Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Somehow, even without looking at it, the kid had seen the cover of the book.
“What I think—” Dutch started.
“I’ve already read this book, motherfucker, and even if I hadn’t, hear me, I don’t need some white guy to show me the way of my people.”
With that, he shoved the book off the table. It fell to the floor, and Dutch and Carlyle had the attention of the room even before Carlyle pushed his chair back so hard, it fell over as he stood and stalked to and out the front door.
Dutch drew a sharp breath into his nose, put his hands to his hips, and stared at the closing door thinking, That didn’t go very well.
Then again, every approach he’d made for the last three months hadn’t gone well.
“Dutch.”
He heard her call his name, but he knew she was there before he heard it.
He turned, saw her standing about ten feet away, and serious as shit, Juliet Crowe was the most beautiful woman he’d seen in his whole goddamned life.
Movie star gorgeous.
Fuck.
He went to the book, bent, picked it up and set it on the table, headed to the chair and righted it, all before he moved her way.
He’d barely stopped in front of her when she asked, “You all right?”
“Tryin’ to find a way to get in there, like we talked about.”
“What was the book?” she asked.
“Invisible Man.”
She nodded, and even though he didn’t sense any disapproval, Dutch kept talking.
“It’s not lost on me he’s a Black guy, but it’s just a really good book.”
“He read Skinny Legs and All last week,” she shared.
Dutch felt something in his chest loosen.
As far as he knew, nothing he’d tried these last months had gotten in there, and it wasn’t just books. He’d offered Carlyle his time. He’d offered to share his story. He’d asked the kid if he wanted to work out with him at his boxing gym.
Nothing got in there.
But he’d brought Skinny Legs and All the week before.
“Shoulda brought in Bluebeard,” he muttered.
“Cops came yesterday, looking for him,” she went on.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Any news?” Dutch asked.
She shook her head, letting the concern leak into her eyes. “I talked to Eddie, the case is cold. They’re closing loops, moving on.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Dutch just stared at her, but he did it meaningfully.
She got closer so he knew she read his meaning.
“Dutch, every time a kid with promise, which is every kid that walks through those doors, comes here, and there’s a situation, I have to weigh whether or not I ask my husband and his band of badass brothers to wade in and sort out that situation. Carlyle is no different. And Vance and the guys cannot spend all their time sorting out the problems of the kids at King’s. They all have mortgages to pay, for one. For another, that’s my job.”
“Carlyle is a kid with a one hundred and forty-nine IQ who has full rides to MIT, Stanford and Columbia whose dad was shot dead while saving the life of a neighbor who had an intruder who was set on doin’ more than stealin’ from the woman. Carlyle is this fuckin’ close,” he held a thumb and forefinger in front of her eyes to demonstrate a point she knew better than him, “to flushing his entire life down the toilet. So I think Vance, Lee, Luke and company should tap in on this one and find the person who killed Carlyle’s dad because the cops obviously cannot.”
Vance—her husband—Lee, Luke and company being part of the band of badass brothers that made up Nightingale Investigations.
And while the cops had limited resources and rules they had to abide by, the boys at Nightingale did not.
“You know that I know about your dad, Dutch,” she said softly.
He dropped his hand and stepped away.
“I know he was targeted because he was fighting the good fight,” she kept at him.
“We’re not talking about my father,” he bit out.
“Aren’t we?” she asked carefully.
“I had a mountain of support and I’m not a certified genius,” he shot back.
“Carlyle has the same support, it just takes some kids time to work the hurt out, and the best we can do is make sure they don’t stray too far while they’re doing it,” she returned.
“And what if he strays too far?”
Her eyes narrowed.
Her husband might be in a badass brotherhood, but Juliet Crowe used to be known as The Law. Years ago, she’d gone rogue when one of her kids overdosed, and she’d set about vigilante-ing the shit out of the drug dealers of Denver.
She’d been good at it.
She’d refocused her attention to King’s, but the Lore of The Law had not died, which was most of the reason why she had so many kids there, they’d had to build onto the shelter.
And her years with the kids, her husband, her own brood of boys she and Vance had made, and her time on the streets meant she didn’t miss much.