Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
"What are you talking about?" I demand, but he just sneers.
"Figure it out yourself. Now get the fuck off my property. I’ve got work to do." He pushes past us, disappearing through the back door of the shop.
"What does he know that we don't?" Colter asks quietly.
"Good fucking question.” Emmett’s brows pull down. “I’d say he was talking out of his ass, but for some reason, I actually believe the dick.”
Yeah, so do I. Fucking hell.
I squeeze between the truck and the building on my way to the head of the alley.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Emmett calls after me.
"To see Dillon!" I shout over my shoulder.
I burst into the police station like a man on a mission not even five minutes later, making a beeline for Dillon's office.
He looks up from his conversation with Easton, his eyes narrowing as I approach.
"Alessandro? What the hell are you doing here?"
"We need to talk," I growl, slamming the door behind me.
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "About what exactly?"
"About the fact that I just talked to your two suspects in Heidi's case."
“Jesus Christ,” Easton laughs, brushing a hand over his lips as if to hide a smile. “This town gets more interesting every fucking day.”
Dillon’s eyes flash with irritation. "Goddammit, Alessandro. You shouldn’t be talking to anyone about her case. You’re a fucking firefighter, not a cop.”
"And she’s the woman I'll burn this whole fucking town to the ground for,” I growl, leaning down over his desk. “I’m not going to twiddle my fucking thumbs while her world crumbles.”
He rubs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "Believe me; I get it, man. But you can't just go around playing vigilante.”
“Yeah, well, unless you’re going to lock me up, I’m going to do what needs to be done.”
He narrows his dark eyes on me. “Do not fucking tempt me, Banger.”
“What did you find out?" Easton asks, trying to diffuse the situation as Dillon and I scowl at each other, both too goddamn stubborn to back down.
“How many businesses have failed in Heidi’s building?” I ask Dillon instead of responding.
His brows furrow. “How the fuck should I know?”
“Because everyone shits gold around here,” I mutter. “Nothing ever fails. But Aaron made a comment…” I hesitate, trying to connect the pieces. “He suggested that if she wanted her bakery to succeed, she should have picked a different location. Actually, he did more than suggest it. He outright said it. And I want to know why.”
Easton looks at Dillon, his gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “He has a point. From what I’ve seen, everyone does shit gold around here.”
Dillon grunts. “The last business there was a coffee shop. It failed for obvious reasons. You can’t compete with Aspen’s place when you make terrible fucking coffee, and you don’t even have scones.” He purses his lips, thinking. “The place before that was some jewelry shop. They used beads and shit. Jules loved it. Before that, it was a printing place. And before that, I think it was a clothing store. There was something else there before that, but I don’t remember what the fuck it was.”
“Time frame?” Easton asks.
Dillon strokes his jaw, considering the question. “Three years? Four?”
“Three,” I say. “The place before the clothing store was a dog groomer. They were there three and a half years ago.” I know this because I tried to take Rivin there when he was a puppy. He peed on another dog’s head, broke into their CBD supplements, and then spent two fucking days alternately chasing his tail and drooling on the couch, stoned out of his mind. Chief wouldn’t let him near a fire for a month after that.
“So, five businesses have failed in that location in three years, and now someone is trying to ensure hers does, too,” Easton murmurs.
A sinking feeling takes root in my stomach as pieces start clicking into place. I don’t fucking like the picture they form. Not at all.
“Who would benefit from the businesses failing?” Easton asks.
“The landlord,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Don Waters.”
Dillon's gaze sharpens as he looks at me. "You think it’s her landlord? That doesn’t make any sense, Alessandro. If businesses are failing, he’s not making money either. He needs tenants to get paid.”
“You’d think,” I mutter. “But he’s already convinced her business is going to fail. He basically said as much when I talked to him today. And he refused to let me pay to install a security system. If he really wanted to keep people around, you’d think he’d be jumping at the opportunity to have a security system installed free of charge. And he wasn’t keen on letting me see a copy of their lease agreement, either.”
“Could be something in it that he wants to keep hidden,” Easton suggests. “Some clause that’s making him bank when these businesses fail.”