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)
Rus didn’t blame her.
“We doing this?” one of the local deputies called, giving whoever was in the campsite not too far away, but at least they had cover of a thick copse of trees, audible indication someone was coming.
It didn’t matter, nothing would come of it.
But they were doing it because the sheriff in the next county ran a boondocks half-ass operation.
Rus reached in his SUV, pulled out the vest with FBI in white on front and back, and he put it on. Then he shrugged on the blue windbreaker with FBI in big yellow letters on the back, and little ones on the chest.
He clicked the safety off his gun.
And they rolled out.
It was late, he was in the elevator going up to his room.
Lucinda was at work. She told him she’d be back at the hotel around ten or eleven, and he told her he wanted her in his bed that night.
She was going to sort her sleepover bag and head his way.
He’d had dinner with Moran and Dickerson at the Double D.
Dickerson had gone home to his girlfriend.
Moran had gone home to his dogs.
Rus had at least two hours until Lucinda came, and until that time, he was going to do absolutely nothing.
His phone rang, and it was Jennifer.
It was late for her, so even if he wouldn’t have taken the call if it was at a decent hour for her, since it was after midnight her time, concerned something was up with one of the kids, he took the call.
“Hey, everything okay?” he asked as the elevator doors opened.
He kept sharp as he walked down the wide hall.
No one there with him.
“I just…do you have a second to talk?”
Goddammit.
“Jenn, is everything okay?” he asked, touching the keycard to the pad on the door of his room.
“No, it isn’t.”
His blood pressure spiked. “One of the kids?”
He entered the room, flipped a switch, focused on her but did it still trying to stay alert.
He didn’t sense anyone there, but with one hand on his phone, one hand on his gun at his hip, he did a walkthrough.
He did this while she talked.
“No. The kids are fine. It’s me.”
“It’s you what?”
“Well, you and me, really.”
He stopped and closed his eyes.
“Jenn—”
“I think I made a mistake.”
That was said quickly.
The room clear, he walked back to the door, flipped the latch, then shrugged off his windbreaker as he headed to the couch.
“This is going to sound harsh,” he said. “I don’t mean it that way, I’m just going to be brutally honest so we can get passed this because, frankly, I don’t want to be here with you.”
“Rus—”
He didn’t let her get in there.
“First, you’re married. If you’ve used up your man like you used me up, that’s not on me. I don’t want any part of it. Second, we’re divorced. I do not want you anymore. You betrayed our marriage and my trust. But truth, we stopped being happy a long time ago. We’re never going to get that back. Though, I need you to understand I have no interest in trying. Third, again, we’re divorced. I’m not yours anymore. So in case you’ve been fixating on the fact you phoned when I was with someone else, there’s nothing between us to make your jealousy rational. But so you know, I’m with someone else. It’s serious. And I’m not going to have you insinuate yourself into something that works for me. So I have to say, I don’t want to get to the point where I’m not picking up calls from my kids’ mom in case something happened with them. But if you don’t back off, I’m going to stop taking your calls, Jenn.”
“You’re right, Rus, that was harsh,” she replied, sounding hurt.
“Did it get through?”
“I think I’m still in love with you,” she said nervously.
“That’s not my problem,” he replied firmly. “I know that’s harsh too, Jenn, but you fucked another guy knowing I’m a man who would not countenance my wife fucking another guy. It’s your mistake, but I’m not the one who’s going to live with it. I’ve moved on. Honestly? If you love me? Let me go.”
“That was harsh too.”
Now he was on the couch, the fire lit, his still-wet boot up on the edge of the coffee table.
But he said nothing.
“Are you still on assignment?” she asked.
“We’re not now going to have a conversation. And no, I’m not close for you to come over. But honestly, I’m tired and I’m done talking to you.”
“Rus—”
“Take care of yourself, I mean that. But if I get this again, I’ll hang up before we get anywhere near this far. And if you call after that, you won’t get me. Bye.”
With that, he hung up.
Then he reached for the remote, flicked on the TV, hauled his ass out of the couch and got himself a beer.