Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Flaring her nostrils, Lydia breathed in deep. Then she repeated the inhale.
C.P. frowned. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I’m fine, Lydia thought to herself. But you’re… pregnant.
TWENTY-FOUR
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Daniel was staring at the ceiling over their bed as the sun rose.
He figured he wasn’t the only one in the household who hadn’t slept well. Even after he and Lydia had gone to their bedroom and lay down, it was a long time before there was any shut-eye going on. He was very sure she was shocked that she’d seen a dead body, but maybe, like him, she was also worried about the what-ifs: What if the killer had been out there with her? What if she had been taken down, too?
Assuming that guard didn’t trip in a groundhog hole and fall in such a way so as to snap his own frickin’ neck, someone must have done the job for him—which meant somebody with serious skills had managed to slip past C.P. Phalen’s security.
And there was only one group of individuals he could think of with that kind of know-how—
As a sharpshooter went through his frontal lobe, he hissed and rubbed over his eyebrows—then again, his brain felt like a muscle that had been unused until very recently. Fortunately, the pain faded quickly, especially as he replayed, for the hundredth time, the fact pattern of Lydia walking out of the house, and seeing something on the lawn, and going over to find a man whose neck had been snapped.
He looked over at Lydia. She had tossed and turned beside him throughout the night hours, settling only when he’d wrapped his arms around her and held her close. And wasn’t that another moment when he’d felt like a man instead of a cancer patient.
Not that the two couldn’t exist at the same time, as he was beginning to learn.
As if she sensed his regard, her lids opened. “Are you okay?” she asked in a gravelly voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He brushed her cheek. “I’m just going to go down to the lab for another round of fluids and perk-me-up. If you can, stay here and get some rest, even if you’re not sleeping?”
The murmur that came back at him was encouraging. It was the sound of drowsiness, and sure enough, her even breathing pattern resumed.
Being careful not to disturb her, he sat up, then stood up. She was so vulnerable, all tucked into herself, her legs drawn up, her arms, too, her hands cupped beneath her chin. They’d fallen asleep once again in their clothes on top of the duvet, and he reached down and pulled the extra comforter all the way over her so she would be warm.
“Love you,” he whispered in her ear.
“Love you,” she mumbled as she puckered for his kiss.
After he obliged, she sighed—and he put his feet into his running shoes and headed for the exit. Outside of their room, he took a quick listen. When he heard no voices echoing through the polished stone halls, he went down to the kitchen. He was surprised no one was at the counters or the stoves, not even the chef, who, ordinarily, would be slinging gourmet hash for a dozen or more breakfast plates.
Had C.P. ordered an evac of nonessentials? he wondered.
The guards were all at their usual posts in the house, and they did look on duty—but when did they not?
Heading out to the front, he passed through the foyer—where you could have played two or three games of professional volleyball simultaneously—and approached a closed set of double doors. Back when he’d been in better shape, during the early days of his diagnosis, he’d memorized the layout of the mansion, the intel garnered thanks to all those nights when he hadn’t been able to sleep.
So, yeah, he knew where C.P. Phalen’s war room was.
Arriving at the closed door, he knocked, and then looked up to the discreetly mounted fish-eyed camera that was at the ceiling. Giving a little wave, he waited.
If she wasn’t inside, she’d probably be down in the security center that was one floor below—
Things opened, and what do you know, not only was the woman herself the one doing the duty with the knob, she was also still in that fucked-up outfit of navy blue fleece and formal slacks. Still no shoes, either.
“Daniel,” she said with exhaustion. “If you’re looking for Gus, he’s in the lab—”
“No, I’m here for you.”
“I appreciate your concern—”
“You know what I am.” As the woman went silent and narrowed her tired eyes, he nodded. “There’s no way you let me stay in this house without doing a background check, and when you found my created identity, you probably tried to probe further. When that came out with nothing, you drew the right conclusions—and kudos for never asking me what I wouldn’t tell you, by the way.”