Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Right now, my priority is you.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
Madison nodded, then padded into the bedroom and shut the door. After a quick shower, she dressed in her spare change of clean clothes and flopped onto the big bed with sheets that smelled like Nash and sighed. She doubted she would sleep much. Her temporary bodyguard was in the next room, TV still spouting its canned laugh track through the wall, and he was armed. In theory, she was safe. Almost no one had a clue where she was, and she had an escape route if she needed one.
Still, she couldn’t relax. She couldn’t stop thinking about Matt, couldn’t stop wondering what tomorrow would bring.
Hours passed. The light from under the door finally darkened. The TV went quiet, leaving only the vague sounds of partying people getting their brews on in the unit next door and the sound of someone down the street lighting fireworks ahead of Fourth of July. Everything seemed normal.
Except her.
Flopping onto her other side, she sighed. A glance at the clock told her it was just after midnight. Following her exhausting escape from DC and a late, tumultuous night with Matt, she should be wrung out.
Instead, she rose to grab one of the fitness magazines she’d seen on his nightstand—it beat spending more time staring at Nash’s wall and questioning her life choices—when she heard a crash in the next room. Her first instinct was to open the door and see if her friend needed help, but he cursed loudly and grunted. Were those punches being thrown?
“Get the fuck out!” he demanded.
Panic flared through her veins. Someone was in his apartment. Nash was both calling them off and warning her.
Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.
Madison turned around the room, admonishing herself. Think fast!
Panting, she searched for her shoes and her backpack, stepping into the first and plucking up the second the moment she spotted it. With trembling fingers, she searched every pocket. The USB drive was still there, but her burner phone was charging in the kitchen.
The scuffle in the next room grew louder. A man growled out in pain. Madison bit back a cry. Everything inside her wanted to rush into the living room and help Nash. But he’d told her not to. And if the intruders had anything to do with the Pershings, the moment they had her in their clutches, they would waste him. Nash was a witness they didn’t need. If she escaped, they would keep him alive to extract information. It would be horrible, but at least he wouldn’t be dead. And she would send help.
Feeling helpless, she dashed to Nash’s bathroom and climbed out the window—just as she heard gunshots explode in the night.
By four in the morning, Matt swore he was going to lose his mind. Hunter’s call shortly after midnight that Nash’s place had been hit, that his friend was in the ER fighting for his life, and that Madison was missing had sent him into a full-blown fucking panic. Every indication was that she’d escaped, but he’d been scouring the area around the university for over three hours now. He’d seen no sign of her.
The attack on Nash’s apartment hadn’t been random. He suspected Pershing’s people, and they weren’t fucking around. What if they’d run Madison down in the past few hours and taken her? He had some ugly ideas about what they’d do once they got their hands on her. Pershing himself might see reason. He would be more inclined to avoid the scandal—or criminal charges—that came from being implicated in his granddaughter-in-law’s murder. He would negotiate—to a point. Todd, on the other hand… If the bloodthirsty asshole could slit the throat of his cousin and best friend he’d loved, what would he do to the wife he despised?
On the seat beside him, his phone rang. He prayed it was a random number, that Madison might have found a phone to call him. Instead, Joaquin Muñoz’s name lit up the display.
“Yeah,” he answered, making another right turn around the now-dark bars and kitschy restaurants surrounding the university. He spotted a twenty-four-hour pancake house with a smattering of people inside and whipped his truck into the first parking spot.
“I’m at the hospital with Nash,” Joaquin said. “He’s going to make it. He got nearly thirty stitches, and he lost a shit-ton of blood after a blade nicked his femoral artery. They’re keeping him for a bit longer to give him another round of blood and to observe him. Thank God the police showed up when they did.”
“Thank God he’s all right. Who called 911?”
“Anonymous tip.”
Madison? Matt couldn’t be sure. “Can Nash tell us anything?”
“They haven’t let me see him yet. Besides being used as a target for some asshole’s blade, he also has a concussion, presumably from hitting his head when he fell. They’re running some other tests and taking X-rays.”