Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I look around in a hurry, trying to spot the glass eyed man. There are too many people walking to and fro, and I can’t find him. My eyes can’t focus on one specific person but I know I didn’t imagine him. I know he was right there. How can somebody walk so quickly? It’s impossible...right? But in a place that can make anybody disappear—whether they want to or not—it is impossible to catch those who are looking to blend in.
When I walk into the restaurant, I find Cole talking to a group of young men that he quickly dismisses when he spots me. I look at the table and see that he already ordered wine and an appetizer.
“Am I late?” I ask as I bend over to kiss him. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me down to his lap to give me a kiss that leaves me light headed.
“No, baby, you’re right on time. I got here a little early.”
While we’re eating, he shows me new house listings he found in Glenn Ellyn, Glenview, Wilmette, and other expensive areas.
“Cole, don’t you think it’s better if we get a smaller, less-expensive home for now?”
“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused.
I laugh. “Because there’s only two of us, and we don’t need the space.”
“There’s only two of us for now,” he replies, picking up my hands and kissing each finger lightly before nipping on the pads, making me squirm in my seat.
“You’re giving me that look,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“What look?” I ask.
He tilts his head and shoots me a crooked grin. “Blake, I happen to know the owner of this restaurant, and trust me when I say that he won’t mind me borrowing the back room for a little while,” he replies in a low voice.
I bite my lip and shake my head. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
He shows me that dimple that I love and leans in to kiss my lips before going back to a specific listing that he’s interested in. It’s hard to resist going to see some of these homes, when Cole is talking about playing football with future babies and grilling on our deck. I know that as much as he wants that, we’re not ready for kids yet, though.
Later that night, as we’re laying in bed, he’s watching the news and idly stroking my hair as I sort through Real Estate Law notes. The news reporter is talking about a familiar case, about some men with ties to organized crime. I sit up straighter when I see Mark addressing the media, and ask Cole to turn up the volume. One of the men they’re talking about is young; he can’t be older than thirty. He’s good looking, he has dirty-blond hair and gray—maybe blue—eyes.
Connor Benson, is said to be Reggie Isaac’s accomplice in assaulting an employee outside city hall last fall. They are both linked to organized crime kingpin, Brian Benson. If charged, they could face up to three years in prison for assault of a city employee.
The camera cuts to a video of Connor Benson leaving the courthouse and then to Mark addressing reporters.
Cole and I shoot each other wide eyed looks.
“Is it me or do they-” he says.
“Yeah. I thought the same thing,” I reply nodding slowly.
I tune out when they start the sports segment and switch on my computer. I run my hands over my face before I type in my fourth birthday on Google. I’ve done this before, of course, but now I have more information—I think. As usual, my friend Google has a billion links. “Today in history: In California, a forty-one-year-old man, named James, opens fire in a McDonald’s and kills twenty-one people.” Interesting. “Beverly Burns becomes the first woman Boeing 747 captain in the world.” That’s positive. However, there is absolutely nothing on what happened in my home that morning. Nothing.
How could a shooting and two kidnappings not be reported? Then I find: “Camden and Colleen Wolf’s four-year-old son, Nathan Cole Wolf, was taken from his bedroom in the middle of the night. Both parents say that their bedroom was barricaded by their intruders. Their daughter, Aimee, was sleeping in their bedroom at the time of the kidnapping. If you have any information, we urge you to contact this number.” As I scroll down, I see the search engine overflow with articles about Nathan’s disappearance.
I cover my mouth with both hands to keep my sobs in before I feel my protective blanket shield me with his warmth.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he coos in my ear.
With one shaky hand, I point to my screen. He turns my computer to get a better look, and I feel his body still as he reads. There are pictures of his parents in all of the articles. They look tired and distraught, both of them with dark circles under their eyes. My heart breaks for them. I can only imagine what they must have been feeling. They put a roof over their children’s heads, taught them right from wrong, fed them and bathed them every night. They held their hands to cross the street, shielded them from the outside rain, so they wouldn’t get sick, tucked them in every night at bedtime. I just can’t imagine what they must have gone through when their child was taken from the safe haven they had created for him.