Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Carter, will you just cut the crap?” I tell him.
“That was Landon Cross,” he says after a pause.
“Yeah, so what? Do you know him?” When Carter stares at me, I feel obligated to explain. That isn’t fair, but he’s leaving me no choice and seems serious about it. “He helped me when I was a kid, and he was—”
Helping me with the bar, but Carter cuts me off.
“Helping people,” Carter grunts. “Yeah, some hero he was, swooping in on the right cases, choosing his moment, getting the right photo ops, and articles in the newspapers. Yes, he’s so selfless, and where is he now? What is he doing? Still helping people?”
I feel my cheeks burning red. There’s no reason for me to care this much, but—“That’s not fair, Carter. He did help me. I would’ve gotten split from my mom if it wasn’t for him. He gave her a chance. He got my dad to back off. He’s a good person.”
“Yeah, when he wants to be,” Carter grunts. “I used to know him. Not much, but everyone in our line of work did. Landon Cross with his slick suits and his habit of picking cases that make him look good.”
“How is that fair?” I snap. “So you think he should’ve just let the city tear me away from my mom? You think he should’ve let my dad keep harassing us?”
“I’m not saying that,” he says, “but the fact is, we do the work—everybody here, in the trenches, for shit pay, without the photo ops. Sure, he helped, but not as much as anyone in this building. He still got all the praise.”
“He was raising awareness,” I say. “A few journalists interviewed Mom, and maybe there was a photo, but what was the harm? He didn’t make any money off it.”
“Yeah, almost like he had ulterior motives.”
“So what if he wanted to look like the good guy? Is that such a bad thing?”
Carter gets that searching expression. I don’t like it because it feels as if he will find something in me. “You’re defending him pretty enthusiastically. Why was he dropping you off, anyway? You kept in touch after he helped you?”
“No,” I snap. “He’s …” But hearing Carter’s opinion of Landon stops me from revealing the truth. “We reconnected recently by chance.”
“Reconnected,” Carter says, nodding.
“You can wipe that look off your face. You shouldn’t be taking such an interest in my personal life, anyway.”
“He’s not the person you think he is,” Carter grumbles.
“What does that mean? Do you know something I don’t?”
“Yeah, but I can’t tell you.”
“How convenient.”
“It would breach confidentiality, but if you care so much, ask him about the case with the apple trees. He’ll know what I’m talking about. He plays the nice guy, but there’s a demon in him, Lily. He hides it well, but it’s there.”
“What am I working on today?” I hiss.
“We’ll be together today,” Carter replies. “These solo projects are landing us in trouble. It’s time we played by the rules for a while.”
“I thought this was all about helping people.”
“Yeah, but you can’t help anyone if you’re dead.”
I look down at my desk so that Carter can’t see the rage in my eyes. It’s not fair that I’m being punished for trying to do the right thing. Deep down, I know Carter’s doing this because he wants to keep me safe. Still, it feels wrong, forgetting about that bar and those kids. It feels like a betrayal.
I want to ask Carter about that case, the demons in Landon. I haven’t seen any demon in him: passion and intensity, but nothing bad.
Not yet, a small voice whispers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LANDON
When I return to the office, Ethan is sitting in my desk chair, holding my Sig P365. He’s unloaded it, the magazine on the table and the chamber open. “What the fuck is this?” he grunts.
“What does it look like?” I snap. “Put it away.”
“Why have you got a gun in the office, Landon?” Ethan asks sternly. For all his flashiness, he’s a stickler regarding the rules. “What if we’d had a client in, and they’d gone into your desk looking for a pen or something?”
“Then I’d tell them to mind their own goddamn business.”
“Listen, I know you’ve had a scare, but going off the rails won’t help.”
“I’m not off any rails. The bar I’m looking into has links to the mob and the cartel. Would you rather I didn’t protect myself?”
“You shouldn’t need to protect yourself,” Ethan grunts, putting the gun down. “This crap with the bar and the mob and the cartel … It’s none of your business. Nothing good can come of it, especially if it means bringing weapons into the office. You need to focus on your health.”
“I thought I needed to focus on helping people end their marriages?”
“We trained for this. We retrained for this. We specialized. We’ve worked damn hard. I won’t sit here and listen to you put down our—” He stops when the buzzer cuts through the office. “Oh, shit.” He stands suddenly all business again. “That’s Rosita Rubberton.”