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)
"Quinten's your fixer, right?" Jericho asks.
"That's right. I can mobilize him to South Carolina if you need him," Wren offers.
"We'll handle this," Hemlock says before I can get the words out of my mouth.
"Kincaid says he's sending a chopper in case we need it," Jericho says. "He just texted."
I don't know how much time we're wasting by heading to the Preston Estate, but we have no further recourse until we get additional information.
The miles seem to grow longer as we all sit in silence for some of the longest moments of my life.
"Units are three minutes out," Wren says. "Entry will be slow because they don't know what they're going to be facing."
Three minutes seem to take days.
"Do you think William went after her and she had to kill him?" Jericho asks.
"Did you miss the part where Wren said he was in DC?" Hemlock says, only lifting his eyes to the rearview mirror for a second to glare at the man. "This isn't a time for fucking speculation."
From the corner of my eye, I see Jericho lift his hands as if apologizing.
"No," Wren says. "He's got a point. William has had enough time since the flight landed to drive back to South Carolina or even catch another mode of transportation. His phone is pinging DC, but he could've left it there to try and create an alibi."
"Men who hire hitmen aren't exactly known for having the guts to kill someone themselves," I say, knowing from experience that it takes a fit of rage for most people to follow through with murder. It's a special person who can think about doing it and plan it out and then take care of business. As much murder as there is in the world, most people just don't have it in them if they aren't threatened or protecting someone they love.
"That's true," Wren agrees. "But I'm still checking. From my end, it looks like he's still on Capitol Hill but all I can track is his phone."
"Any updates on the police?"
"I'm watching their body cam feeds right now," Wren says.
"They gave you access to their feeds?" Jericho asks, his voice filled with disbelief.
"I have access to their feeds," Wren counters, and that part of me that should argue it's against the law stays silent because legality is no longer a concern for me, but I am aware enough for my brain to remind me that this is exactly why it's so fucking dangerous to get tangled up with someone on such an emotional level.
"They're going through the front door. Blood in the foyer, footprints, not pools of blood like from an active wound. From seeing Cora leave the front door, I'm guessing it's hers."
"Her blood?" I snap.
"Her footprints," he corrects. "There's a deceased elderly woman in the kitchen with an apparent knife wound to the chest."
"Faye," I whisper.
Several more minutes go by before Wren confirms that the house is clear, but police are working on checking all the rest of the property.
"Fuck," he mutters a few minutes later.
"What?" I growl.
Why does this motherfucker always lead with that sort of shit instead of just giving us information when he finds it?
"Christopher Preston was there before she got home carrying her groceries inside. He arrived ten minutes after she left the house."
"Faye was found in the kitchen," I mutter.
"No way she would've missed that before leaving the house," Jericho says, speaking my thoughts out loud.
"Motherfucker," Hemlock growls. "We were thinking of the wrong fucking brother."
Chapter 38
Cora
"The more I think about it," Chris says as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The more it makes sense."
"What makes sense?" I ask, thinking he's going to take the next exit off the highway since he mentioned getting cleaned up and getting a burner phone so I can call Alice at the office and get the phone number I need.
"William being responsible for all of this," he says, his voice now void of any emotion. "He always needed to be the center of attention."
"What?" I say, confusion hitting me in a weird way.
It's as if I'm existing in this moment, but also like I'm watching my life happen rather than actually participating in it, and it makes me wonder if I'm suffering some level of shock.
I pull in a deep breath trying to relax, by focusing my attention on my toes, flexing them in my shoes before moving upward to the next set of muscles. I need to make sure everything still works, and I fully grasp just how insane that is at a moment like this but I keep getting flashes of poor Faye and the way her eyes were open but unseeing. I shake my head again, Chris's voice making its way back into my mind.
"Remember the time he called Dad for help when he was running for president?"