Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Mr. Yarrow seems patient enough to wait until the man leaves before he speaks, but even after the door is closed again, he just continues to stand across the room, glaring at me.
The man has a lot of nerve. If he was doing his job or had any sense of urgency in finding my sister, I wouldn't be here right now.
When I open my mouth to yell at him, he's in front of me in a flash, his hand covering my mouth. Now is not the time to notice how warm his touch is against my skin.
Leaning in close, he bends his head down to my ear.
"Where's your purse? Your cell phone? Your car keys?"
I take a step back, brows knitting together in confusion, but the unrelenting look on his face makes me wave my hand toward the bedroom. He doesn't hesitate to turn and walk in that direction. I follow, watching in horror as he takes my things, carries them to the bathtub, and proceeds to run water over them, letting the water pool in the tub until all of it is submerged. He leaves the water running in the tub before turning on the water in the sink, as well as the overhead fan, before grabbing my wrist and urging me out of the bathroom. He closes that door, and then the door to the bedroom, as he drags me back into the sitting area.
"What is your problem?" I growl, pulling my arm out of his grip so fast, it leaves me rubbing the soreness with my free hand.
He glances down at where we were connected, a flash of remorse in his eyes, but then they're slow to meet mine once again, stopping a second too long on my chest.
I pull my robe tighter, but when he swallows, I know I've done nothing more than give him an even better look.
"Explain that!" I demand, pointing toward the bathroom. "Do you have any idea how expensive Hermes is?"
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he asks rather than explaining himself.
"You were dragging your feet," I argue. "Someone has to find her."
I get a little distracted when he runs his hands through his silver hair, wondering what the difference between that and his thick beard would feel like on the tips of my fingers.
"We're working on locating Sadie," he says, and as much as he frustrates me, I can sense that the man has been through the details of her case forward and backward more than once.
He doesn't say your sister or Ms. Preston.
Sadie.
As if this is personal for him too. Knowing that makes me back down just a little.
"Going to Daydreamer's is fu—it's dangerous."
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if it's a professional thing that he doesn't use foul language in front of a customer or if it's because I'm a woman. He speaks again before I can decide which would make me feel better.
"Imagine my surprise when I'm watching a live feed, determining who is coming and going from the place, when that flashy sports car pulls up and that long ass leg of yours pops out of the driver's side?"
"That was the last link to Sadie," I say, my anger deflating.
"Cor—Ms. Preston," he says, his hand going right back through his hair. "I know. We're working on it. Places like that are dangerous."
As if saying this gives him a reason, his eyes roll right back down my body as if he's searching for injuries.
"Mr. Yarrow," I growl, making him shift his eyes back up to mine. "I was perfectly fine. No harm came to me."
"You could blow this entire case," he says, hands flinching open and closed at his waist, as if he's fighting the urge to put them on me again.
"I'm not—"
With one hand, he wraps his strong fingers around my wrist once again and holds his free hand up, a single finger covering his mouth in the universal way of telling me to be quiet.
He pulls me back through the room and into the en suite bathroom, first turning off the overhead fan before moving to the sink.
I rub my wrist once again, but although his touch doesn't hurt this time, my wrist still tingles when he releases it.
Next, he turns off the water in the bathtub, holding up my ruined leather bag before pulling my phone out from inside of it.
"What are—?"
He snaps his head in my direction, once again holding a finger to his lips.
Pulling a knife from his pocket, he pops my phone open, separating it front from back easier than it should ever come apart, before pulling a tiny black stick with a little wire on it from inside.
Placing it on the counter and using the handle of the knife, he smashes the thing.
He shakes his head when I open my mouth once again to speak.