Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“You. Are. Maddening.”
“Why thank you.”
It takes ten minutes and three tools, but finally, the lock pops, and I open the door. I stand, prepared to give this little girl the lecture of her little life, but Samantha goes in ahead of me and puts her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
The sun set outside the window long ago, and the room is darkened save for a little night light in the corner. Toni’s sprawled on the bed facedown, her arm slung around Prince. Both of them sound asleep.
It’s a spacious guest room with a large, queen-sized bed and a small, private bath, but there’s nothing in here that’s hers, nothing that’s personal, except the clothes she wears. I make a vow right then and there to do something about that.
“Poor thing,” Samantha says with a sigh.
“She must’ve been exhausted.”
Samantha nods, bends, and tucks a strand of hair back from Toni’s face. She then gently removes Toni’s glasses, folds them, and places them on the bedside table. Toni snuggles up closer to Prince.
“Last night, she couldn’t settle for hours,” I whisper. “Looks like she found what she needs.”
I’ve never been a dog-on-the-bed kinda guy, but she’s holding onto him with all she’s got, and I can’t bring myself to take that away from her. From the look on Samantha’s face, she feels the same. I’m going to have to invest in some stuffed animals, or… something.
“She can’t sleep like this,” Sam whispers.
I nod in agreement. I slip off one flip flop, then the other, and lay them on the floor next to the bed, then take a folded blanket from the foot of the bed, snap it open, and lay it over Toni. Samantha watches me, her eyes warming, but doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll kill my brother,” I whisper, shaking my head. How anyone could abandon a kid like this is something I’ll never understand. “I will find him, and I will kill him, painfully and slowly.”
Samantha looks at me and blinks. I expect another lecture, but instead she only nods. “And I’ll help you.”
Chapter 9
Samantha
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he set this up. The whole thing. Dog, kid, un-freaking-believable house on Beacon Street, the whole nine yards. Because any woman who’s immune to going weak in the knees at seeing Miguel Santiago in caretaker mode has an estrogen deficiency or something.
Yeah, he can be an ass. He’s grumpy as hell, and I have a feeling I haven’t even seen the worst of it. But the way he knelt and slid Toni’s sandals off, then tucked the blanket around her before tiptoeing out of the room made me all kinds of melty inside.
And he hit on me.
I can’t wait to tell the girls and dissect every little move he made.
But nope, no way, no how can I sleep with him. Nope.
It will muddy the situation. The… investigation and whatnot.
And I’m not going to allow myself to be seduced so easily. Nope. Newp.
I can, however, take him up on his offer for dinner while I pry every detail I can from him.
So I follow him out of the room, not entirely sure what I’m going to do about the fact that my dog’s tucked under Toni’s arm.
Miguel fixes the doorknob, then switches a button and winks at me. My heart does a little flip.
“Now she can’t lock it.”
My stomach growls in the most unladylike manner. “Perfect. Alright, so I’m starving. Are you still cooking, or should we order pizza or something?”
Or maybe steak and salad, or… shrimp? What do rich chefs eat, and does this count as a date?
Madison would tell me it totally counts.
“Happy to cook.”
“I’d appreciate it and return the favor sometime. I need to ask some questions and hop on a computer while she naps.”
He looks thoughtful. “I don’t think she’s napping. She slept like shit the night before. I bet she’s out for the night.”
“Maybe.”
What will I do about Prince? If he wakes up in a strange place and I’m not here, he’ll freak.
We head to the kitchen, his very gorgeous, very spacious, all white-and-steel-like-a-showroom kitchen. I hop up on a barstool, and he slides a laptop in front of me.
“Password’s ‘let me in.’”
“You know that’s like the second most common password used in the world, right?”
He frowns. “What’s the first most common?”
“Probably 1234. I bet you could improve on that.”
He nods, spins it around from me, taps away on the keyboard, and spins it back.
“There ya go.”
It’s still password-locked.
“You gonna tell me your password now?”
“Guess.”
Oh, so we’re playing games now?
I roll my eyes and type stay the hell out, and the screen comes to life.
“Did you really just guess it on the first try?”
I want to remind him I’m an investigator, and I’ve got him all pegged, but think it’s probably best not to push things.
Instead, what comes out is, “Maybe you should stop being so predictable.”