Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Nikolai, I’m not going to act like everything that happened during your interrogation was by the books or kosher, but like me, the police are just trying to do their jobs. They are working hard to figure out who did this, and the reason you’re a suspect is because there are some gaps in the timeline.”
“Bull. They’re tryna save face because they don’t know what they’re doing, and they can’t stop a lunatic that’s murderin’ men and leavin’ them strewn all over the shore like seashells. My city is pissed about it. They want to stop whoever did this. The police can’t find the culprit, but that’s not my problem. I’m not going down for something I didn’t do.”
“I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect anyone who is innocent to take the fall. No one in this police department wants to just arrest and convict someone, simply to put the public’s mind at rest. These officers are concerned, too. They want to get the right person.”
“I’m sick of this. I didn’t even lawyer up, a way to try and show them I was willing to talk. Now you’re on my ass, too. Hey, I ran outta black!” he hollered, the vein in his neck protruding.
Her conscience was weaving between his words like they were an obstacle course. She gauged his reactions, his outpouring of anger and disgust. Her sixth sense kicked in, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. There he was, a scowl on his face, painting hard and fast … and yet, the brush strokes were delicate and controlled.
More black paint was provided to him—a dark pool of mystery. She turned away and continued on her painting, her work a bit dreary, as if the flowers were crying into the vase they rested in… drooping petals in shades of gray and light blue.
“That’s beautiful.”
Nikolai’s deep voice rocked her as he spoke close to her ear.
“You think so? It looks pretty shabby if you ask me.”
“Yeah… it’s nice. I like it.” His eyes caught and held hers then.
They sat there for the next hour, laughing and eating. She even opted for a glass of wine, but only drank half of it.
“How’d you come up with this place?” She smiled. “I have to admit, if I were dating you, I’d be pleased with your choices in venues. The tour trolley, dinner on the boat, now this. You don’t look the type.”
“The type to be creative? Romantic?” He smirked.
“The type to be thoughtful. Stereotypes are built on grains of truth. You fit a few of them.”
He grabbed his wine glass and took a big gulp, then reached out to hold her fingers. She stiffened as she looked down at his tattooed fingers moving softly, gently, along her hand, massaging it… then he brought it to his lips, and graced her flesh with a kiss.
“You’ve asked me a lot of questions,” he murmured.
“I have.” She nodded, smiled, and slipped her hand away. Crossing her legs, she decided to take one more sip of wine for the night.
“I want to ask you some, too.”
“Why?”
“To get to know you better. Are ya close with your family?” He lifted a piece of flatbread pizza from the plate and took a bite.
“I am. My mother and I talk practically every day. My biological father died two years ago, but we were quite close. He had complications with his cardiac surgery… never woke up from the anesthesia. He was a retired cop, too.” He motioned for her to continue. “I have, well, had a brother, but unfortunately, he’s no longer with us.”
“What happened?”
She picked up the wine glass, the one she swore she’d leave alone, and took another sip.
“He was sick. He had heart disease and none of us, including him, knew anything about it. It wasn’t the same as the heart issues my father had encountered later in his life. My brother had apparently been born with irregularities. He was more than just my brother. He was my friend. I have had a lot of loss. My father and my brother. It still hurts. So, when you mentioned losing your mother to cancer, I knew what that felt like. To love someone so dearly, treasure them, and then, just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “they’re gone.”
The room erupted in chatter as the evening winded down. People had finished their paintings, and were now polishing off the final remnants of their food and drinks.
“What about you? You mentioned in our prior interview over dinner that you have two brothers. Are you close with them?”
“Eh.” He shrugged as he reached for a towel and wiped his hands. “Depends on what day it is,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’re siblings, all close in age. Dmitriy is the youngest. Mark is the oldest. We have different personalities, but have a lotta love for one another. We were closer when we were younger, under the same roof. That’s just ’cause of proximity. People grow apart sometimes because of life, ya know? It gets in the way. It’s nothing personal. Doesn’t mean you love them any less.”