Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 131888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“It will be by the time this is all wrapped up.”
Fletch was right. It had been about a year and a half since the Tri-State Federal Drug Task Force was formed. But they all knew going in that it wouldn’t be a quick investigation. Too many players were involved. And their part of the investigation didn’t even include the Pittsburgh Cosa Nostra or the Mexican cartel.
Hell, their part only included the Deadly Demons in Pennsylvania. Two other groups covered that outlaw MC in West Virginia and Ohio.
All three groups had to work as a team and coordinate. None of them could wrap up their investigation until they all could. Planning and communication would be key.
Nox was glad he was only a grunt in this case. No different than during his time in the Army. He kept his head down and simply did what he was told, then did what he wanted to do when no one was looking.
He just couldn’t get caught.
Nox lost track of the conversation between Crew and Fletch but he didn’t miss that the task force leader ended the call while Fletch was still bitching.
Typical Crew. The man didn’t end calls like a normal human.
But then, he wasn’t normal.
North shuffled the deck of cards. “You want in on this next hand, Hard Nox?”
No, he wanted to head upstairs, grab that business card and make a call of his own.
Instead, Nox pulled in a breath and dug for his wallet. “Yeah, deal me in.”
Nox paced back and forth, counting each step he took. He strode all the way to the front of his apartment before spinning on his heel and following the same path back.
His apartment was pretty damn big since it took up the whole second floor of The Plant. When he started working on it, it was mostly all open floor space and a blank canvas. He now had a kitchen, a nice sized living space, a spacious bathroom and two bedrooms, as well as some closet space.
He did the framing, drywall, painting, electrical work and plumbing all himself. Skills he learned while in the Army. He also sanded down the scuffed and scarred wood-planked floors and refinished them back to their original glory by giving them a high gloss finish that made the wood grain pop.
The place was perfect for him. Big enough to not feel closed in—especially with the front windows still being boarded up—but small enough for him to manage on his own. The only thing he didn’t have, and wished he did, was a washer and dryer so he didn’t have to haul his dirty clothes to the nearest laundromat.
Every time he trekked across his apartment, he glanced at those damn jeans in passing. Normally, he tossed dirty laundry in the portable hamper he kept in his bedroom.
Both the Army and the instructors at the police academy drilled into him to be “squared away.” Dropping clothes on the floor or throwing them over furniture went against his grain. But it wasn’t the jeans being discarded over the couch that bothered him.
It was that fucking business card.
He slammed to a stop, pinched his nose and dropped his head back. “Fuck!”
Even though he kept putting it off, he already knew what he was going to do.
He knew it.
Because the woman had managed to get under his skin.
She had gotten into his head.
Jesus Christ, he needed to evict her.
The only way he might be able to do that would be to find out who she was connected to. The way North made it sound, they were bad people.
“I would recommend staying clear of her… Because of the company she keeps.”
Was she a part of a criminal enterprise? Is that how she could afford those fancy clothes, the gold jewelry and expensive Mercedes sports car?
She’d been married to a cop so it wouldn’t make sense if she switched over to the dark side. However, a lot could change in sixteen years. Desperation could make the most lawful person turn bad. Especially since she had been a single mother and could’ve been struggling to provide for herself and her son.
Most parents would do anything to keep a roof over their children’s heads, as well as food in their bellies.
Holy shit. Why the fuck was he letting his imagination run wild? All he had to do was look at her damn card and see what it said. Then he needed to contact her and find out the damn truth instead of making up wild and unfounded accusations in his head.
He was a man who preferred facts over fiction. And right now, his brain was making up stories.
“For fuck’s sake.” He took long strides over to his sectional and snagged his jeans off the back.
He shoved his hand in the pocket and… found nothing.
Shit. Did he lose it?
He just put himself through all that bullshit and he lost her damn card?