Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Then there was Ada’s suite, which had a hole in the middle of the floor that was open over a destroyed Louis XIV canopy bed twenty feet below. She’d fallen through one night, which fortunately hadn’t killed her. Whoever had moved the bed there in the first place had been a genius. I didn’t want to know.
The windows in her room were gone, just open holes, and she had birds roosting on top of artwork and her armoire. She was sleeping on a mattress and box spring on the floor. Seeing that was when I’d had enough.
“Pack a bag, Ada,” I’d ordered her there and then. “You’re coming with me.”
She seemed about to protest, but I glared at her, and she whispered that yes, she would.
“You’ve always been the boss, haven’t you?” Gale teased me on our way back out.
“Yes,” I said flatly.
He studied my face. “Tell me the truth. Does having to be in control translate to every part of your life?”
I knew what he was asking. “Normally.”
“But not always?”
“Never tried before.”
He nodded.
“That’s not a no,” I clarified.
“You feel like you could trust me, then?”
“Are you asking if I trust you, or if it’s something I want?”
“Both,” he said, carefully crossing the floor to me, testing it to make sure it would support his weight and Misha’s, whom he was still carrying.
“You could probably put Misha down,” I suggested.
He tipped his head toward the built-in bookshelves on the opposite side of the room. “You don’t see that barn owl over there that could probably eat a coyote?”
I hadn’t until he pointed him out. Apparently Misha barked at people, mostly me, but was not much for barking at birds of prey that could eat him. I found that to be brilliant.
Once we were back at my house, Gale put up Misha’s bells so he could tell me when he had to go out, and then we all just sat around for a bit, talking, not saying anything terribly important, until Ada nodded off on the love seat. She’d been waiting for the dryer to finish the cycle so I could make her bed for her, and I suspected that after several minutes of silence from me and Gale, combined with the monotonous sound of the drum rolling around, she had been lulled to sleep.
I glanced over at Gale, who was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking a glass of water. “Thanks for everything you did today. I really appreciate you.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“And for the record, I would love to follow you home,” I told him, and watched the smile spreading across his handsome face, “but I feel like I should stay here and watch over Ada, at least tonight.”
“Unfortunately,” he said gently, walking over and taking a seat beside me on the couch, “I agree. I think that’s for the best.” He reached out and put his hand over mine. “But that doesn’t mean you’re kicking me out, does it?”
“No,” I rumbled. “I would love if we could just sit here and talk some more.”
“Good. Let’s do that.”
I took a breath. “So…are you still up to telling me about your partner?”
He nodded. “But I want to be clear, again, that we were broken up way before he died.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because I want you to know that I grieved his life, and for the man he was, but not for us. We weren’t an us anymore by the time he was killed.”
“Okay.”
Deep breath from him. “When you were a criminal, did you move drugs?”
I shook my head. “Racketeering, extortion, fraud… We dealt in real estate, lots of land deals, who gets to build what, where, the transportation of goods, that level. Prostitution, drugs, guns, that wasn’t what my family did. Not then.”
“And now?”
“Now they would have changed direction, but because of me, there is no business anymore. All that’s left is my brother, who’s a good man.”
“So you left everything better than when it began.”
“Technically, yes.”
“I dunno, Maks, I’m getting an awfully strong hero vibe from you,” he baited me.
“Just tell me your story. I don’t want to talk about me.”
Gale had been a SWAT member when he lived in New York. Dean Wells was another member of the team, and being together day in and day out, what started out as friendship eventually became more. Two years in, Dean got hurt in the line of duty. He tore his ACL and rotator cuff, and like a lot of people, was prescribed pain meds.
“I’ve heard this one before,” I said.
“We all have.”
It didn’t take Dean long to get addicted to the oxy he was given, and then his doctor became certain that between rehab and the healing passage of time, the SWAT officer shouldn’t need pills anymore to manage his pain. Shortly afterward, Dean went from filling his prescription at a pharmacy to getting it on the street.