Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Laying that shit on a guy who went out there, turning stones, trying to do something for a woman he was no longer seeing?
Fuck.
And…
No.
He pivoted on his shoe and stalked out.
“Lazarus!” Moran clipped.
But he was out the door.
He took the three strides to room one, yanked the door open, and he walked right in.
Jace straightened with a start from the wall.
Rus had his hand out. “Jason. Special Agent Lazarus.”
“Sir,” Jason greeted, giving him a shake, his eyes sharp and taking in everything about him.
Christ, he’d never felt so seen in his life.
Could he talk Sabrina away from the sunshine to the pine trees? At this rate, with her lack of interest in her studies, and these fucking guys, he’d take a community college.
Rus let him go and turned to the table.
The man at the desk had lifted his head.
Rus saw it then.
Take years and experience from Melanie and this man and maybe, there was a hint of Brittanie there.
Just a hint.
Maybe.
Lucinda was right.
Although he was taller, more built, he was Dakota in twenty years.
Including the fact he had very little hair.
“Mr. Iverson. I’m Special Agent Zachariah Lazarus of the FBI. I’m helping local law enforcement investigate what happened to Brittanie.”
The man wiped his nose on his sleeve. “FBI?”
“Yes, as you can see, we’re all taking this very seriously.”
“FBI,” the man breathed.
Rus fought a sneer because Iverson was impressed his daughter’s death brought in the Feds. Just like Melanie, though her way was less complimentary.
He took a seat across from the man.
“Now, what I’m going to say, I’ll preface by sharing I mean no offense. I know this is tough on you. I feel for you. But you didn’t kill your girl. And we need to find that person. So, taking this time getting you and your boy to talk is time we can’t spend looking for who did what was done to Brittanie. To do that, we need to know everything we can from everyone we can talk to, especially those closest to her, about every little detail we can dig up that might lead us to the killer. So, can you please tell us when you last had contact with your girl?”
“I don’t…I wasn’t…” His face crumbled, he did a snot take all over the table, and wailed, “I wasn’t close to my precious girl!”
Christ.
“Mr. Iverson, please pull it together.”
“You!” he shouted suddenly, pushing to his feet.
Rus rose too.
“You! You shoulda been with her!” he yelled at Jace.
Rus moved into his field of vision. “They broke up. It happens. It isn’t his responsibility. Look at me.”
Iverson didn’t look at him.
“Look at me!” he roared.
Iverson did a full body shake in surprise at Rus losing it, and he stared at Rus.
“For three days, he’s been busting his ass to find anything that would help, including finding you. What have you been doing for the three days Brittanie’s been lying in the morgue? Don’t you fucking cry again,” Rus gritted when the man’s face started collapsing. “Man up, goddamn it, and tell me when you last saw Brittanie.”
“I haven’t seen her in months,” he admitted.
“Right. Do you know if she was seeing anyone? Do you know if she got caught up with someone that made you uncomfortable?”
Iverson puffed his chest out. “My daughter wouldn’t get caught up in shit. She was a dancer at Bon Amie!”
Rus nodded. “I’ve been learning everything about her, and she was a good person. People loved her. It isn’t good people who do bad things. But that doesn’t mean bad people don’t get to them.”
He shook his head. “We weren’t that close. She’d…she’d…”—he looked to the table—“she’d slip me money, you know, when things were tight. But she didn’t tell me things.”
She had a nice apartment. She might have a designer bag or two.
But mostly, it seemed it was the weight of her deadbeat family hanging on her that led her to needing money, and she probably didn’t tell her friends or Lucinda because she thought it was embarrassing.
He hoped to Christ it wasn’t money that took her to that motel.
If it was, Brittanie dead, these motherfuckers alive, he wasn’t sure he’d be responsible for what he’d do.
“Even so, think hard. Is there anything you can give us that might help? Anything at all?” Rus pushed.
“I’ll think about it. I just…” He dissolved into his chair. “I just didn’t know her real great, you know? She was young and had her life ahead of her, and I’m an old piece of shit. She’s not gonna hang with me. My boy, he hangs with me. We’re men. But to her, I’m just an old piece of shit. You know?”
Oh, he knew.
“You keep thinking and you tell us, Mr. Iverson, if you think of anything.”
He nodded and looked beyond Rus.
“It wasn’t you, son. I’m just a piece of shit,” he said to Jace.