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)
“Then I don’t know,” I lied. “I just heard some noises when I was getting in my car.”
The two men exchanged glances. I wouldn’t describe their expressions as worried. More like confused or frustrated.
“Am I missing something?” I ask.
Rosie jumped in. “The body in the metal box was fresh.”
Huh?
“We prefer that you didn’t discuss details with anyone until we’ve had a chance to complete our interviews,” said the bald guy.
I knew Rosie would tell me everything she knew after they left. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut when it came to gossip. And this was juicy. I could tell from the giddy look in her eyes.
“Well, if you think of anything, give us a call.” The other detective handed me a card.
“Sure. No problem.” I offered a polite smile.
Rosie and I watched the two men head to their car before making our way around to the front of the trailer.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
Rosie stopped and faced me. “The body was fresh. Badly beaten, and the face was all smashed in.”
Her words spun inside my head. “I don’t understand.”
“No one does.” Her light brown eyes, a similar shade to mine, lit up. “The cops came back to do a more thorough sweep of the port, and they showed me a photo of the body they retrieved to see if I could identify him. He wasn’t the same guy I saw in the box yesterday.”
“Are you sure?” That made no sense.
“The guy from yesterday was lying on his side, so I couldn’t really see the face, but I saw his black pants and dress shoes. The body they picked up this morning was wearing jeans. No. Shoes.” She leaned in and whispered, “The coroner said the guy hadn’t been dead long. Killed last night. How’s that for fucking weird?”
Oh God. My mind leaped to the most obvious conclusion: The man who helped me, whoever he was, had thrown Randall’s body in the metal box.
But why? And what did he do with the other body?
My face was likely puke green, because Rosie gave my arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, hon. I talked to Mr. Ripley already. He’s got some security guys coming down from Tallahassee to keep an eye on things. Until then, the National Guard said they can spare a few warm bodies.”
My stomach clenched. I wished she wouldn’t use the word bodies. And I wasn’t sure how she could be so calm about all this. The situation was beyond terrifying.
“Don’t worry, Jeni. We’ll be okay.”
I nodded. Mostly because my quota for conversation had been reached for the day, but also because I just wanted to get my work done and leave.
“You really aren’t feeling good, are you?” She pressed her hand to my forehead. “Let’s get those forms figured out so you can go back to your motel to rest.”
“Thanks.” I followed her up the stairs, inside the trailer.
“Oh, damn. I forgot about you. Sorry, babe,” said Rosie.
A man stood inside the trailer, next to her desk. He was tall with thick dark hair and beautifully sculpted cheekbones.
“Not a problem,” he said, his voice deep and silky.
“This is Jeni, by the way.” Rosie gestured toward me. “She helps out with expediting equipment parts and our insane amount of paperwork.”
“Jeni.” He dipped his head in salutation.
“Jack came looking for work this morning,” Rosie explained. “Just our luck since stupid Randall didn’t show up.” Rosie gave the tall man a smack on the shoulder.
He didn’t react. Instead, his gaze steadied on my face, and I couldn’t pull my eyes off his elegant features, including his stunning blue eyes. He was tall, well-built, and lean—the sort of man who was far too beautiful to be wearing red flannel and muddy boots.
My stomach jumped into my throat. I knew those boots. One of them had been wedged in my car door last night. Shit. Those are Randall’s.
Our gazes locked once more. The flicker in his piercing blue eyes led me to believe that he knew what I was thinking.
Slowly, he inclined his head, as if to say, You’re welcome.
Every hair on my neck and arms stiffened. This was the man who killed Randall last night.
Why was he here?
What did he want?
I spent the rest of the morning resubmitting forms, which took forever due to the slow satellite internet system. Meanwhile, my mind was never far from Jack, if that was really his name.
Not that it mattered. Because even now, as he worked outside with the crew, helping to load scrap metal onto trucks, I felt his presence all around me. Didn’t help that Rosie kept going on and on about him.
“He looks like that Italian actor,” she’d said. “The one from that dirty movie—365-whatever.”
I knew the one, but this man made that Mafioso’s character look like a cuddly teddy bear.
Around noon, I was done with my critical work and decided I couldn’t handle being there a second longer. The situation was no longer about the police or not drawing attention. The man outside was disturbed. He’d helped me, yes, but from the screams I’d heard last night, he’d taken his time killing Randall. He’d made it hurt. Then he’d smashed in his face and took his boots, afterward removing a rotting corpse from a crime scene.