Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I look at him in surprise, as I finish my mug of tea and place it on the counter. His housekeeper scoops it up with a smile and stashes it in the dishwasher before I’ve put my hand back in my lap.
Okay, I could totally see why having a housekeeper is a good thing.
“What do you mean?”
He crosses the room to me, all fluid grace and muscle despite his bulk, and leans across the counter on his arm, speaking in a low rumble. “You okay? Or do you need some time to yourself?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice distant while my heart beats a thunderous beat in my chest. I can handle his arrogance and anger, but concern… now that’s another story.
He nods. “Then why don’t you fill us in.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Violet
An hour later, we wrap up for the night. Cain calls it “taking a break,” giving me a good idea of what it’s like to work with him. I’m not surprised, though. With his background, he’s used to working in godawful conditions at any hour he needs.
I saw the doctor, a rather short, stocky woman with wiry black hair graying at the temples and thick, round glasses. She was brief. She pronounced me banged up but otherwise unharmed, her examination taking place around me talking over her shoulder at the guys.
“Someone already bandaged you up pretty well,” she said. When I told her it was Cain, she didn’t respond.
His team has a list of details to investigate, and we’re trying to get a read on Dossier. I want to stay up and help, but my eyes feel so heavy I can hardly keep them open.
We have work to do. I have to let his team handle it.
I gave them my information. I don’t want to put this down right now, but I can hardly keep my damn eyes open.
The bartender told us they were going to Canada. A lie, maybe?
Derrick Dossier has no listed address, no job that we can find, and virtually nothing to lead us to where we might find him. Honestly, the rest of the details begin to meld into my brain. I’m so tired, I feel like I’m starting to short-circuit.
Cain’s standing by Joe, his arms crossed on his chest. I’m behind him on one of the stools, trying to sit upright before I keel right over. He looks over his shoulder at me, then turns around and faces me.
“You need to get to bed.”
I yawn widely and want to protest like a small, petulant child. I’m not tired. But I’m no good to anyone if I can’t see straight.
“Yeah.”
I go to pick up my bag, but he reaches for it and swings it over his shoulder. I’m in no mood to fight with him, so I let him. Without a word, he slides his hand over the small of my back.
A moment ago I felt like I could fall asleep and not wake up until Christmas. Now, I’m suddenly very, very awake.
We were pretending earlier that I meant something to him. Why’s he doing this now? A part of me wants to pull away, and another part of me realizes that stumbling right now would only make me look foolish.
“This way,” he says, like the only reason he’s got his hand on my back is so he can show me where to go.
Very interesting, Mr. Master. Very interesting indeed.
He leads me to a staircase I’ve only seen from a distance. I stare at the steep, hardwood stairs and briefly consider asking if he’ll let me sling myself up on his back, but that seems kinda desperate, and I don’t even have the energy to do that.
When he takes his hand off my back, I wobble a little. I’m vaguely aware of him frowning at me. I push myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, but every step feels like my feet are getting heavier.
Finally, we reach the top of the stairs. My vision blurs as he steps to the left. “This way.”
In my mind’s eye, his voice is the low rumble of volcanoes churning. I follow the rumble automatically.
“Why so far?” I ask, my words slurred. I’d sleep on the damn landing at this point. That carpet looks pretty inviting.
“Just about there,” he says almost gently, in that tone he used earlier. “I want your room near mine.”
Of course he does.
He stops short, and like an idiot, I don’t stop in time. I crash into his back like I’ve just learned how to walk. He turns and catches me as I wobble on my feet.
“Sorry.”
“Christ, woman,” he says in a low rumble. Without a word, he does what I wanted him to do but had been too proud to ask. He bends, then effortlessly lifts me, my feet dangling and my head lolling to the side on his chest.