Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Do you know Doc’s name?”
“Yeah,” he says, patting down the covers with his good arm.
“What is it?” I go back to Google, poised, ready to type.
“Doc.”
“You dick,” I mutter, and he smiles. “Feeling better?”
“Peachy.” He wriggles his head on the pillow. “Bet you’re reconsidering letting me hire Beau now, huh?”
“Do you honestly think Beau would be fulfilled doing the club’s accounts?” I ask on a laugh. “She was nicknamed Lara Croft, Brad. Pen-pushing isn’t in her.”
He pouts. “Accepted.”
“Good, now shut the fuck up about it.”
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call. “That’ll be your coffee. Or your tea.” A few seconds later, the door opens. It’s not a Starbucks, and it’s not one of Esther’s good old English cups of tea. An explosion of red appears. “Pearl?” I say, getting up from my chair, thinking she’s probably lost. Looking for the TV room. The kitchen. The—
“Hi.” Her accent is local to London. Surrey, at a guess. She looks better, brighter, more awake and less sallow.
“You okay?” I tilt my head, curious, seeing her look past me.
“Just checking on . . . Brad?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, looking back, seeing the man himself as stiff as a board on the bed. “That’s Brad.” His eyes are fixed on Pearl. The atmosphere is thick. I feel like an imposter.
Should I leave?
She’s nibbling her lip, awkward as fuck, and Brad is doing nothing to make her feel comfortable. “I’m just gonna use the—”
“What can I do for you?” Brad asks, sounding cold and curt. Intended?
“I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well”—Pearl glances at me, taking the hem of her shirt, definitely one of Beau’s, and twists it in her grasp—“for rescuing me.”
“This ain’t no fairy tale,” he grunts, scowling at himself, resting a palm over his wound. “I’m no white knight.”
“I never said you were.” She stands taller. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“Thank him too, then.” Brad points at me, and Pearl smiles awkwardly. What the fuck is he doing, other than making himself look like a total wanker?
“Thanks.”
I wave it off. “Good to see you looking better.”
She backs out of the room, looking uncomfortable, and as soon as the wood comes between us, I turn to Brad. “What the fuck was that?”
He huffs and looks away.
“You didn’t have to be such a dick.”
“What does she want from me?”
“Nothing. Maybe an appreciation of her appreciation.”
“She’s deluded. She thinks because I helped her out of there I’m some sort of hero.”
“She’s twenty-one. Of course you’re her hero, you knob.”
He darts stunned eyes my way. “Twenty-one?”
“Yes, twenty-one.”
“How do you know she’s twenty-one?
“Because Beau told me she’s twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one,” he murmurs, settling, staring down at the blankets. “That’s—”
“Twenty-one,” I say, confirming it, as if I need to.
“Quite young.”
“Thirteen years younger than you. Nearly fourteen.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad when you put it like that.”
Oh fuck. “Brad,” I say slowly. “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck, what?”
“Oh shit.”
“Where’s my damn tea with sugar?”
“I’ll let you ask Esther in that exact tone.”
“Yeah . . .” He scowls, and it’s fucking fierce. “No.”
I settle in my chair, watching him falling into thought. I’m no woman, but I’m so fucking curious what those thoughts are. I pull out my mobile and send a text to the girls, asking them what they know about Pearl, and, as I should have expected, I get a one-word answer from both of them.
Why?
Why? Yes, why? Why can’t women ever just answer a question without a fucking question?
“Who are you texting?” Brad asks.
“No one.” My thumb darts across the screen, explaining why I’m asking.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Shut up. You’re like a woman sometimes.”
“Fuck y—”
The door flies open, and Otto fills the doorway with his laptop resting on a palm. I don’t like the look in his eyes. The glimmer of threat tells me he’s just discovered something I’m not going to like. “Cartwright’s turned up.”
“Where?”
“At the beach.”
I’ll ask, but I know I don’t need to. “And what was he doing at the beach?”
“Being dead.”
I slam my phone into the arm of the chair. “Fuck!” This is going to add fuel to Beau’s fire, and the flames will be justified. Something very fucking dodgy is going on.
Otto paces toward me and crouches down, showing me the screen of my laptop. “Bud just sent me this.”
I stare at a picture of a washed-up dead body. “Well, it’s a nice day for sunbathing,” I muse, just as Ringo strolls through the door with a Starbucks in one hand and a cup of Esther’s tea in the other.
“That’s not all.” Otto delights me with another image that makes me laugh under my breath. “Yeah,” he says, studying it as well, turning the ring in his slightly swollen, very purple lip. “Natalia Potter sure does have some interesting friends.”
“Hello,” Brad calls, having us both look up. Otto turns the screen and he recoils. “Think I’ll take a Scotch instead.”