Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I hang up and occupy myself for a few minutes with getting dressed and putting together a snack bag for Bella, hoping I won’t need to use it.
But when I check my phone again, there’s still no response to my texts or any message from Christian, and I’m not about to leave Bella here alone to potentially Houdini herself out of the house while I’m out searching for him. I’ve already lost one precious pet; I’m not going to risk another.
So, I coax Bella into her crate with an almond treat, then secure the latch with some jewelry-making wire Wren left in the junk drawer when she moved out.
“All safe and secure,” I assure the skunk as I head out into the eerily quiet night.
It’s the witching hour, that time between when the night birds stop singing and the day birds pick up the slack. As I pull out of the driveway, the only sounds are the faint prickle of my tires on the pavement and Bella’s worried grunts from the back seat.
I want to promise her everything will be okay, but when a drive past Christian’s place reveals an empty driveway, the anxious feeling in my stomach gets even worse. If he’s not at home, there’s only one other place I imagine he’d be, and it isn’t good. If bad things are going on at his shop, he definitely shouldn’t be there in the middle of the night, but that’s where I’d go if I were him.
I’d want to see if the nanny cam was still there and, if so, search the area around it for clues. So I’m not really surprised when I pull down the road leading to the shop and see Christian’s truck.
I am, however, surprised to see it parked on the side of the road a good half mile from the parking area. I’m also surprised to see the lights on in the back of the shop.
“This isn’t good,” I mumble as I pull in behind Christian’s truck and turn off my headlights.
The logical part of me insists I should call for backup and wait until it arrives before investigating further, but my gut is screaming that Christian is in trouble and there’s no time to waste.
I decide to split the difference. On impulse, I send out a few texts to the people most likely to help me out, deciding I’ll make amends later if I’m overreacting, then set my phone on silent and ease out of the car. At the last minute, I think to grab something to defend myself, but I’m a lover, not a fighter. The most threatening thing in my back seat is the workout bag I forgot to take inside last week and the no-doubt very stinky, sweaty clothes within.
But at least my arm and ankle weight bands give the bag a little heft…
On impulse, I grab it and whisper to Bella, “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Don’t be scared,” and gently shut the door.
I creep toward the shop, not knowing what I’m going to find there, but pretty certain it isn’t going to be good.
Chapter Twenty
CHRISTIAN
I wake up on the bed where Starling and I were together the first time with a raging headache, unsure of how much time has passed.
But my guess is…not much.
Gage and Norman are standing over the bed, staring down at me with twin worried expressions. I don’t imagine they’d still be standing here if I’d been out for more than a minute or two.
“See, he’s fine! No big deal,” a too-loud voice sounds from behind me.
Wincing, I glance back to see Unger looming over me from the head of the bed. Unger is my most recent employee, the only guy at the shop with a history of run-ins with the law, and the one I originally suspected of being the rat.
But it looks like he talked Gage and Norman into joining him in whatever scam he’s running.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” Norman says, his squeaky voice even more strained than usual. He shifts his gaze to mine as he adds, “We didn’t sign off on that, boss. I promise. We aren’t into the rough stuff.”
“You’re just into stealing from me?” I ask, my voice scratchy and my head still pounding as I motion vaguely toward the half-loaded trailer.
“We’ll put them all back,” Gage says, his brown eyes sad and ashamed in his heavily lined face.
Gage has always been like an uncle to me, the older man I turned to for advice when I was first starting out and didn’t know my way around some of the vintage bikes people brought into the shop. When I finally started making enough money to hire him on full time, I was so happy. I knew he’d had a hard life, family, and career wise, and could really use the steady work.