Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
And love.
And who love me.
The elevator dings, the doors open, and I walk to the reception desk armed with my key card, sliding it onto the counter. “Ah, Beau.” Quinton leans over the counter and takes my cheeks, air-kissing each one. “I’ll have the valet collect your vehicle from across the road.” His beautifully plucked and dyed eyebrows lift as he looks over his rimless glasses at me. “Care to enlighten me as to why you needed parking away from the premises?”
“No.”
“It’s not stolen, is it?”
I laugh as he checks me out. “You think I’ve gone from cop to car thief?” God, it’s so much worse than that.
“Well, it’s all very strange, and coming from me, a man of the world who works in a bustling hotel, strange requests are part of the job.” He staples a few sheets of paper together and folds them precisely. “How’s Zinnea? God, I miss working the circuit.”
“She’s good,” I say, suffering another pang of guilt.
“And Dexter?” he asks, curious. It was common knowledge Quinton always had a soft spot for Zinnea. “How is he?”
Dead. I smile tightly. “He left.”
“What?”
My fiancé murdered him. “They split up.”
“Oh. Oh, my. May I ask why?”
Because he was a crooked cop. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”
Quinton withdraws, removing his glasses and cleaning them, watching me too closely. Then he puts them back on and slips a card across to me. “I would love to see her. It’s been too long.” Another air kiss. “And there’s always a Cosmopolitan waiting for her.”
I take the card and wave it, backing away. “Good to see you, Quinton. And thank you.”
He waves off my gratitude. “The valet will bring your car round.”
I make it outside onto the sidewalk and keep close to the wall, scrolling through my contacts, not for the first time. As if a new name might appear. An old colleague who would be willing to help. It makes me miss Nath, not because he was my sounding board, but because he made me feel close to Mom. I have no one to turn to. No one who can help me.
“Beau?”
I look to my left. Oh Jesus. “Dr. Fletcher.” My old therapist approaches, every limb she possesses as perfect as I remember, long and slender, smooth and soft. She smiles, it’s hesitant, and adjusts her purse on her shoulder. I find myself doing the same.
“It’s good to see you.”
Alive. That’s what she’s thinking. It’s good to see me alive. Have you ever thought about ending your life, Beau? I smile, and it’s unstoppable. Smiling suggests someone is amused. “Good to see you too.” I back away before I can get drawn into a conversation I don’t want to have. I went to therapy for one reason and one reason alone. Because it was a better option than a hospital, and that’s where I would have been sent by my father.
“Beau?” she calls, stepping forward, her arm rising. “You stopped coming.” She’s wondering why, since I clearly wasn’t cured. I swallow and nod, and Dr. Fletcher smiles. “You look well, Beau. I hope this means you’ve finally found something to save you.”
I stop in my retreat, her words hitting me like a sledgehammer. The truth is, I have way more demons now than I had when I was seeing Dr. Fletcher.
Something to save me. Have I found it? Or have I found something that will ruin me forever? Not a something, but a someone.
I turn and walk away, asking myself the question on repeat.
29
JAMES
We stopped by Tom Hayley’s place on the way to the boatyard. Also Amber Kendrick’s. Both empty. Both cold. No signs of life. Danny’s right. Amber must know something. She’ll get what she wanted—Tom’s money—and now she’s skipped town?
I pull up and see Danny with his wetsuit around his waist, his arms around Rose, hugging her. I give him a questioning look as I approach, and he gives me one to suggest he needs a moment, so I head inside and get into my wetsuit. A locker closes behind me, and I look back to see the kid in his gear. “Hey, kid,” I say, placing my phone on the bench and standing. He looks proper forlorn. “What’s up?”
Daniel looks at me, his eyes falling to my shoulder where my scars creep onto my front. He’s seen it plenty. Never asked. I think that might change now. Something about the kid seems . . . different today. “How—”
“I got caught up in an explosion,” I say. “Trying to save someone.”
“Who?” His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, his hand reaching for his arm. He’s thinking about Beau’s scars. “Is she back?”
I shake my head, unable to tell him she will be. All I can think about is the trainline near to where we found my car. She could be long gone already. Perhaps she’s done chasing the truth. Maybe she wants to escape.