Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
“Who is this guy?”
“Broudou,” Travis clipped out. “I can’t. It could be my job.”
Brett went to a whole new level of scary. He didn’t move a muscle, but somehow everyone in the room knew it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“A reminder here,” he said quietly. “You guys want to find him. That’s your job. Her job isn’t being kept in the dark. She does not need to adhere to any of your rules. She has done nothing wrong—”
“He wants to kill her!”
“No shit. So give her a fucking fighting chance. Give us a name. Give us a picture of this guy.”
“And if we’re wrong? We could be destroying some guy’s life if we’re wrong.”
“We won’t say shit.”
“I can’t—”
“A picture.”
“I can’t! I don’t even know his name. I just know we have a name. That’s it.”
I could barely breathe from the pressure in the room.
It was almost crippling, but I was with Brett.
We needed a name. We needed a picture.
I started talking, “I used to help out around the neighborhood when I was younger. Before I came to the Mitchells, but after that too. I wanted to make money, knew I needed to make money. Wherever I stayed, whichever foster home I was at, I’d go to the neighbors. Offer to mow the yard. Do dishes. Walk the dog. This one lady paid me to play cards with her granddaughter. Mostly it was that they took pity on me, I think. But I helped. Odd jobs. They paid me in cash. And no matter how nice they were, there was still a look in their eyes. Maybe at first they didn’t know who I was, but it always got around. Foster kids whispered. That got to the parents, to the neighborhood, and then they were either scared of me—like what happened to me could happen to them—or they pitied me. They never took me seriously. Because of the way I grew up, I never really got treated like a normal person or a normal kid. Before Jojo’s, people looked down on me and my brother. We were poor. Mom didn’t want us to make friends. She said the less people who knew us, the better. I never understood it back then, but now, thinking back, I know some of that was because we were poor. She worried that because sometimes our meals were a little thin, someone would decide to take us away from her. She never gave herself credit for the love she had for us or how she made sure we had food in our bellies at the end of the night. She’d always sing to us. She had a real good voice. The way we grew up wasn’t normal. I didn’t know normal until I worked with Deandra. She didn’t care about my past. Martell did, and he was cautious. Deandra always took up for me.” My voice shook, just a little.
I took a deep breath before I continued. “She got me thinking I could do more than working in the grocery store. She noticed that I liked doodling on paper towels for my breaks. That was before we had all the technology available that we have now. And when we did, Deandra bought me an art tablet. It was over for me after that. Central Grocery were my first clients. It helped their business, so other businesses asked for my information. I chose at that moment not to be Willow Harm. I wanted a simple name, so I picked Melanie Morning.” I paused. Both guys watched me with such intensity. “I’ve enjoyed being treated like a normal person.”
Travis’ eyes sharpened. “What are you saying?”
“He took that away this morning.”
40
BRETT
She wouldn’t sit still.
I wanted to stay home from the Reeves’ dinner, but Billie wasn’t having it. Once she found out about it, it’s all she thought about. The FBI had taken her computer, so she’d spent the rest of yesterday and today using my computer to email all her clients, informing them she’d be changing all her contact information. She even took her website down, just to be safe.
“I’m nervous,” Billie exclaimed now when I looked her way after the third time she’d shifted in her seat in the car.
“Nervous bad or nervous good?”
“We should’ve brought chili.”
“Babe.” We’d had this conversation three times today. “I asked Stone and he said no on the chili. He’s just happy we’re coming.”
“Okay. That’s good.” She expelled a sudden and dramatic breath, pressing her hands to her stomach. “What if they’re scared to be around me? That’s a thing, especially now.”
“They won’t be scared.”
“But what if they are?”
“Billie,” I said softly.
She studied her hands at her stomach. “What?”
“They’re just happy I’m coming. If there’s any weirdness, it’ll probably be about me.”
“Wait. What?”
“I told you, didn’t I? I don’t have a lot of friends.”