Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
The prison we were in had operated from 1842 to 1966 and housed some of the most lethal criminals and murderers in New York’s history. At least 215 men had been executed here. It felt surreal to be in such a place. I hadn’t felt this challenged, this alive, this acute, in a long time.
We were walking through a long corridor with high ceilings and cobwebs and dirt everywhere. The place looked like it was caving in to itself.
“Didn’t you say you have a few more prisons to take photos of tomorrow?” I pried, trying to keep up with my fake husband’s pace.
He was still snapping his gum, flipping through the pictures on his camera without slowing down. “Yeah. Why? You in the mood to make more cash?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. It wasn’t just the money. I was genuinely having fun.
“Two more grand wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted demurely.
He laughed, slinging his camera over his shoulder. “I bet.”
I was surprised by how professional Riggs was. Ever since we started working, he had been laser focused. He was a completely different creature and had a strong work ethic. He was serious, talented, innovative, and above all . . . he took really bloody good pictures. I would hang them on my wall if I could ever afford them.
Well, maybe not the ones we were taking now, of rusty pipes, but still.
“Let’s see how your trial run goes.” Riggs cut a corner suddenly, and I followed his lead.
“Rubbish!” I cried out. “You know I’m the best employee you’ve ever had. Possibly the only one, but also—”
I sent my foot forward and suddenly felt nothing but air beneath it. We were on the third floor of the building. I had a cartoon moment as I looked down beneath me and realized I was in the air.
Oh, shit. I’m going to die.
Riggs grabbed the back of my dress quickly and pulled me with a low growl. I staggered backward and fell on my arse.
Holy hell. He saved me from a sure death. One of the building’s outer walls was missing.
“You okay?” He squatted, offering me his hand. I took it, still panting. Adrenaline laced through my veins like poison, and I felt sick with fear and relief.
“I . . . I think so. Whoa.”
“Yeah.” He glanced around us, dark fury clouding his features. “I’m going to rip Emmett a new one for not telling me about this missing wall. You sure you aren’t hurt? You took a tumble.” His hands were all over my face and shoulders, and they were shaking. Why were they shaking? And why did I find it more pleasurable than any encounter I’d had with BJ?
We were standing in a tiny cell. The brick walls were completely covered in moss, and there were dozens of old, doorless laundry machines stacked in lines. But the most interesting thing was the missing wall. A part of the building had collapsed, which made for an amazing view. Endless green fields with high weeds swayed under the sun.
“I’m sure.” I dusted myself off. “I’m a little shocked, but I’m fine.”
“Good.” He rolled his tongue over his inner cheek. “Because you on the floor with your panties exposed brought back good memories.” He grinned.
What . . . ? Ohhh. The night at Gretchen’s. Of course.
But also . . . Gretchen. That cow.
I hadn’t thought of her for so long, too busy with the fake wedding, the visa, and BJ. Had Riggs been in contact with her? He hadn’t talked about her since the day at her office, but I wasn’t so stupid to think they didn’t sleep together anymore. Which made me queasy. Sharing a knob with Gretchen Beatty was a bitter pill to swallow.
“What’s wrong, Poppins?” Riggs peered into my face. I really had my heart on my sleeve, didn’t I? “You sure you aren’t hurt?”
“Yes, yes.” I wiped my forehead. “Brilliant.”
I didn’t want to ask him, but I didn’t want to not-ask him either. I needed to know.
It was already three o’clock, and we still hadn’t had our lunch, so I decided this was a good opportunity to redirect the subject.
“I packed us some lunch!” I said, perking up. “You know, because I’m the best assistant in the whole world and you should absolutely hire me tomorrow. Shall we take a break?”
He frowned. “I say I need to see what you packed first. You’re very good at making gross food—no offense.”
I shot him a scowl. “Sandwiches.”
“With carbs? And meat? And flavor?” He squinted suspiciously.
“A breadless lettuce sandwich for me and a normal wheat sandwich for you. With salami and cheddar and plenty of sodium and cholesterol.”
Riggs nodded. “You speak my love language.”
But when we sat down with our sandwiches, the great vibe we had going all day was gone.
“So, you planning on going back home for a visit soon? Take advantage of your vacation?” Riggs took a bite.