Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 62847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Great idea Cass. Really smart.
Still, mindlessly drinking myself into a stupor had an appeal t the moment. I’d only ever drank heavily a handful of times, but I had a beer and a shot now and then.
I mean, i might be technically underage by a few months but I worked in a biker bar for goodness sake.
I set the bottle down on the butcher block island and kept looking. I felt along the edges of cabinets and under the fridge.
I rubbed my fingers together, frowning as I stared at them.
Clean. No dust. No grime. Not even under the fridge.
I looked at the shiny chain on my leg and then at my fingers. What kind of man kept his house this clean. Jesus. Maybe Connor was a serial killer…
There was something so… Dexter about the cleanliness of the place.
No Cass. Not every clean freak is a murderer. Besides, the FBI probably ran profiles on their agents. They would know if he was chaining up young waitresses, fattening them up and eating them.
Right?
I shook my head and took a pull of the tequila, suddenly feeling like I needed a drink after all. I grabbed a lemon from the fridge and washed it. Then I stared at it and started laughing.
The damn thing might as well have been on the moon. Conn had taken all the sharp objects. He’d been alarmingly thorough about it.
How the hell was I supposed to cut a lemon with a spoon?
The man hadn’t left so much as a butter knife behind. I rolled my eyes and took another swig from the bottle. It burned, but I felt myself seeing the humor in the situation suddenly.
I was trapped. Dante was after Mase and me. I was annoyingly fascinated with an FBI agent who had chained me to his wall.
And not for any kinky sex reasons unfortunately.
But here I was worried about lemons to chase my tequila. I sighed and crossed the room to the long, low wood cabinet under the TV. I pulled the cabinet doors open and stared. Boxes were everywhere.
Snooping really should be beneath me. But I was curious. And unfairly trapped here bored to tears. Besides, there must be something worthwhile in here…
I plopped on the floor with the bottle of booze and opened one. Fuck me. Rows of bullets shone dully in the afternoon light. I shoved it back and wiped my hands off.
Nope nope nope nope.
Okay, deep breath Cass. So what if the guy had a lot of ammo laying around? I knew he carried. I had a very healthy fear of guns, but a bullet couldn’t hurt you if it was just sitting in a box.
I squinched up my face and reached for another box. This one had a fancy leather skin and a latch. I opened it and let out a soft ‘oooo…’
A poker set. Vintage from the looks of it. Rows of richly colored chips and several pristine decks of cards. Dice too.
One thing Mason had taught me to do, and do well, was gamble. We gambled for chores. We gambled for snacks. We gambled for pennies.
I had a knack for it. An ungodly talent, Mase said. That was after I won all the peanuts and snacks the first night I ever played.
I grinned. Maybe I’d get Connor to play me. I set the case on top of the cabinet and reached inside for another box. This one was cardboard.
I opened it and froze.
A badge was in here. A shirt. Photos and papers and-
Wow, Connor was ridiculously adorable when he was younger. Not that he wasn’t even dishier now. Manlier somehow.
I sighed wistfully and sifted through the photos.
In the photos he was around my age, standing with a group of guys, looking like they were ready to take on the world. They all had hats that said ‘FBI’.
Trainees, from the looks of it.
Connor looked so eager and excited to be there. His stunning eyes were shining in the pictures as I flipped through them. There was one guy in almost every one of the shots. It was clear the guy was Connor’s best friend.
The guy had sandy blond hair and laughing eyes. In one picture he was wearing a balloon hat. I laughed at the look on Connor’s face in the photo. He looked embarrassed and fond and amused at the same time.
There were pictures of them graduating and out getting drunk and at barbecues. Regular life stuff. Then I got to the bottom of the box. No more pictures. Just a manilla folder.
I lifted the folder and the contents slid out. Papers that looked like an official report. And pictures. An obituary clipping.
I stared at the pictures. It was the same guy. Except in these pictures he was dead. He was pale and covered in blood and what looked like…. bullet holes.