kitchen and went outside. To do what? I didn’t know. But I needed space. We’d been in a car together in silence for over seven hours. My life was falling to pieces, mostly because of him, but also not. It had been shit before he came along.
The question was: Would things ever get better or just get worse? I was about to find out.
CHAPTER TEN
I didn’t actually remember going to sleep, but when I woke the next morning to the sound of pots and pans clanking in the kitchen, I was shocked by how late I’d slept in.
Ten fifteen? I hadn’t slept this much in ages. There was always too much to do.
I hopped from bed, wondering what Jack was doing in the kitchen. I couldn’t imagine a man like him cooking.
I slid my pink bathrobe over my flannel shorts and T-shirt and padded to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway.
What the…? My dad was up on two feet, looking rosy cheeked, with a spatula in his hand. Jack sat at the breakfast bar across the counter, drinking coffee.
“Jeni!” my dad said, warmth radiating from his lively brown eyes. “You didn’t say you were coming home this weekend and bringing your friend here.” My dad walked over and hugged me tight. He still felt like my father, a little doughy around the midsection, and he certainly sounded like my father, but he wasn’t acting like my father. At least, not the one I’d left behind over a week ago.
He released me and kissed my cheek.
“Uh. It was a last minute thing.” How was he standing? How was he cooking pancakes?
“Your father was just telling me about his plans for a spring garden,” Jack said with his usual lack of emotion.
Garden?
My dad went over to the frying pan and flipped a pancake. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m making my famous pecan praline pancakes.”
“That sounds, uh, great?” I smiled tightly. “Jack, can I talk to you privately for a minute?”
Jack dipped his head. “Be right back, Mel. I think your daughter is upset with me. I came back a little late last evening.”
Huh?
I marched out of the kitchen into my bedroom, which was just a bed and boxes piled high against one wall. I never really unpacked after coming home from college last year, mostly because I’d been lazy. Then everything happened so fast—my dad’s accident, long days in the hospital, and realizing my life was about to drastically change.
Jack followed me in, and I closed the door behind him.
“What the fuck is going on?” I hissed.
“You mean…” He pointed over his shoulder.
“What did you do to him?” I snapped.
“You are complaining.” His hypnotic blue eyes narrowed with displeasure.
“No. I just want to know what sort of weird crap you pulled.” I pointed an accusatory finger at him.
“Your breakfast is going to get cold.” He went for the door.
I rushed to block him, placing a hand on his firm chest. I suddenly noticed he was wearing a long dress coat, a white dress shirt, and tailored black slacks. His shiny black dress shoes looked like they’d come straight from the box. I was about to ask how he’d obtained new, expensive-looking clothes, but maybe I didn’t want to know.
“Tell me what you did to my dad,” I said firmly.
He stared.
“Will you at least tell me if it’s permanent?”
“More than you know.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I snapped.
Jack gestured toward the door. “You have breakfast to eat, and we have a plane to catch.”
That was when I noticed the gold ring missing from his hand. A flicker of relief washed through me. Jack must’ve hocked it last night, which explained how he’d bought new clothes. I’d honestly feared he’d killed someone or robbed a store.