Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I didn’t know this Dutch Panchek, but if she turned out to be legit, well then I’d tell her exactly what she needed to do to get away with murder.
CHAPTER 4
I accept apologies in the form of cash.
-Dutch’s secret thoughts
DUTCH
“I feel violated,” I admitted to my brother as I made my way through the security area of the penitentiary that he worked for.
“At least you don’t have to go through it every time you go to work like I do.” Tomas grinned.
That was true.
If I had to go through that every day I worked, I would be a hell of a lot less dressed up. Having to take off every single piece of jewelry I owned was a giant pain in the ass. Had I known, I wouldn’t have worn any jewelry at all.
“Why are you so dressed up, anyway?” Tomas asked.
Because I’m about to meet a really hot inmate, and I want to make a good impression.
What I said instead was, “Because I have a meeting with the district attorney after this.”
“The one that has a giant crush on you, yet refuses to admit it?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes.
Darriel was thirty-five years old, had never been married, and was a knockout. The only problem with him was that he was married to his job, and rarely gave anyone enough time of day to let them in.
I wasn’t sure why I’d been allowed in, to be honest, but it was one of those things that I decided not to question.
But, had Darriel Mackson decided that I was actually worth the time of day, and he wanted to pursue me, I knew what I’d say. No.
Why?
Because Darriel was too ‘good.’
He was too black and white. He refused to see the gray of the world, and God forbid he admit that he was wrong about something. Such as putting a man in prison for doing the job he should’ve fucking done himself.
Cough, cough, Wake Westfield, cough, cough.
Speaking of Wake Westfield… I was nervous as fuck to meet him.
I’d only ever heard about him through the grapevine.
Moving to Accident, Florida had been very enlightening. All the way up until everyone told me his entire life story, such as his ex-wife, Amber.
Amber, however, had zero love for him.
Not that I knew why, because apparently everything wrong in their marriage had been his fault, but I definitely wasn’t short on information about the man.
Obviously, being a licensed therapist meant that people talked to you about their troubles, whether you wanted them to or not.
I mean, Jesus Christ. Today I went to grab a latte from the local coffee shop, Ground Me, and the owner of the shop, Morrigan St. Pete, had given me her every complaint about every single customer that’d shown that day.
I loved Morrigan and all, and even though I’d only known her a very short time, I knew that one day she would be a very good friend. However, it would be nice to go in and get coffee without hearing who pissed who off that day.
“When they get you Westfield,” Tomas said, “for the love of God, don’t tell him anything about me. How or why you were able to get a meeting with him. Okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “I already told you in the parking lot that I wouldn’t say anything! Okay?”
Tomas covertly flipped me off, then he pointed to another guard that was standing beside a door that likely led farther into the prison.
“Go see him. And don’t come cryin’ to me when he doesn’t give you shit for your book, okay?” Tomas grumbled.
I gave him a thumbs up, then said, “Bye, Tomas.”
I didn’t wait for his reply, instead, heading straight to the man that I’d seen a time or two in town.
He never spoke to anyone, but I had seen him with his wife at the grocery store following behind her patiently.
I smiled at him when I arrived in front of him.
“Mick?” I asked curiously as I held out my hand. “I’m Dutch.”
“Dutch,” he said as he took my hand. “That’s a weird name for a girl.”
“It is,” I confirmed. “But my mother knew two things about my father. One, that he was an asshole, and two, that he was Dutch.”
“So she named you after someone she didn’t like?” Mick asked curiously.
“Tomas got the Dutchman’s first name. I got the Dutchman’s nationality. I don’t think she liked either one of us all that much and wanted to give us a name to prove it,” I told him bluntly.
Which was true.
If there was anyone in this world that deserved to never have children, it was Mary Lou Carpenter. Even the ones that she’d had were practically taken away from her.
Though, Mary Lou had done one good thing for me. She’d instilled a drive in me that encouraged me to get a very good job and get the hell away from her while doing that job.