Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
But this bloke doesn’t fall into any of those categories. He’s obviously been to war, and I suppose maybe he knows that some things aren’t so straightforward.
“There was never anything between us,” he admits. “It was all for show. She wanted you to believe.”
“Well she fucking fooled me, alright.”
Jesus Christ.
My evil little hellraiser. I’m going to punish the ever-loving fuck out of her when I get my hands on her again.
“You should know there’s a bounty on her head,” he says.
“Where is she?”
He reaches down and pulls a file out of the bag he carried in here with him, tossing it into my lap when he stands.
“I was a SEAL first and foremost,” he tells me. “Turns out, I can still swim a good fifty meters.”
He leaves me with that puzzle and the information he’s compiled and then he walks out the door. It takes me a few minutes to realize exactly what the fuck I’m looking at.
It’s Royce’s ugly mug.
One of the five.
The leader, and her tormentor. Her obsessive stalker that I never fucking knew she had. I would kill him myself if the fucker wasn’t already dead.
The official report states that he drowned when his car plunged into the Charles River. Witnesses reported that the car was driving recklessly and well over the speed limit when the tragedy occurred, and further tests indicated that he had been drinking.
There are also statements by some of his colleagues who report that he had been acting erratically as of late.
And I have to hand it to the fucker, Booker is solid.
A man of honor.
He did this. A fucking fed.
And that isn’t all.
He’s given me a treasure map.
Details about the private jet that Quinn uses to fly around the globe. Bank account names and numbers.
There’s an itinerary, and invitations to a party two nights from now.
Which doesn’t leave me a lot of time.
I pick up my phone and video call Alexei. His wife Talia answers and says he’s been expecting me.
“Well?” he asks when she gives him the phone.
“I need another favor.”
Thirty-Five
Scarlett
Sink or swim, baby.
Booker is back, keys jingling in his pocket.
“What now?” I grumble.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just checking in on you.”
“Everything’s peachy here. Just the way that prison should be.”
He nods and I gesture to the kitchen.
“Carl’s in there, probably eating another goddamn sandwich, if you’re looking for him.”
“The bureau says we can’t spare any more federal resources,” he tells me. “So you are officially free to go.”
“Giving me early release, huh? I knew there was overcrowding in prisons, but not safe houses too.”
“I think you’ll be more comfortable at Rory’s,” he says.
“Rory?”
“He’s waiting outside for you.”
“Are you fucking with me?” I ask, because I don’t believe it. “Is it really Royce out there and this was the plan all along?”
“I’m not fucking with you,” he says.
But still.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Why would Rory come for me after what I did to him?
“I told him the truth,” Booker admits. “Since I figured you would have trouble doing that yourself.”
“And he’s… not mad?”
Booker shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s for you two to figure out.”
I give him an awkward pat on the shoulder.
“You know, you aren’t so bad, Booker. For a fed.”
He smiles.
“You aren’t so bad either. For a hooker.”
I flip him off and my hand is on the door already when he asks the thing I knew he would.
“If you see her…”
“Sell her out?” I turn back and shake my head. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“I’m not looking to hurt her. I just want to help.”
“My god,” I groan. “There are two of you. What is it with you guys trying to save women? Maybe Storm doesn’t want to be saved.”
He’s quiet. And sad like a puppy, so I give him a bone.
“I’ll talk to her about it,” I say. “But I’m not playing any tricks. And for the record, I’m not a rat. The people who end up on the streets have had a rough enough go of it already without me screwing them over.”
“I know that,” he says. “And thank you. All I’m asking is for you to talk to her.”
He scrambles to give me a card before I leave, and I take it.
“See ya around,” he says.
“Yeah,” I agree.
But we both know it isn’t true.
Rory’s car is parked outside, just like Booker said. He rolls down the window and doesn’t even look at me. He just gives me a command.
“Get in.”
I’d tell him to fuck off for taking that tone with me if I didn’t think I deserved it. So I get in. And he speeds off.
I wait until we hit the interstate.
“Rory…”
He glances at me across the car, and he’s still angry with me.
“Later.”
That’s all he says.
The rest of the ride is silent until we get back to his place.
I’m happy to see that Whiskey is still as cat like as ever. Lounging in a brand-new bed that wasn’t there when I left.