Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I should not be here right now. If I were followed, this would lead whoever was looking straight to Weland’s door.
I duck inside, my heart racing wildly.
It starts racing for another reason a few seconds later. Because when I enter the small living room that the place opens up to, it smells like freshly baked cookies, ocean breeze, and sickly sweet dog farts.
“Beans!” Weland rushes across the room to hug her dog.
I think it’s a dog. Kidding. I know it’s a dog. She was right about it looking more like a hairy potato, the fur looking like old scraggly beard trimmings glued onto a grey, dumpy sort of old potato with toothpick legs stuck at the bottom. If you are thinking of a five year old’s monstrosity of a drawing that is supposed to be a dog, then think this one.
Okay, that’s unkind. I love kids. I just don’t plan on having any of my own. But I do like them. A lot. Other people’s kids are great. I’ve always felt more at home with kids than with any other humans. Kids say what they mean, and they’re guileless. It’s refreshing to cut through the crap sometimes. Plus, they have great imaginations. I support tons of charities and most of them are all for kids because that’s where I’m passionate about making a difference. I’ve seen firsthand what giving someone a chance can do.
Anyway, it’s also mean to think gnarly negative thoughts about someone else’s dog. It can’t help its genetics or the life it had.
“I’m just going to take him for a quick walk.” Weland clips a leash onto the dog’s red leather collar. He wags his tail as she takes him to the door and then lets out little chuffing woofs, impatient to get going. “I’ll be right back.”
“You’re just going to leave me here?” I can’t believe it. She has zero stranger danger. This is not okay. My protective instincts roar to life, even if they’re misplaced in this situation. She’s not really mine to protect. She just needs to be hers to protect. To keep herself safe. I see no security here. The locks on the door look easy to get through. Yeah, the neighborhood is okay. Nothing scary going on there, at least. But that’s not the point. The point is, I’m a stranger in her house, and she’s just going to walk out.
“Sure, yeah. What are you going to do when I’m gone? Go through my underwear drawer and keep a pair of my panties like a weird and creepy panty snatcher?”
My face gets hot, and I don’t usually get hot faces. It’s not me. “Absolutely not.”
“Okay. Well, even if you don’t keep them, don’t go through them and sniff them or anything. I promise they all just smell like laundry detergent.”
“Holy Christ.”
Her cheeks go red to match mine. “Okay, that was too much.” She motions to the kitchen, which is just down from the living room. The whole area is open, with a staircase heading way up that looks far too steep and narrow right at the entrance. “I baked cookies this afternoon. They’re in a container on the counter. Feel free to help yourself.”
“I could be in here sprinkling drugs on your cookies. Getting up to no good. Committing nefarious murder. Are you sure about this?”
Her eyes narrow and rake up and down over me. My heart starts to pound all wonky again. “You did promise you aren’t a stalker or a creep, and you also said no seduction. So I think I’m safe.”
I quirk a brow. “I could say anything.”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “But you meant it. I can tell.”
I don’t get to respond because her dog leaps up and scratches at the door, wagging that stumpy tail like a maniac. Weland laughs, opens it, charges through, and then she’s gone, and I’m alone.
I need to fix this.
My first instinct is to call Smitty, but that would be giving up the game in the worst way. So that leaves…me. I can’t call my security people. Nothing to give me away. Not yet. But I will. I will make calls and put a team on Weland to make sure she’s safe. Someone to watch this condo since it’s not like I can drop by later and install security and better locks.
How can her father let her live like this?
How can her asshole husband do this? Why didn’t I insist on safety?
She’s been living on her own for years now, and she’s been fine. It’s not your business. You have no right to make it your business.
Except I’m here now, I’ve seen this place, I know I have to do something, and that’s all there is to it.
I might be four years late, but I’m going to help in any way I can. Even if it leaves just the slightest trail, it’s a risk I’m going to have to take. We only have one more year to get through. Just one more, and then Weland will be free. I’ll even give her a bonus. Buy her a house, a new car, whatever she wants. She won’t want it, but I’ll insist. She’ll never know it’s coming from me—the man she invited in and gave cookies to that probably tastes just like childhood and invokes the happiest of memories and sunny smiles because she’s sunshine and light, but that’s something I can live with.