Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Colby scowled down at me, then he leaned closer and kissed the fuck out of me.
“No fucking one is taking you bra shopping but me.”
Protection detail had commenced.
I did not go anywhere alone. Colby was with me almost constantly. When he wasn’t, Hades was. When Hades wasn’t, Jagger was. You get the picture.
I didn’t so much as go for a jog alone.
I didn’t jog.
That’s when you either discovered a body or became one… Every true crime junkie knew that.
Watching Jagger at Pilates with me and Caroline was fucking amusing, though.
Out of an abundance of caution, all the women had light protection too. But none of them were quite the blazing target that I was. Though I didn’t think this copycat was smart enough to find out I even existed. Chances were he was some unhinged asshole who hated women and wasn’t even original enough to come up with his own method.
It had all been pretty anticlimactic the past few days. Unfortunately, the DNA didn’t match anyone in the state system. It would take longer to go federal. Odds were, he had a record. Petty crimes. Maybe domestic violence, animal cruelty. Pedestrian shit.
Just call me Jason Gideon.
I didn’t look at the crime scene photos. I didn’t spend my time researching who this guy might be. Other than my first thoughts, I did not waste brain power on it. There were enough smart people spending time tracking him down.
I had better things to think about.
Like the conversation Colby and I had a few weeks ago, which had spurred the research I was doing when I got the call from Ollie about the copycat.
“So,” Colby said, sitting down after he’d done the dishes.
He’d cooked and done the dishes. I’d sat on the sofa with a glass of wine with a reality show on. He’d forbidden me to move. Granted, I’d been on my feet at the café all day and was exhausted.
Plus, I’d just gotten off the phone with my mother. She called, sporadically. And I answered. The conversations were still awkward, neither of us really knowing what to say. But they were still coming to visit when the new house was done. And I was still unsure how I felt about that. I wanted a relationship with them, but I wasn’t sure how they fit here.
I wondered about Colby’s family, if we’d ever go to visit them, heal that wound. It was on my list of things to do. We’d dealt with my scars, not his.
“So?” I sat up, focusing on him.
He had perched on the side of the couch, farther away from me than usual. Regularly, we were pretty much on top of each other at all times. Just how I liked it. My space and affection issues had disappeared. With Colby, at least. Immersion therapy worked.
The distance and the strange expression on his face told me he was concerned about my reaction to the conversation he had planned.
My curiosity was piqued.
“You’re not going back to school.” It wasn’t a question. We hadn’t talked about school or my plans behind slinging coffees daily.
We’d bought a house together—well, he’d bought it, but I didn’t want to get into that whole thing again—and he’d said something about forever with me. That was plan enough.
“No, I’m not going back to school,” I agreed.
Though I hadn’t talked to him about it, I had done a lot of thinking about it. I didn’t want to be half a country away from Colby for years. Sure, there were other colleges closer I could’ve gone to, but I knew in my heart of hearts that that ship had sailed.
“You were born to help people,” he said.
“Really?” I scoffed. “I’m a college dropout with a casual drinking problem, a belly full of scars, a head full of demons and no plans beyond moving into a house with her super-hot boyfriend.”
Colby’s lip twitched. “I’m your Old Man, not your boyfriend.”
“That’s really the part you want to focus on?” I teased.
He took a sip of his beer. “Before all of that shit, you were going to school to help people. Now that you’ve gone through all that shit and come out on the other side—”
“That’s debatable,” I muttered.
His eyes hardened. “And come out the other side,” he repeated. “There are plenty of women who have been hurt, damaged by men with nowhere to go and no one who understands them.” He leaned forward to grasp my feet, pulling them into his lap and massaging them.
I groaned at the magic of his fingers.
“What are you even proposing?” I asked him, mulling over his words. Though I wanted to cast them aside, he’d hit a nerve.
Before the warehouse, I’d wanted to help people. I also wanted to make good money and get a Ph.D. as a fuck you to my parents. Not exactly the most noble of intentions.