Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
"Kai!" Bellamy's voice called, laughing, happy, carefree. As it usually was. Until it wasn't. When people like me called with words like the ones I was about to say. "How the hell are you?"
"I need you," I told him, voice grave as I felt. Making the decision I was making. It wasn't something to take lightly.
"Shh," he said to whomever he was with, likely a harem of women, as per usual. Just another day in his life.
"I told you... I'm not working for Quin."
"Not for Quin. For me."
"For you?" he asked, voice going more serious. "Are you sure? Have you thought about this?"
"Someone kidnapped and beat Jules after pretending to be her boyfriend and fiancé , then stealing all her money, and leaving her on their wedding day."
"Your Jules, huh?" he asked, knowing the rumors, because no one could seem to shut up about them.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"Alright. Where?"
"Are you in the country?"
"In the city," he affirmed, making me relax slightly. It was a crapshoot with him. He could be in New York... or he could be in Amsterdam. You never knew from one day to the next.
"I need you in Connecticut. I left a present on the floor in an abandoned building. You only have until sunup. Maybe take him to visit Ranger."
"Got it. It's done. Consider it handled."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
With that, he hung up, all the fun and light out of his voice, slipping into work mode.
"I hit you." Jules' voice sounded slight, airless.
"I'm fine. Those are some good reflexes, honey," I declared, trying to give her a smile. "Your head hurt?"
"I hit a wall. And um... something hit my head."
"Yeah, I saw that part. Cameras," I specified. "You ready to get out of here? Get some migraine medicine in you?"
"Gary..."
"Don't worry about Gary. Can you walk?"
"Yeah," she agreed, reaching outward, going to grab my hand, only to yank back on a hiss.
"What, honey?" I asked, reaching out for her wrist, trying to turn her hand to look at her palm.
"Splinters," she told me, taking a deep breath. "From..."
"Pounding on the door," I finished for her. "You little fighter, you. Okay, here," I offered, releasing her wrist to turn slightly, putting an arm around her waist, pulling until she got onto her feet, then grabbing the lantern, and helping her toward the stairs.
She said nothing as we went out the front door, me steering her that way because I didn't want her to see her ex trussed up on the kitchen floor, because - maybe - I didn't want her to look at me differently because of it.
"Alright. I couldn't stop the security guard from calling the police, so we are going to have to deal with that," I told her as we got to the car. "No, don't stiffen up. Let's keep it simple, yeah? You were hit over the head. You woke up in a in the woods. Got splinters from pushing yourself up. Got dirty from the forest floor. You don't know how you got wet."
"You want me to lie to the police?"
"You need to lie to the police," I clarified, turning over the engine, pulling back out with my lights off. "We can't have the truth getting out."
"Right," she agreed, taking a breath, holding it, then letting it out like a sigh.
"Can you do this? Do you want to go to another hotel for the night? Deal with it tomorrow?"
"I want it over with," she told me immediately. "I just... I want to go home," she added, voice uneven.
"Okay. We will deal with this now then."
"How did you find me? In the story for the police?"
"You were walking along the highway trying to get help."
"Right," she agreed, nodding, taking another deep breath.
"It will just be a couple minutes. If they push too much, get hysterical. Cry. Say you want to shower. Say you can't talk about it anymore. They will let it drop."
"Okay," she said, nodding, not sounding too confident. But I knew Jules. She would rally. She would hold it together enough not to fall apart.
Then I would be there for her when she lost what was left of that control.
There was - as expected - a cop car parked out front, engine cut, the officer inside talking to people at the front desk.
"Take a deep breath," I reminded her as I pulled to a stop, jumping out to open the door for her.
For the next hour, she was questioned, re-questioned, made to go over the story half a dozen times to well-meaning and invasive cops who tried time and again to get her to go to the hospital, to get a rape kit since she was unconscious for a period of time, not knowing what happened to her.
I was pulled a few feet away, questioned, re-questioned, and deemed useless. By design.
The detective talking to me was just thanking me for my time when I heard it.