Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“I agree,” I said. “One phone call, and you could’ve been there in two hours.”
From what Sage had told me, she’d grown up with her family in Kilgore, Texas, which was about a two-hour drive from Dallas.
It would’ve taken nothing for her to get to the funeral.
Hell, I would’ve taken her.
“I know,” she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe they’d do this.”
I couldn’t, either.
What kind of sick people were they?
Our lunch smoothed out after the initial shock of hearing about her mother’s passing.
She’d given me an update on her, that she’d gotten into the police academy and would start that with the other recruits next week.
She’d also told me about a new guy she was seeing, and how she thought he might be the one.
I told her about my brothers and my parents, about how the house I was building was coming along, and what my plans were for the rest of the week.
After I left lunch with her, I’d intended to go home.
Really, I had.
I’d been up all night working a SWAT call involving a motorist that had severe road rage and had decided to take the man hauling an RV hostage for cutting him off.
That had taken up the bulk of my night, then I’d had to write reports because my boss, Scott, had decided that reports were beneath him.
Since I was on SWAT only part-time, I was pretty much Scott’s personal bitch.
What he didn’t want to do, I did.
Like making sure that all of the men and women on SWAT had their education and hours up to date. I also coordinated everyone’s schedules, figured out who was on call and who wasn’t. Who had too many hours and couldn’t come in. It was a thankless, never-ending job that I needed a break from.
And going to bed for a solid eight hours to forget about it all sounded pleasant.
But something forced me to go by the bakery that Sage had talked about.
The bakery itself was great.
I loved the owner, Maven Brumfield.
She was the daughter of our chief of police, whom I didn’t really like all that much.
I was glad to see that the father and the daughter were nothing alike, or I wouldn’t have been able to go there as much as I did.
When I got inside, it was to see Pepper standing next to Maven, laughing her ass off.
As if she hadn’t just dealt her sister a blow days ago.
Both women’s eyes came toward me, and both smiled huge.
I scowled at the offensive woman and said, “So you’re Sage’s sister.”
And the smile that was on Pepper’s face fell away as if it’d never been.
On her beautiful face was now a look of apprehension.
One that confused me.
To change moods that quickly spoke of guilt to me.
“You know Sage?” Maven’s lips curled.
“You do, too,” I said. “I’ve brought her in here multiple times.”
Maven’s eyes went to Pepper, then back to me. “I see.”
I felt like I wasn’t understanding what exactly was going on, but it didn’t matter.
I was glad I’d found out who she was before I’d pursued anything with her.
That would’ve been awkward as hell.
“Can I, uh… get you something?” Pepper asked.
I ignored her and directed my order toward Maven.
“A couple of peach scones,” I said. “They’re Sage’s favorite.”
Pepper snorted. “Sage can’t stand peach. She says it reminds her of a vagina when she eats it.”
My brows rose. “That’s what she orders every time she comes in here.”
“That’s probably because it’s your favorite, too,” Maven muttered underneath her breath.
I doubted it.
If I hated something, I certainly wouldn’t eat it just because someone else liked it.
I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “She likes them.”
Pepper shrugged. “Whatever.”
Maven patted Pepper on the back and went back into the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.
I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Where’d you get that scar?”
I shouldn’t care.
Honestly, the information that Sage had shared about her sister… it was eye opening and sickening.
But still… I cared.
I needed to know.
“Which version would you like?” she asked.
“The truth,” I shot back, knowing I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.
“I don’t think you can handle the truth, officer,” she said as she boxed up my peach scones. “Not when you’re looking at me with hatred in your eyes for some imaginary transgression that my sister made up off the top of her head just so she could use you.”
I couldn’t stop myself from reaching forward and ringing the bell three times.
Goddammit.
I’d tried so hard not to do that, but it was a compulsion.
One I’d never been able to stop myself from doing.
Any kind of bell—whether it be a doorbell, a bike bell, or even the one sitting on the counter in front of me—I had to ring it.
I could usually hold off when it wasn’t important, but sometimes I just couldn’t.