Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Clutching the throw pillow to my chest, I roll my eyes. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just … weird.”
“Weird? I asked your dad out.”
“He’s not like dad. Alec is … serious and kind of hard to reach, if you know what I mean. If I ask him, he’ll probably say no.”
“He won’t unless he’s emotionally unavailable.” Mom pauses and whispers, “He’s available, right? He doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend?”
“No, I think. I mean, I can ask him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What’s with tomorrow?”
“We’re eating at this breakfast place or something.”
“Zara!” Mom shrieks. “You could’ve saved me time by telling me you’re going out on a date!”
Warmth floods my cheeks as I start planning what to wear tomorrow in my head. Probably that backless yellow dress? Too much. It’s breakfast. Maybe the fluffy black and white off-shoulder blouse and white shorts? Ugh. “It’s not a date. He’s just showing me around.”
“Still a date.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I bet you’re gonna spend the whole night obsessing about what to wear. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Burying my face in the pillow, I let out another groan. “Mom, I hate that you know me so well.”
3
ALEC
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” I drag a chair to the conference table, where my brothers sit.
Our eldest, Jameson, leans against the leather backseat and grins. “Where were you, baby brother? You’re never late.”
How the hell am I supposed to tell them that I just spent two hours in a cafe down the street, eating scrambled eggs and hash browns while pretending I’m not crushing hard on the woman across from me?
Zara Singh. 3 years younger than me. Dad’s a pediatrician. Mom’s a retired nutritionist. Only child. Favorite foods include a Philly cheesesteak and poutine and anything with lots of sugar in it.
“I had breakfast.” My hands reach for the manila envelopes in the middle of the table, sliding out the printed reports and scanning the photos.
It takes me approximately five seconds before I realize how eerily quiet it is. When I raise my gaze, my three brothers throw confused stares at each other.
Jasper intertwines his fingers and rests them in front of him. “You don’t eat breakfast.”
“I don’t?”
“Your first meal is always at 12,” Jasper’s twin, Justin, declares. His eyebrows knit together, and he stares at me like I just did something criminal.
“Yeah, well. Figured I go try the new coffee shop or something.” My eyes are on the papers, but I don’t see anything. My mind is on the beautiful girl with golden skin who likes to mumble to herself. The thought makes me smile.
Of course, they pick up on it.
“Is it a girl?” Jameson doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement. He lifts one brow in a challenge.
“Can we just start already? I’m late, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, all right?” Guilt eats at me for the way I’m lying. Not really a lie, but it’s not like me to hide things from them. I’m not even certain why I’m hiding Zara. It was just breakfast. There’s nothing between us.
Even so, I can’t let that part of my life overlap with this. She’s too precious to be involved with someone like me. Come to think of it, that breakfast might have been a mistake. If she’s seen with me…
Jameson, always the most logical and empathetic one, gives a brisk nod. “I already called Chief Brunner and told him we found nothing, but he still insisted on checking every square meter of that area. Our next raid will be in a few weeks. Which one is it, Alec?”
I flip open my laptop and turn it toward them. “The Seine House. In the morning, it’s a museum of sorts, displaying paintings, sculptures, or whatever artwork from an indie artist. But the moment the doors close, there’s a different auction going on.”
Jameson grits his teeth, his face flushed with anger. “Where are they hiding the victims?”
“In a vault.”
Jasper lunges from his chair, eyes bulging out of its sockets. “Say that again.”
Clicking the next photo, I point to a small box with an ‘x’. “Their basement is where they store the artworks, which aren’t all that much, to be honest, but behind those, there’s a door to a vault. It works similar to a bank vault, with a dual control combination lock.”
Jasper runs his fingers through his hair. “No one has ever hidden the victims in a vault before.”
Justin clenches his fist and bangs it lightly on the table. “No. We have reason to believe this houses some of Jackson’s premium stocks.”
Premium stocks. That’s what Jackson called them. Those victims who were so precious and fetched high prices—some were special requests from his equally perverted clients. Even after all these years, it still makes me sick to my stomach. He’s a monster through and through.
“Will we have problems with the local enforcement?” Jameson asks.
Jasper loosens his tie. Meetings like this always make him ill, more so than the rest of us. This is why he’s mostly involved in paperwork, so he doesn’t have to witness everything firsthand. He can sit it out, but he insists on attending these discussions. “No. No problem. I’ve got it. Just do what you do. I’ll take care of the aftermath.”