Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“How’d you know it was me?” I ask, because I totally caught that he said my name. He probably has some private investigator, super-tech app that gives out the caller ID no matter who’s calling. Or maybe he recognized my voice?
“This is the same number you had before. I memorized it.”
His answer is short and to the point. The ramifications are anything but. “You memorized my phone number years ago and have just been waiting for me to call?”
He grunts. I’m not sure if it’s a yes or a no, but it seems to be the only answer he’s going to give. “What do you want?” he repeats, more forcefully this time.
“Oh, uhm…” I stammer, really not sure this is such a good idea anymore.
A vision of Austin sitting in his recliner, Beth smoking on the front porch, and whatever kids they have staying with them doing homework at the kitchen table while the oldest kid cooks dinner flashes through my head. If that’s it, it’s okay. But what if that’s not all it is? So I swallow my pride and ask for help, something I hate to do. Something I don’t do, have never done.
“I wondered if I might could ask you for a teeny-tiny favor?” I let my voice lift several octaves above my natural timber to hopefully encourage the menacing man to agree.
“Anything,” he replies instantly. “I told you that.”
I relax a bit. He did tell me that, right after bluntly informing me that my biological father had died of a heart attack mere days after I’d met him for the first time and my last genetic link on this earth was gone, just like my mother.
“Back when I was in foster care,” I start, figuring if he memorized my phone number, he probably remembers my history, “I was adopted by Austin and Beth Collins. I ran away about a year later, but Austin tracks me down every once in a while. He called me tonight, told me to come home and bring him the severance money I just got because my nanny gig ended. I told him no, of course, but then he said something that made me worry…” I trail off, nibbling at the cuticle on my thumb as I replay Austin’s words in my head.
“Are you safe?”
“Huh?” I shake my head, refocusing. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m worried about the kids with him and wondered if you might check in on them somehow. Make sure they’re not being grossly neglected or worse.” I let that hang in the air, not willing to give voice to what could be happening in a worst-case scenario.
“You think he’s hurting them?” Cole growls, sounding terrifying.
“No, no, no,” I rush to say, but then swallow. “Austin and Beth aren’t that type. Or they weren’t. But I got a bad feeling and I can’t exactly roll up to the front door and demand proof they’re taking care of the kids. Just better to check than be sorry.”
“Why not call in for a welfare check with the state?” Cole questions flatly.
I hum, now chewing on my lip as I consider what would seem to be a reasonable suggestion. “Because if it’s the usual neglect, the kids might be better off there than where they’d be sent. Austin and Beth aren’t fairy godparents, but they’re not the worst either, and I’d hate for the kids to pay the price if I’m overreacting to Austin’s threats.”
“He threatened you?”
Cole’s voice is nothing more than an ice-cold rumble, and I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “He called me a ‘pretty little thing’.” I know that’s not bad. Hell, I’ve been called worse by men on the street, but it felt ickier from the man who once claimed he wanted to be my father. Hell, who according to the state actually is my adoptive father. “And he’s been showing up at the places I go lately. Stuff like that. But I’m fine. I can handle that myself. Just check on the kids for me, okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees, and the knot in my gut releases. If Cole says they’re fine, I’ll know they are. He’s not going to leave kids in danger or any type of sketchy situation. He’s scary as hell, but he’s good at his core. Reading people is one of my many superpowers, one that’s saved my ass more than a few times, so I trust my instincts implicitly, and they tell me that Cole is one of the good guys despite his gruff façade.
“Thanks.”
“On one condition,” he adds, and my breath hitches. His voice goes quiet as he asks, “Can you come help with my son for a few days? Janey is amazing, and Emmett is awesome, but I’m a complete fuckup. I mean, fudge-up. And you obviously know what you’re doing because the gas trick worked. And you said your job ended, so you’re available. I’ll pay double whatever your usual rate is.”