Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
“A photographer, a boxer, and a brilliant businessman. You are an interesting man, Jax North.” I don’t give him time to be humble and object. “Are there photos of you as a kid in any of those?”
“Yes. And you want to see, I assume?”
“Of course.” I walk to stand next to him and grab an album from the shelf . “Now I’m dying to see but—are we invading Echo’s privacy?”
“Not with these albums. I know what’s inside. Have at it. Take a look. I’ll check his desk for any signs of where he is now.” He kisses me and walks to the desk. I take the album and sit down in a leather chair, excited to see what’s inside. I’m eager to see a young Jax, but a part of me secretly also craves a look at Hunter. Did he look like Chance when he was a child? I flip open the photo album and instead of Jax or Hunter, I find a photo of a beautiful woman with long light brown hair standing on the beach. Turning to the page, there is a collage of the same woman in all kinds of poses.
“Nothing,” Jax says. “The man keeps nothing in his damn desk. It’s like he’s not even human. He must keep it all on his laptop, which isn’t here; Walker looked for that as well.”
“Have they checked his digital footprint?”
“Yes, and that’s what worries me. He hasn’t logged onto his email or used his phone in days.”
“Oh,” I say. “You didn’t tell me that. No wonder you’re worried. That’s not good.”
“No. It’s not. I feel like it’s time to call the police. Walker says the resources for these types of cases are limited. They’ll still have to run the investigation but to appease me, they’re going to file a report.”
My mind goes back to that encounter with him again: “You know. We both know that you know. Do not test me. This is your one and only warning.”
He knows more than we know about what happened between Hunter and my father, maybe even more about what happened to Hunter than he’s let on. My gut knots with the idea that he’s gone because he knew what he thought I knew. Because he knows too much. But who knew that? Who would want him gone? I sigh and I look down at the woman in the photos, wondering if she might know something, too. Clearly she’s spent a lot of time with Echo. “Who is this woman, Jax?”
He crosses the room to kneel next to me. I turn the album around, and he glances at the photos, frowning instantly. “What the—” He takes the book from me and stands up, walking to the desk where he sets it down, flipping through the pages.
“Who is she?” I ask, standing to join him behind the desk.
Jax’s gaze lifts and finds mine. “My mother. It’s like a damn shrine to my mother. And I’m officially creeped the fuck out.”
Chapter ninety-eight
Jax
Ishut the photo album holding the photos of my mother that I can easily assume to be taken by Echo.
“You think he was obsessed with her?” Emma asks. “You said the photos creep you out. Are you thinking an affair or something far more dangerous? What are you thinking right now, Jax?”
A hell of a lot, I think, and none of it is good. Most of it would scare the shit out of Emma, too, which is why, for now, I keep it all to myself. “I don’t know, baby. I need time to process.” I glance at my watch. “And right now, we’re tight on time. We need to get back and shower before the brunch, and I have Grayson Bennett coming in for a meeting.”
She studies me a moment, clearly wanting to push for more, but obviously thinks better. “You already supply the bars in his hotels, right?”
“I do. I’m working with his investment consortium on another project.” Her brother’s future being that project, but that’s a topic we need to discuss after I meet with Grayson. I motion to the shelf to my right. “Check the books there, will you? Look for the DNA test stuck in a book. I’ll get the other shelf.”
Emma doesn’t move. “He didn’t leave that DNA test for me or the note. He’s not the one. I told you why.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a copy and knows about it. And these bookshelves seem to be the only place he keeps anything important.”
“Right,” she says. “Good point.” She hurries toward the shelf to get to work.
I do the same on my side and quickly start pulling out books, shaking them, thumbing through pages. We get twenty minutes into this process, and we’re out of time. “Anything?” I ask, hands settling on my hips under the jacket that I’m still wearing.