Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“We can’t lose you,” she murmurs, dragging her thumb across my lips. We. Because there isn’t just Rose now.
I drop a kiss on her lips and slip out of her on a hiss. Rose hisses too, and I see two wet patches on the cups of her bra. “Okay?” I ask, plucking some Kleenex off the desk. I hand them over, and she accepts on a smile, wiping between her legs.
She sits up and looks down at her buttonless blouse. Then to my buttonless shirt. I’m not doing very well with clothes today. I manage to find two remaining buttons and fasten them, pulling my trousers up before collecting Rose’s leathers off the floor and helping her into them. I frown at her blouse. I may have done myself over here. I take the tails and tie them, pulling each side in to cover her boobs as best I can. Not very well. Not surprising, since they’re double the size they usually are. “I think I’ll have to take you out the back way.”
She smiles and retrieves her bag, pulling out her breast pump. And this is my life. I smile and go to her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, kissing her forehead. “You are and will always be the most beautiful woman to ever enter my orbit. You own every murdering inch of me, baby. Please don’t ever doubt that.”
She nods, her expression and eyes apologetic for momentarily and very stupidly doubting me. “I’m sorry for punching you.”
“Which time?” I ask, chuckling. I’ll always take her slaps, punches, and hits. With the freedom I gave her, I accepted she’ll always fight me. If I have Rose and our family, I’ll take it all like a man.
She draws a line down my scar, from my eye to my lip. Then down my neck to my shoulder. Across my shirt where the bullet wound is beneath. “Make it messy,” she whispers, dipping and kissing my shirt.
I nod, backing away. “You pump, I’ll pull,” I say, smirking, and her eyebrows lift as she fiddles with the contraption that blows my mind daily. “Brad for a chat,” I add.
“Cute.”
I wrinkle my nose and leave Rose to take the pressure off, literally, closing the door behind me, rearranging myself. I bump into James. Again, literally. “Whoa,” I say, stepping back.
“You’re alive.”
“I’m alive,” I say, trying not to grin.
“For fuck’s sake.” James shakes his head. Obviously I failed in my attempts. “Everyone is out there worried you two are killing each other and—”
“We were ironing out a few differences.” I pass him. “And now she’s expressing milk.”
“Sexy.”
“Bet you can’t wait.” I smile back at him. I know he really can’t. “Beau here?”
“Yes, she’s here. You cut our date short.”
“Sorry. Did Brad tell you about Elsa Dove?”
“He did.”
“I think she’s working for Sandy.”
“Well, I’d say she’s a dead woman now.”
“Where’s Brad?”
“Taking a leak and a break from the lawyer hanging off his front.”
I chuckle. It stops when Nolan appears. “I want a word with you,” I say, pointing at him.
“What’s going on?” Brad comes out the men’s, fastening his fly, looking between the three of us.
“Nothing.” Fuck. I flash a look at Nolan. That’s interrupted too when James’s cell rings.
He frowns at the screen. “Higham.”
“Why’s he calling you?” I ask, looking at Brad. “Why’s he calling James?”
Brad shrugs, and all attention is on James. I can’t say I like the widening of his eyes.
At.
All.
“Yeah,” he says, slowly, cautiously. “That’s commendable, Higham, but I don’t think you’re getting away with it.”
“Getting away with what?” I ask. What’s the fucker done?
James’s lips straighten, and he clicks it to loudspeaker. What’s with that expression? “Tell him, Higham.”
Higham sighs. Tired. “They’ve found a body in the woods off the interstate freeway. Late twenties. Blonde. Time of death estimated to be roughly six months ago. Cause of death, bullet wound.”
I fall back against the wall. Fuck, no. But . . . is it her? “Formally identified?”
“Not formally. I’m sending you an image.”
My phone dings, and I look down at the message from Higham, wincing at the decaying face.
“Ex-whore at Casa Black, yes?” Higham goes on. “Who went on to date Tom Hayley, who was running for mayor before he was murdered. Know anything about her death, Danny? Because it stinks of The Brit.”
I laugh to myself. What, because I used to fuck Amber? And actually, it stinks of The Brit’s wife. “I need to see you, Higham.”
“Thought you might say that.”
“I’ll call you.” Jesus Christ. Today needs to just fuck off.
17
PEARL
* * *
I watch as Brad, Danny, James, and Nolan all appear from the corridor that leads to the offices. Danny, James, and Nolan head to the booth where the others are. Brad heads to Allison. I return my attention to the bar. I wouldn’t be here through choice, but when a big hairy Viking tells you to get in the car, you get in the car. I doubt Brad orchestrated this encounter, as things seem too tense for him to play stupid games. So . . . she was here anyway. Last night, now tonight too. She knows where he lives and works. I’m surprised. And ignoring the sting.