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)
“One more thing,” she says, stilling my fingertip just shy of the red icon on the screen. “There’s a journalist. He’s already leaked information and pictures. I didn’t want you to be surprised when you see it on the local news.”
James goes straight to his phone again, and I thank Detective Collins once more before hanging up. “We need to find Frazer Cartwright,” I say immediately, getting down off my stool. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to me again.” I sink my fingers into my hair and clench. “Caught in the crossfire?” I say over a laugh, feeling tears pinching my eyes. And then . . . I gasp, dropping my hands from my head, staring at the floor. “Is he dead because of me?”
“What?” James barks, sounding angry? “What the fucking hell are you talking about?” He grabs me and spins me around to face him, getting up in my face, furious. “If you’d have met him for dinner, you could be dead too, Beau.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean Tom Hayley, my father, was running for mayor, and his daughter is me.” I jab a finger into my chest. “And I am with you.”
James flinches and backs up. “You think he was the target?” he asks.
“It makes sense.”
“Wait, Beau.” His palm rest on his forehead, his eyes closing. “Why would anyone want your father dead?”
“Because his daughter is me,” I yell, guilt overwhelming me. “Miami can’t have a mayor with a daughter who’s involved with the biggest crime family this side of the Atlantic.” Then something else occurs to me. “Or maybe his competitor had him murdered,” I say, pacing to the window and back again, thinking.
“Monroe Metcalfe?” James laughs over his name. “Beau, Monroe Metcalfe has a résumé that glows brighter than the sun at the height of summer.”
He shouldn’t sound so disbelieving. Look at Perry Adams. He had everyone fooled. I laugh to myself, facing James. “I—” His hand lands over my mouth, silencing me, and he holds it there, his spare on my nape.
“Shhhh,” he whispers quietly. “Calm the fuck down.”
“I’m calm,” I mumble into his hand, reaching up and carefully pulling it away.
“Damn you for being a cop.” He sighs and lets his mouth drop onto my forehead. “I will find Cartwright,” he says. “I promise. I’ve already got Otto on it.”
“Why?”
“He seems to know a lot about a lot and we want to know how.” He leans back and gets me in his sights. The hard-faced, impassive killer is gone, and my soft, expressive fiancé is back, and right now he’s looking at me like he might love me more than life itself. Soothed. Calmed. “I’ve neglected you,” he whispers, scanning my face, dragging his thumb across my lip. “I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.”
“You are?”
“I am.” He turns me by my shoulders and sends me on my way with a smack to my ass. He’s trying to introduce some normal. It’s gallant, if wasted. We’re not in St. Lucia now, and no number of romantic dinners will make me feel normal. “And, Beau?”
I look back.
“You should call Lawrence,” he says gently, and I nod.
I didn’t call Lawrence. I did everything, except call Lawrence. How do I even begin to explain what’s happened? Mom? Dad? I’ll call him tomorrow. I did call Ollie though. Repeatedly. He didn’t answer. It feels like Nath all over again. I’m worried for Ollie, but more worried for myself, because returning to those places I went to after losing Mom feels scarily close.
I take the steps down to the foyer to find James after he left me in the bedroom an hour ago to make a few calls. He spent the rest of the day at the boatyard with Otto, Goldie, and Ringo. Probably to tell them he’s bowed and agreed to me helping. I bet he’s also taken the opportunity to fill them in on Detective Collins’s call to me. Wrong place, wrong time. I’m not being crazy. This all just feels . . . off. And while I can’t claim to be consistently settled, this persistent edgy feeling, like I’m constantly on the verge of a panic attack, is how I existed before James.
Consistently settled. There are times. They’re always brief but blissful. The times when James takes me away. He’s mastered the art of calming me. Problem is, he can’t devote every minute of the day to doing that. Not here in Miami, at least. He makes a damn good try in St. Lucia, though.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and smell him before I see him, the creamy, manly scent with an edge of spice. Heaven. Then I see him, and I feel my heart race and settle at the same time. Gray trousers, open-collared blue shirt that makes his eyes shine, a light tan belt to match his shoes. Stubble. Sleeves rolled up. He’s smart casual. So damn handsome. Looking at him now, even when his face is unreadable, it’s hard to imagine him as The Enigma.