Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Whoever made my coffee wrong pissed me off. I mean, I had to deal with my father and a bunch of pompous politicians today. Can I not just get a fucking proper coffee?
I stand up and march to the counter. Jay is already gone, out the door, adios. There sure are a lot of men with their panties in a wad right now. I slide my coffee across the counter. “This is not a white mocha. It’s a latte.”
“I’ll make you another,” the barista, some kid with a blank stare, says, and he’s already turning away, tuning me out. I’d yell for him to truly process what I’m saying to him, but I don’t have enough caffeine in me to do it. I am not feeling good about my proper coffee ever finding me right now.
That’s when I too turn away from the barista and all but run into a familiar face. Bonnie, the pretty redheaded waitress from Curly Joe’s is here, waiting on a coffee order, and her eyes go wide when they land on me. “You,” she says, paling as if she’s seen a ghost.
“It is me,” I say, curious about her reaction. “Tell me what that means to you.”
“I saw your picture on the news. You’re Grant Love’s daughter, the FBI agent.”
I’m Grant Love’s daughter. Words to make me punch someone. Holy hell. Shoot me. My attention on Bonnie is officially a little sharper. “I’m back to tell me what that means to you.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about Nathan?”
“It wasn’t public yet.”
“You didn’t even tell us you were FBI.” Her eyes gloss over and it’s fairly obvious she knows Nathan a little better than she let on last night. “You could have told us.” Her tone is bitter and angry.
“Your coffee,” the barista dude calls out to me.
I ignore the idiot. “Let’s sit and talk, Bonnie.”
“I really need to go,” she argues. “I have to be to work in an hour.”
“Then why are you on this side of town? This isn’t exactly close to your job, and I assume your home.”
“My mom lives over here. She’s freaking out over all these murders.”
She cuts her eyes. She’s lying. “Can you give me ten minutes?”
There’s a panicked look in her eyes, but she manages a calm reply of, “Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Let me get my coffee,” I say. “You sit.” I point to my table.
She nods and walks toward it. I grab my coffee, only to have a new female barista say, “Sorry for the mix-up, Agent Love, and I just have to tell you, I love your father. He’s so handsome and smart.”
Mother of God, give me the kid with the blank stare back. Of course, she loves him. She’s a middle-aged woman. They all love him. “It’s Mendez,” I correct her. “Agent Mendez.” She sets another coffee down. “Oh. I thought you were someone else, I guess. The FBI agent on TV. That’s your friend’s coffee.”
She thought right, and no doubt, this crap is happening because my father’s people blasted me all over the news. They’re predictable. It’s boring. I grab both coffees and walk back to the table. Once I sit down across from Bonnie, she leans forward and says, “I slept with him. I couldn’t tell you that last night because that would be a weird thing to tell a customer, but I slept with him. It was a week ago. I was at his house. My DNA will be at his house. I wasn’t here to see my mom. I was going to go to the police and tell them and chickened out. Are you here because you were following me?” Tears are now streaming down her face.
I’ve seen killers cry and heard them whine. Hell, once I saw a vicious killer ball up on the floor in the fetal position and suck his thumb. To say that I’m immune to tears is an understatement. “Tell me again, when was the last time you saw him?”
“A week ago, last night. He wasn’t in Monday. He was supposed to call me, too, and he didn’t. So that’s why I told you to tell him to call me.”
That’s not exactly what she told me last time, which is why I asked questions different ways at different times. “How many times did you sleep with him?”
“Just that once.”
“Were you dating?”
“No, but we talked a lot when he came into Curly Joe’s.”
“What do you know about his hobbies, friends, and enemies?”
“I don’t. He was kind of arrogant, on top of the world, with a bright future and all. We talked school mostly.”
“If he was arrogant, why sleep with him?”
“I was really attracted to him and his confidence.”
“And yet you called him arrogant. Explain what you mean by arrogant.”
“Confident.”
“I’m confused. You used both words. Which is it?”