Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Otto cups his hands and holds them out, but before I get a chance to use them as a launch pad, Goldie shoulder barges him out of the way. I laugh to myself and her need to prove a point as I step onto her hands and push through my knee to reach the elevator hatch. I pull my gun, pop the ceiling tile, and slide it across, peeking through. Nothing. “There’s a remote camera in my bag. Pass me it.”
“There’s a good boy, Otto,” Goldie says.
“Fuck off, witch.”
For the love of God. I dip and get them both in my sights. “Shut the fuck up before I shut you the fuck up.” Ironic. They both shut the fuck up. Otto passes me the camera, and I hoist myself up higher. The mechanics of the lift clank and whirl, carrying us down, and I stretch to reach the bare brick wall. I see an iron support bar nearing, and I activate the magnet on the camera. The moment it’s in reach, I stretch farther and slip it onto the edge as the lift passes. Done.
I grunt as I drop back into the lift. “That gives you a three-sixty view of the shaft, up and down. Keep it on the screen.” I tune in the live footage and hand Goldie a phone. “Keep the rest of the block on the screens in the foyer, and I want every room in my apartment on here. I hand her the iPad. “The glass is all clear. Do not let her out of your sight.” I’ve never been concerned about security—my building is like Fort Knox—but since the breach, I’m twitchy, despite all the extra measures that have been put in place.
The doors open, and I stride out, Otto on my heels. “Dare I ask who you’re going to kill?”
I don’t answer.
61
BEAU
If I walk around this apartment one more time, I’m going to fall through the floor from the hole I’ve worn doing laps. I stop at the foot of the glass wall spanning one side of James’s apartment, looking at the barrier between me and the view of Miami. The cars would be dots, if I could see them. The people mere specks.
Where is he? My stomach is constantly churning, my pulse thrumming. “God damn it,” I mutter, heading for the stairs. I need a change of scenery.
I find myself in James’s bathroom, and as I stare at the bin by the toilet, my pulse thrums harder, my tummy cartwheeling more. I rummage to the bottom and pull out the white stick. Except now, I don’t see a disaster. I see hope. These two little lines could be a sign. A new start. A new attitude. There’s never been anything other than my misery and anger to focus on. Then there was James. And now there are the lines on this white stick. Hope. Purpose.
Urgency takes over, and I rush downstairs to call James. To get him back here. To convince him we don’t need anything other than this stick. No justice. No revenge. It could ruin everything, take away this unexpected opportunity of freedom and happiness.
I pull up his name, but before I have a chance to hit the dial icon, my cell rings in my hand. An unknown number illuminates the screen, and I stare at the digits for a lifetime, torn, not knowing if I should answer. My mind tangles, my eyes flit from my cell to the floor repeatedly. Answer. Don’t answer.
I gulp back my uncertainty. “Hello?”
“It’s Goldie.”
My body relaxes, but my mind does not. “Hi.”
“Would you please remain in one room? You’re making me dizzy.”
I lower to the couch. What can I say? I’m worried? Anxious? Is she? “Have you heard from him?”
She sighs. I can’t figure out if it’s sympathetic or tired. “Trust me, Beau. He will be okay.”
“How do you know?”
“Because good shades evil,” she says quietly, and I swallow. “Now stay in the living room, for God’s sake.” The line goes dead, and my shoulders drop, my anxiousness still firmly with me. Good shades evil. Then why is my mother dead? Why—
My phone rings again. Goldie. “I haven’t moved,” I say when I answer.
“I’m ordering a Starbucks. Do you want one?”
I blink back my surprise. “Is this your way of saying sorry for headbutting me?” I ask, reaching up to my cheek. It’s still tender. That woman has one hard head.
“Do you want one?”
“Sure. A latte, please.”
“You’ll have to come down and fetch it. I can’t leave the entrance.”
“Okay.” Another change of scenery. Perfect. “I’ll keep you company.”
“Whatever,” she grunts. “I’ll order now. Bye.”
I bring my cell to my chest, my eyes drifting across the frosted glass before me. Call him. Don’t call him. What if I disturb him? What if he’s stalking his prey and my call blows his cover? What if I didn’t have to think about that kind of crazy shit? And who’s his prey? Nath?