Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure my lawyer does.” I added gray pants and nice loafers with stiff leather from lack of wear. “She’s happy enough for my business, but she had that same frustrated tone Duncan gets with me.”
I hadn’t liked her weary tone, but it wasn’t like I had a ton of options for short-notice attorneys. I needed her assistance, and if nothing else, she’d gotten me out of trouble in the past.
“Keep proving them wrong. Speaking of Duncan—”
I held up a hand. The last thing I wanted was to speak of Duncan, which would inevitably include Cash telling me why we couldn’t keep fucking, why that safe, home-like feeling I had with him wasn’t meant to last. I was so not ready for that conversation. “We should head out. Don’t want to keep the lawyer waiting.”
I marched out of my room and toward the stairs, trusting him to follow.
“Okay. But we do need to talk.” He let me lead the way to the garage, checking locks and security stuff as we went.
“Can it be later?” I tried to make my face convincing. I wasn’t above using a little acting with him as well if it meant getting me a little more time with him.
“Yeah, it can wait.” Cash handled setting the alarm system before driving us to the police station. I fiddled with the radio station while my head churned. He did so much for me. The sex, of course, but also the security stuff, the driving, the reassuring, and the hand-holding. And he didn’t have to. Despite whatever loyalty he had to Duncan, he wasn’t obligated to me. But he kept being there for me.
Not for the first time, I wished I could do as much for him, wished there was some way to make the trade more equal.
“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but I sure am glad for your help,” I said as we approached the station. “Is there anything I can do for you? Something more than breakfast.”
Shrugging, Cash patted my leg at a red light. “You do plenty for me. I don’t think you realize how much.”
“Oh?”
“Mother of—” He cursed as a car coming from the other direction ran the light. “Sorry. Traffic in this town sucks.”
“It’s okay.” I sighed because I could already tell I wasn’t getting a real answer from him anyway, at least not now. Instead, I let him turn into the parking structure for the police station. “We’re here anyway.”
My lawyer met us on the sidewalk leading from the parking lot to the station. She looked crisp in a purple suit and gold heels with a matching gold bag. After I made introductions, Cash hung back as Barbara peppered me with questions and instructions. There were more people hanging around the steps than the day before. And fuck me running, was that a camera?
Media. My worst nightmare. Someone must have tipped them off.
“Danny!”
“Hey, Danny, can we get a comment?”
“Danny!” Multiple people called out as we approached. I stopped, squishing my eyes shut, taking a couple of deep, mindful breaths. Opened my eyes. Nope. Still awful.
“No comment,” Barbara called out, strident voice carrying. Keeping my head down, I started to follow her right as my name sounded again.
“Danny.” That was Cash, low and urgent, then louder. “Knife!”
Chapter Thirty
Cash
My senses had been on red alert as we approached the police station, the media presence not entirely unexpected but still unwelcome. Too many damn people, all with their phones out to try to get a sound bite off Danny. The lawyer said something about no comments, but my attention was diverted by a bright-green polo. The kind worn by Danny’s ritzy organic produce delivery company. Skinny-looking goth kid wearing it too, not a mango or pineapple in sight. No phone either. Not media. My neck prickled as I looked closer. The kid took another step, and so did I, putting myself in front of Danny.
Then there it was. A sliver of silver. Glinting in the sunlight.
“Danny. Knife.” I was already shoving Danny out of the way as I yelled the warning. As soon as I said the word, the kid drew back his arm, and yup, that was absolutely a wicked-looking bowie knife in his hand. I whirled into him, blocking the blow.
“Ow. Fuck.” He fought me hard as we tumbled down the steps, me trying to control the roll and not split my head open in the process. The knife cut my upper arm before I forced the kid’s arm up and back, pinning him to the pavement at the base of the steps.
Distantly, Danny’s voice sounded, but I kept all my focus on the perp. “Stay back, Danny.”
“Danny. I’m doing this for you,” the kid called in a shrill voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” I ordered, right as a swarm of police arrived. It turned out that picking a fight in front of a police station was a bad idea of epic proportions. More for the kid than me, but it took a few tense minutes of the officers trying to figure out which of us was the perp.