Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
“I may have shut it a little too hard last night,” she whispers, ducking her head, but I want her eyes on me. I’m not done looking at her.
“What’s your name?” Her eyes fly back up to meet mine, and I’m sure my question sounded like a demand mixed with a growl, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Me?” She looks around like there might be some random person outside with us that she didn’t notice before.
“Yeah, what’s your name?” I smile.
“I don’t know if I should tell you.” She frowns at me, causing a little crease to form between her brows.
“You don’t know if you should tell me your name?”
“I don’t know you.”
Chuckling, I move away from the door toward her then stop when her body gets visibly tight and her eyes fill with fear. My jaw tics and I feel my heart squeeze at her reaction. Pulling in a breath through my nose to calm myself down, I tell her softly, “My name’s Justin. I live in apartment 210.” I tilt my head toward the building behind us, hoping she’ll feel more comfortable knowing I’m her neighbor.
“Justin.” She swings her eyes from me to the building and back again.
“Justin,” I confirm.
Licking her bottom lip, she takes a step toward me then stops and sticks out her hand. “I’m Aubrey. I live with Shelly.”
“Nice to meet you, Aubrey.” I take her hand in mine, realizing how delicate and fragile she is. She’s so damn tiny her head barely reaches the middle of my chest.
“You too.” She pulls her hand from mine and takes a step back. “Shelly said you’re nice.”
That news is surprising. I’ve only spoken to Shelly a handful of times since she moved in. Then again, she probably thinks I’m nice because I don’t call the cops on her every time she has a party, which is pretty much every damn night.
“Crap, I’m totally gonna be late to work,” she says, looking at her phone, and I notice it’s the kind of phone you buy for twenty dollars, the kind I use as a throwaway when working cases and don’t want anyone to be able to trace a call back to me.
“Have you tried your other doors?” I ask, and her cheeks get even darker as she presses her lips together and tucks her phone into her back pocket. “Your other doors don’t work either,” I guess from the look on her face.
“No, only the driver side door opens. The other doors were welded shut, because they kept opening on the fly while I was driving.”
“Jesus.” I run a hand over my head and look at the car. I don’t think she’d approve of me taking her car to the junkyard where it belongs and buying her a new one. At least not yet anyway.
“I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than stand out here with me. I’ll just go in and ask Shelly if I can use her triple-A. Hopefully they can send someone out who can pull the door open for me.”
She starts to walk away, but I can’t let her go.
“I can drop you at work.”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder and smiles a smile that seems to make time come to a standstill. “That’s really sweet, but—”
“Sweetheart,” I cut her off. “It’s gonna take at least twenty or more minutes for someone to show up, and you already said you’re gonna be late for work.” Looking at me then her car, I can tell she’s torn. “I promise you’ll be safe with me.” I draw an X with my finger over my heart. “Scout’s honor.”
She turns around, studying me, and then tips her head to the side. “Were you a Boy Scout?”
“No,” I tell her truthfully, and her lips lift into a gorgeous smile then she laughs once more. This time, the sound hits me right in my gut. “You can tell Shelly you’re going with me and send her a picture of my license.”
She blows out a breath then nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. My car’s right over here.” I lead her over to my Range Rover that is parked on the other side of the lot, clicking the alarm off. I open the door for her, making sure she’s settled before I slam it closed. Jogging around the back, I get in behind the wheel and feel myself relax.
“This is a nice car,” she says, and I smile then press the button that starts it up.
“It was a gift from a friend of mine,” I tell her, and her eyes get big.
“A gift?”
“Well, more of a bribe,” I clarify. “My buddy in Hawaii tried to bribe me into coming to work for him with this car.”
“You’re in Tennessee,” she points out softly, looking around the interior of the SUV.