Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
The local syndicate has finally arrived to escort me to my meeting.
Ten black SUVs deep, the last nine keep their distance, while the first car pulls in front of the plane. An associate jumps out of the driver’s seat and quickly runs toward one of the others.
As I’m opening the door, my third cell phone—the one reserved for only one person in my life and strictly for emergencies—sounds in my pocket.
Someone better be dying…
“Yes?” I answer.
“Mr. Rochester?” It’s my estate manager. “Sir, you have an uninvited visitor outside.”
I stop moving. “Outside where?”
“The courtyard,” he says. “He bypassed the gate even though I asked him to leave.”
“Who is it?”
“Chester, sir.” He pauses. “He’s been pacing the fountain for quite some time. Should I tell him you’ll be home soon?”
“No. Tell him I’m sleeping.”
“I tried that already.” His voice is a whisper. “He said—”
“I said, ‘Bullshit. He never sleeps.’” Chester calls out in the background. “It’s about Canada, Mr. Rochester. You said you preferred to discuss things like this in person, so I’m here, in person.”
I tap my fingers against the doorframe. I’ve honestly forgotten about Chester and a few other things since tasting both sets of Autumn’s lips in Seattle.
Fuck.
“Tell him I’m out of town for a meeting,” I say. “He can fill me in on whatever he wants when I decide to return.”
“He said he’s prepared to sit out here all day, sir.”
“That’s his choice.” I end the call and send the estate manager a text message.
Me: That was not an emergency.
Don’t call me on this line ever again unless there is one.
And don’t text back.
Sliding behind the wheel, I crank the engine and try to regain a sense of control over the day. Everything seems on track with my initial schedule, and I’m pleased that the syndicate came twenty minutes early.
Not wanting to leave anything to chance, I check on the incoming flights to New York, analyze the outgoing flights from Miami, and pull up the tracker on Autumn’s Tesla.
Error!
Car not found.
I refresh the app again, assuming it’s a simple connection issue.
Error!
Car not found.
What?
I try a third time, and the app finally shows me where Autumn is with the car.
She isn’t heading toward the airport at all.
She’s stalled near the sea.
End of Episode 22
Episode 23
Autumn
“In two hundred feet, turn right,” the GPS commands.
I can’t…
I’m stuck at a boardwalk stoplight, trapped between two black trucks—one on each side—with the Toyota still close behind.
For miles, these three have wrapped me in a gridlock and prevented me from getting over or following the system’s instructions.
They’ve made it more than obvious that they don’t want me to reach my intended destination. Not only that, but after making one too many wrong turns earlier, I’m three blocks away from driving straight into the waters of Sunny Isles Beach.
And I can’t reach anyone…
“Call Ryder, please,” I call out to the Tesla’s Bluetooth system. “Phone call.”
“Calling Ryder,” it claims, but nothing happens.
Again.
“Mister R,” I say the other name he’s listed under, begging for what has to be the hundredth time. “Send a text message now, please.”
Blue dots appear onscreen, getting my hopes up, but they’re immediately dashed with the words that appear.
Can’t connect. Please try again.
The streetlight ahead turns green, and I stall, placing the car in park.
Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Beeeeep!
The cars stuck behind me and the black trucks honk loudly, demanding that we make a move, but I refuse.
They hold their ground, too.
“Call Ryder, please…” My chest heaves up and down. “No, 911. Call 911.”
“Emergency services are currently unavailable,” the car finally reacts. “If you need assistance with your Tesla, please contact roadside support.”
“Roadside support.” I slam my fist against the screen. “Call fucking roadside support.”
Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Beeeeep!
The light turns red amidst another round of angry honks, and I consider jumping out of the car and running the hell away.
I can’t tell if someone is sitting in the passenger seat in the car on my left, if I could run fast enough to the 7-11 across the street.
Do it, Autumn. You don’t need this.
I mentally count down from twenty and decide to go for it.
Eight…Seven…Six…
As I’m gripping the door handle, a loud ringing sound fills the car. The rings escalate with every second that passes, and I realize they’re coming from under my seat.
Sliding a hand between my feet, I clutch the sides of a cell phone. I immediately swipe to answer and hold it up to my ear.
I don’t get a chance to utter a plea for help.
“What part of ‘Call me if something goes wrong’ was unclear to you, Autumn?” Ryder’s deep voice comes over the line.
“I tried.” I look ahead as the light turns green again, rambling as fast as I can. “There have to be some type of cell signal blockers close by, and there are two trucks and a Toyota, and they won’t let me—”