Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
"Nest? Like birds?"
"Something like that," Iggy agreed.
"Are they going to have babies?"
"Not yet," Iggy said, shooing her daughter up the stairs to go change. "Okay. All teasing aside, I love this. I love the both of you. And I expect to see the both of you here for Taco Tuesdays."
"Have you met her?" Vance asked, wrapping an arm around my hips, pulling me to the door. "She never passes up a meal. We'll bring the dessert," he added, moving outside, closing the door behind us.
"We just became Taco Tuesday people," I said, a little dumbfounded as we stood there watching the slow trickle of traffic pass us by.
"You love it," he countered.
"I kinda do," I agreed, smiling when he hauled me closer to his side, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "What did Chris want?"
"She said she solved the problem," he told me, leading me over to his bike, climbing on, then waiting for me to slide on behind him. And because it was him, because I knew he wouldn't judge me for being just the slightest bit clingy, I wrapped my arms around him tight, resting my head against the cut on his back.
"Let's see what she has to say," I said before he drove off.
When we got there, Chris was standing in the open doorway, not touching even the doorjamb.
"This place is, ah, kinda gross," she told us, nose scrunching up.
"She's not wrong," I agreed, climbing off, moving over toward her.
"There are like, two-hundred places in this town you could be staying instead. Just... give that some thought. The water in your tap is gray."
"Great?" I repeated, confused.
"No. Not great. Gray. It's gray. Please tell me you aren't drinking that."
I didn't know Chris.
Not like I knew Iggy, like I knew Vance, like I knew half the people up at Hailstorm where she worked.
We'd spent time together in that basement, but the vast majority of it, she had been lost inside her own mind, trying to escape the horrible reality she faced daily.
I didn't know what to expect from her as a person when I returned. And I wasn't entirely sure if who she was now was the same as she had been before she had been dragged down in that basement and brutalized.
Apparently, though, who she was now was a tad bit uptight and controlling with a bit of a mom-vibe. Which, well, I was kind of digging.
"I will compile a list for you," She went on, reaching for her phone, tapping at it for a second before tucking it away.
"You said you had an answer to our problem. What problem?" I asked, moving inside, watching as she cast wary eyes around the room, deciding against trying to sit down anywhere, crossing her arms over her chest like she was afraid she might accidentally brush against the wall or the couch.
"Right. The problem. The 'you're here now and won't be as active on the missions' problem."
"Chris, I said it won't be a problem."
"Yeah. But it will. I prefer being proactive."
"I'm starting to get that," I agreed, nodding. "So, what did you come up with?"
"So, I looked for some men and women."
"Men and women who... do what I do?" I clarified.
"I figured you could show them the ropes. Take them on a few missions. Get them used to it. I mean these are men and women who have killed before anyway. I drew up a psych eval to give candidates to figure out who would be the best fit."
"You created a psych evaluation?" I repeated, not sure if I was impressed or a little intimidated by her productivity. Or both.
"Yeah. I mean my mom has a bunch of different ones. I kind of just meshed some, took out other questions that were irrelevant. It wasn't that big of a deal."
"And Aunt Lo is okay with this?"
"She is coming to terms with it. So long as I come up with the funding, she is going to let me run with it."
"And how are you going to come up with the funding? I mean my medical bills alone were astronomical. And the more people you put on these jobs, the more those numbers are going to rack up. Plus hotels. Plus food. Gas. Weapons. All that shit."
"This is the fun part," she declared, giving us a strange little smile, moving toward the door. "Come with me," she demanded, moving outside, waiting for us to follow. Which we did, brows furrowed, unsure what she had up her sleeve.
"What are you doing?" I hissed when she moved next door, reaching for the door to Finch's apartment, and throwing the door open, moving inside without a word.
"Jesus," I gasped, moving inside, already reaching for my knife.
Inside, we found Chris standing there, smiling, victorious. While Finch leaned back in his chair, a gun pointed at her.