Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
And, the selling factor, a TV.
“This one,” I said almost immediately.
“I knew it would be,” he said, nodding. “The white is too stark for you.”
“I mean, yes,” I said, inwardly glad that he seemed to know me that well already. “But, actually, it was the television that sold me,” I said, waving toward it. “New house. Strange noises. Trying to sleep…”
“Right. Of course. My mother always stays in the other room. Says that the TV makes an electric noise that makes it impossible for her to sleep.”
“I fall asleep with the TV on every night,” I told him, shrugging. “Well, not so much lately,” I admitted. “I, ah, I want to make sure Tilly and I hear everything.”
“Has it been hard?” he asked, leading me back out of the room, and into the hall.
“It’s… been an adjustment,” I told him. But, to his raised brow, submitted. “I don’t think I’ve gotten more than twenty minutes of sleep put together since I moved home.”
His face fell at that, but he shook his head.
“Hopefully you can sleep tonight,” he said, nodding out the window into the backyard. “I bet Matilda will,” he added, and I saw her running circles around a tuckered-out Boss who was halfheartedly lunging playfully at her from a seated position.
“I’m so glad she found a friend,” I said as we moved down the stairs.
“I have pizza,” he told me as we walked into the kitchen.
Thank God.
I was starving.
Over two slices, I explained to him about work. About Laurie leaving. The guy who was a bit creepy, even he objectively agreed, but ultimately not my attacker.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he told me after.
There was something in his voice then that had me examining his stupidly handsome face.
“You think I have a reason to be,” I concluded.
Caught off-guard, he couldn’t school his features quickly enough. The look of surprise that melted into concern told me all I needed to know.
“You think he wants to finish this,” I added, stomach tightening, making me wish I hadn’t eaten the pizza after all.
“Our profiler believes that, mostly because of the photographs, that not having it… complete to his satisfaction is going to sexually frustrate him.”
“And choosing another victim wouldn’t fix that, because the photo series would still be unfinished,” I said.
“You coulda been a cop,” he told me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yes. That’s the conclusion we are working on, anyway. I want to have a cruiser sit at your work,” he said.
“Okay,” I agreed, deciding it was likely my most vulnerable place.
Sure, it was a niche sort of business, but anyone could walk inside. And even more could hang around outside without any cause to call the police on them.
It would make me feel better to know someone would hear me if I screamed.
“That was easier than I’d anticipated,” Wells said, smiling. “Want some coffee?” he asked as he made his way to the machine. “Or is it too late?” he added. “I can drink a whole pot and go right to sleep,” he admitted.
“No, coffee sounds good,” I said.
I prepared Matilda’s dinner, and she ate with gusto after all the exercise.
Boss took the opportunity to go curl up on his inner tube-sized bed, dead tired.
Surprising me, after she finished eating, Matilda went in search for her new friend, then curled up with him.
“Now I feel bad that she’s an only child,” I said, cradling my coffee cup as I watched the two of them.
“Anytime she wants to hang with Boss, she is welcome. And in case it wasn’t clear, so are you,” he said.
The rest of the evening was nice.
We watched a couple reruns before my overabundance of yawning prompted Wells to suggest we turn in.
“Matilda,” I called, voice sing-song. “Wanna go to bed, baby?” I asked, watching as she opened one eye at me, then shut it again. “I’ll take that as a no,” I said with a little laugh. “I almost feel offended,” I added, looking over at Wells.
“She’ll come find you when she wakes up,” he assured me as we both headed upstairs.
Feeling suddenly safer than I had since the attack, and maybe even before that because, for the first time, I was living with a police officer—who, presumably, had an off-duty weapon to protect me with as well—I decided to take a long, hot shower, to let the stress melt away and swirl down the drain.
I was standing there, hair pulled up, wrapped in a towel, turning the tap.
And… nothing.
“Ah, Wells?” I called.
He materialized a few seconds later.
I didn’t imagine the way his eyes drifted down, how they grew heated.
Or the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard before speaking.
“What’s up?” he asked, voice rougher than usual, and it sent one of those internal shivers through me.
“Ah… there’s no water,” I told him, reaching to demonstrate, moving the faucet handle to each side.