Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
When I finished peeing, I stood up and headed for the door.
I drew in a deep breath. I didn’t know what waited for me on the other side, but whatever it was, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Okay, you son of a bitch, let’s do this,” I whispered.
I opened the door slowly, inch by inch, holding my breath as I waited for it to be ripped open by my kidnapper. But as the second-story landing slowly came into view, I realized he wasn’t there.
I was alone.
I stood there for a moment, barely able to breathe, barely able to control my pounding heart. My eyes scanned my surroundings. I was on the second floor landing of what used to be a family home. But there was something old, faded, and unloved about the place. Pictures were missing off the walls and everything seemed yellowed and dusty in the dim light. It seemed lonely.
This is a trap.
To the right of me, a stairway led down to the second level.
Probably straight to the front door.
I strained to listen, trying to work out if my kidnapper was nearby, but the house was still and quiet.
Careful not to make a noise, I crept along the landing, gripping the makeshift shiv firmly in my hand, ready to use it. Taking each step with caution, I slowly made my way down the stairs, my knees weak and my heart pounding like it would beat out of my chest at any given second. I was almost at the bottom of the stairs and the front door was in sight. Two more steps and I could make a break for it—for freedom. The front door was glass and I was more than game to crash through it if it was locked.
One step.
Two steps.
As soon as my feet slapped the tiles, I made a run for the door and reached for the handle.
That’s when I heard him. His voice came from behind me.
“Nice of you to finally join me.”
I spun around and felt my brain tilt. My knees weakened and I dropped the shard of glass in my hands.
“You,” I breathed with disbelief.
CADE
The scrapbook was sitting on the dresser in our bedroom. Forgotten during the craziness of the last few weeks. My suspicion that all of this had started because of Talia Bennett’s death had returned. I could be wrong. The chances were farfetched. But I had to check it out and either eliminate it or pursue it.
I picked up the scrapbook. The top drawer where Indy kept her panties was slightly open, and when I glanced down to close it, something caught my eye. Tucked under a pair of white lace panties, the corner of it just visible, was a photo. I pulled it out and studied it. The image was grainy, all grey shadows, and in the corner it said, Baby Calley—9 weeks.
The realization hit me like a tsunami.
It was a sonogram.
Indy was pregnant.
The growl that erupted from somewhere deep inside me was as primal as it was fierce. In that one moment, I was insane with grief. Panic. Anger. Fear. It all collided inside of me, turning me feral with a need to do so many things. Find Indy. Protect her. Hold her and tell her I loved her for so many reasons, but also because she was having my baby. Then I wanted to kill the person who was behind all of this. Of all the pain and grief. All the agony. I would close my hand around their throat and watch their life drain away, my vengeance realized when their eyes stared into mine as their life ended.
I looked at the sonogram and images of a broken Jacob swung before my mind’s eye. Of him on his knees in front of Mirabella’s coffin, his head tilted back in agony as he cried for his dead, pregnant wife. My fear roared through me. But the warrior in me stood fierce against it. Whoever killed Mirabella had Indy, and I had to work out who it was.
I looked at the sonogram of my baby and felt a fierce protectiveness like I’d never known pulse in every beat of my heart. For a moment I was knocked on my ass by the thought. Indy hadn’t said a thing to me about it, but I knew why. She wouldn’t have wanted to distract me until my trip to Kansas was over, and the thought sent a rolling wave of guilt crashing through me. I looked at the date printed on the sonogram. It was from yesterday. Last night, when I had made love to my queen, she knew she was pregnant with my baby. But I was so focused on my quest for revenge, she didn’t tell me.
Gently putting the sonogram into the breast pocket of my cut like it was a delicate treasure, I opened the scrapbook and flipped over the pages until I found the news article of Talia Bennett’s death.