Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 67490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I beamed at him.
“You’re welcome, Quad Shot.”
I stuck out my tongue.
So I liked espresso. Sue me.
“One day,” he said as he caught my hand and tugged me with him to the door, “you’re going to have heart issues because of that.”
“When that day comes, I’ll deal with it,” I pointed out.
He grumbled something low under his breath that sounded like a curse, but I chose not to call him on it.
He was worried about me.
I liked that he was worried about me.
I liked even more that he hadn’t left my side in my biggest time of need.
That was where my thoughts were directed as we drove to the closest donut shop.
“Do you want anything?” I asked as I opened my door.
He was on the phone with Winston, talking about logistics for something in Brazil of all places, and I didn’t want him to stop whatever he was talking about—because it sounded very important.
“Grab me a couple of kolaches,” he urged.
I went inside, but immediately felt someone’s gaze on me the moment that I walked through the door.
I looked around, finding two very young men behind the counter. They were probably all of thirteen.
“Hello,” the closer one said. “What can we get you?”
I ordered my food, then paid for it, still very much feeling like there were eyes on me.
I looked around, spotting a man in a car across the street at the battery place, and came to a stop.
He looked so familiar.
Why?
But before I could put any more thought into how I knew him, my door was shoved open from inside, and Keene was leaning over the console, holding his hand out for the drinks and food.
I gave it to him, then climbed into his truck.
“What was behind us that had you looking spooked?” he asked.
“Just some man glaring at me from across the street,” I explained. “I didn’t know him. He did look vaguely familiar, though.”
“Hmm,” he said as he turned around, but when I glanced back, the man was gone.
We pulled out of the parking lot, and I started to hand Keene his food.
“I hate this place,” he grumbled as a man cut him off.
I-30 was fucking ridiculous.
“Agreed,” I said. “Honestly, I think that was why I chose to go off to new places. Dallas has a lot of amenities, but shit. It’s like I can’t breathe when there are so many people around me sometimes.”
We merged onto the interstate, and flashing red and blue lights up ahead caught my eye.
“Great,” Keene said. “Just a perfect way to clog up traffic.”
It was true.
It didn’t take much to clog up traffic, but what made it even worse was the fact that literally all people had to see to slow down and swerve out of lanes was a blinking light… on the other side of the road.
“Call 911.”
I frowned, looking up to see why, and instantly saw the two people on the ground rolling around in the slow lane of the highway. There was also a state trooper’s cruiser pulled up behind a vehicle with his hazard lights on.
“Oh, shit,” I said as I pulled out my phone.
The 911 operator answered on the second ring.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked calmly.
“There’s an officer getting attacked on I-30 in the middle of the slow lane. Mile marker…”
I rattled off the mile marker, as well as the closest building to where we were.
Keene slowed to a stop about five car lengths from the altercation and threw it into park.
“Stay in the car,” he ordered, bailing almost as fast as he’d given the order.
I resisted the urge to say ‘truck’ but only because he hadn’t realized that he’d said it in his haste to get out of the truck and go help the state trooper who looked like he was getting his ass kicked.
I watched in avid fascination as Keene literally ran, and when I say ran, I mean he sprinted like a linebacker looking to take out someone who insulted his mother, in the direction of the two people scrambling on the ground for purchase of a gun.
My heart was literally in my throat as I waited to see what would happen.
“Is the officer all right?” the dispatcher asked.
I didn’t know.
They were struggling hard.
A gunshot sounded just as Keene was within ten feet of them, and all of a sudden, the officer completely stopped struggling.
The man doing the attacking came up, gun in hand, but he wasn’t ready for the two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man to hit him like a freight train.
The guy went down hard underneath Keene, his head hitting the pavement.
I got out and ran myself, much slower, finding the officer on his back with blood dribbling out of a hole in his chest, pooling on the ground around him.
The dispatcher that was on the phone with me was placed on speakerphone, and I was talking.