Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I glance over my shoulder.
And when a gorgeous, gray-eyed bad boy in a suit demands to whisk you off to an island to keep you safe—life could be worse.
Troy catches me watching him. I wait for a smile, a grin, or a smirk. Instead, he returns to the winding road leading to Kiawah Island.
“You’ve been quiet,” I say as we cross a bridge.
There’s been nothing but swamps, water, and vegetation for a long time. I’d think he was taking me to the middle of nowhere, except there’s been a steady stream of cars in both directions.
“I didn’t figure you wanted to talk,” he says.
“Me? Not want to talk? It’s like you don’t even know me.”
This gets me a half of a smile. “You’ve had a lot of shit thrown at you today. I wanted to give you space.”
I shift in my seat, ready to get out of the car.
Troy hasn’t said a whole lot since we left Landry Security a few hours ago. He’s been on his phone off and on, and I’ve made a point not to listen. Not that I could hear or understand him anyway. But I’m sure if I did catch pieces of his conversations, my anxiety would rise again, and if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s that.
“How much farther until we get there?” I ask.
“You just asked me that.”
“I haven’t asked since the airport.”
“We’ll be there when we get there.”
I laugh. “I bet your dad said that a lot to you growing up. You had to be the kid who was a giant pain in the ass.”
A shadow falls over his face. “Something like that.”
Out of nowhere, the vegetation parts and a security guard station blocks the road in front of us. A road extends to the right, disappearing into a grove of trees as the pavement curves around a bend.
“There’s a blue piece of paper in the glove compartment,” Troy says, motioning toward the dash. “Can you grab it for me, please?”
“Sure.” I fiddle with the button until I open it and find the pale blue piece of paper tucked inside the owner’s manual. “Here you go.”
He takes it and pulls up to the guard station. A man with a long mustache holds out his hand.
“How are you folks this afternoon?” the man asks, looking at the paper. He then inspects the car’s VIN beneath the windshield wiper.
“We’re good. You?” Troy asks.
“I’m here. That’s about all I can say for today.”
I grin. “I like your mustache.”
The man leans down to see me more clearly. “Thank you, young lady.” He hands Troy the blue paper. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“I do,” Troy says.
“Very well. Enjoy your visit.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving him a friendly wave.
Troy shakes his head as we pull through the gate.
“What are you shaking your head about?” I ask.
“We’re here quietly, meaning the idea is to stay hidden in plain sight. That doesn’t really work when you’re chatting with the pilot on the plane, exchanging Black Friday tips with the lady at the airport, and complimenting a guy on his fucking mustache.”
“Well, that mustache was cool as hell. The pilot was nice. And I don’t gatekeep shopping tips.” I cross my arms over my chest and admire the luscious green golf course on either side of the road. “Just so you know, I was going to ask how much longer until we’re there, but I stopped myself.”
We approach another guard shack, and the blue paper process is repeated. This time, I don’t mention the guy’s neat silver-y beard.
We enter what appears to be a neighborhood full of very, very expensive homes. Trees tower over the road, casting shade on the car and instantly bringing the temperature down a few degrees.
Troy’s forearm flexes as he turns the steering wheel into the driveway of the largest home at the end of the narrow street. Foliage from the trees and shrubs blocks a direct view of the house from the road. But as we pull farther into the driveway, all breath leaves my body.
My jaw drops. “Oh, my gosh. We’re staying here?”
“Lincoln Landry does nothing small.”
“You know, I’ve always suspected that.”
Troy glares at me as he parks the car, but I’m too preoccupied with the house to care.
A two-story, villa-style home sits proudly in front of us. The light brown stucco is accented with a deep chocolatey color around the windows and trim. It somehow feels quaint and majestic at the same time.
The garage door opens, and we pull inside. It closes behind us.
“I guess if we have to leave our homes, at least we get to stay here, right?” I ask, climbing out of the car.
“It could be worse.”
Troy types in a code onto a keypad. I smile at him as we step inside.
A small foyer is bright with cream-colored stone floors and almost pink-hued plaster walls that give the room a Mediterranean feel. Straight ahead is an arched doorway that leads to a patio. We turn to the left and enter the main living area.