Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
The soft creak of the baby monitor, the half-heard shuffle from one of the bedrooms. The unmistakable knowledge that two little people were sleeping just down the hall—and that we weren’t alone in this house.
He pulled back with a quiet groan, breathing hard, and rested his forehead against mine.
“This is torture.”
I laughed softly, breathless, my heart thudding so hard I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. “Tell me about it.”
His fingers stayed tangled in my hair as our foreheads touched, neither of us quite ready to move. Neither of us quite able to let go.
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that I wanted him so badly it hurt, that it wasn’t just about need, it was about everything. Safety. Comfort. Want. Love.
But I didn’t have to, he already knew.
I’d just gotten home from Roque’s and was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile on my face. The night had been something special. Dinner, the kids, the quiet comfort of just being with him. It felt like something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until I had it.
I shifted under the covers, hugging one of the pillows a little closer. God, I wanted him here in this bed, wrapped around me. But with the kids at his place, it wasn’t the right time. And as much as I craved that connection, I knew we had to be careful.
It didn’t make the ache go away, though.
I closed my eyes, breathing in slowly, trying to hold onto the feeling of his hands in my hair, the sound of his laugh low in his throat, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
Then a cat screamed outside—sharp and sudden, a violent sound that snapped through the night air—and a second later, something shattered.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart thudding so hard it echoed in my ears as I held my breath and strained to listen. There were no footsteps, creaking floorboards, or voices.
Still, I reached across the bed to Roque’s side, where the baseball bat sat leaning against the nightstand. He’d insisted I keep one close, and right now, I was grateful I hadn’t argued.
Bat in hand, I crept out of bed, my bare feet cold against the hardwood as I moved down the hall. My house was quiet, the shadows familiar as I checked the alarm panel was still armed. That little green light stared back at me, steady and reassuring there’d been no break-in.
But I walked through the house anyway, bat raised like I knew what I was doing. I peeked into every room and checked every door.
Still, the adrenaline made my fingers shake.
When I was finally convinced it had been something outside—some clumsy raccoon or a neighbor’s cat knocking over a garden gnome—I headed back upstairs.
On the way to my room, I paused at the doorway to the bathroom and flicked the light on just for a second.
There were all white fixtures and clean glass. The slate tiles underfoot were a deep, moody gray that made the whole space feel like a spa retreat. I loved it. Every inch of the new bathroom had been chosen carefully, and now, even shaken, I could appreciate how far the place had come.
I exhaled, flicked the light off again, and climbed back into bed, but the bat stayed on the sheets beside me this time.
I tried to sleep, but every creak of the floorboards and gust of wind outside the window made my fingers twitch toward it. I’d doze off, only to wake again, heart pounding.
It wasn’t until the sky started to turn gray that I finally slipped into something like real sleep. And even then, I never let go of the bat.
I was so exhausted the next morning that I didn’t notice the missing pane of glass in the rear living room window. If I had, I might’ve realized that whatever Roque had been so worried about had already found its way to my door and warned him.
Chapter 19
Roque
Another body had turned up in the woods—this time, we wished it was someone we didn’t know. He’d been identified as Kaden Roper, a nineteen-year-old from Palmerstown and a good kid with a bright future ahead of him. And he was Black, which made him a disturbingly perfect match for the pattern we were starting to see with our corrupt cops.
“You think it’s them?” I muttered to Judd as we stood by, watching the coroner lift Kaden’s body into the van.
“If it is, I swear I’ll kill them,” he said, voice tight, jaw clenched. I’d seen Judd angry before, but never like this. We’d been through hell together, but this hit differently. “I didn’t sign up for this job to watch racist, crooked bastards wear a badge and pretend they’re protecting people.”