Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
And why I’m focusing so hardcore on the furnishings is a mystery. My heart is beating double time. From fear or excitement or a combination of both, I do not know.
Connor is in the first cell. His brows draw together as he grips the bars. A raw and angry red laceration covers his cheekbone. The split in his lower lip has already dried. But his poor sore face is swollen in both places. Makes me want to march back out to the waiting room and hit Brian. Which would not be helpful.
I grip the bars and get in good and close. “Hey. Hi.”
“What are you doing here, Riley?” asks Connor. “Didn’t think I’d be allowed visitors. But I’m damn happy to see you.”
“I’ve come to get you out.”
“Have you?” He grins. And then he winces and gently prods at his lip. “How are you planning on doing that?”
“Ah, well, I baked you a cake with a file in the middle. Only problem is, all I had was a nail file so it’s going to take you a while. But better than nothing, right?”
“Do you know you babble when you’re nervous?” He wraps a hand around one of mine. “You’re trembling, Blue. Are you okay?”
“You’re the one who got hit. Twice even.”
He just waits.
“It’s been a night. But I’m fine. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” Then he turns to the lieutenant and asks, “Your boss in a better mood yet?”
“Worse if you can believe it,” says the lieutenant.
Connor grunts. “You’ll have to have your hero do hard time now. What with him being based on me.”
“Can we really call an hour or so hard time?” I ask.
He flashes a smile at me. Then flinches again. Ouch.
“Ma’am, you’re blocking the door,” says the lieutenant.
I step back. “Sorry.”
“What’s going on?” He turns to the lieutenant and asks, “Grace, is she in trouble?”
“No.” Grace unlocks the cell door. “She’s telling the truth. You’re getting out.”
“What about the assault charge?”
“You’re not up on any charges,” she says. “You’re free to go.”
His eyes widen. “Thank fuck for that. What happened?”
“Your mother tore Chief Larry to shreds,” I say.
He blinks. “No shit?”
“Did you know they dated in high school?”
There’s a patch of dry blood on his white tee. He grabs his jacket off the uncomfortable-looking bed before stepping out of his cage. His smile is small and lopsided in due deference to facial injuries. But the relief in his whole body is immense. Little lines around his eyes relax and his shoulders sink down to a more manageable level. He takes hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze.
That’s the moment when I can finally breathe again.
Connor lives a ten-minute drive away on the other side of the peninsula. We head to his place since he has ice packs in his freezer while I only have ice cream. The A-frame cottage is built on a rise with views of the water and the distant mountains during the day. Towering fir trees surround the buildings. Night birds and bugs and the distant crashing of waves fill the air. The place is magic. Just like something out of a fairy tale. Give or take the big four-bay garage and another shiny vintage muscle car parked in the front of the property.
He didn’t lie about the size of the place. It is cozy. An open, airy space with wood paneling and decks in both the front and back of the building. The front and rear are made of glass. During the day there’d be so much natural light. In the interior, on the main floor is a combined lounge and dining area, which leads into a galley kitchen. Then there’s the bedroom with a walk-in closet, bathroom, and laundry room. The loft upstairs is set up as an office and has a private veranda.
It is fascinating to be in his home. To search for hints about who this man is deep down. Not that there’s much to see. As far as décor goes, he’s a minimalist and scrupulously neat. There’s a cool old wood stove, a big comfortable-looking tan leather sofa and a solid wood dining table with bench chairs. Upstairs there are some family photos on the office desk along with a tangle of devil’s ivy growing out of an old bottle. But that’s about it. And there are no shoes in the house, so we’re both barefoot.
“Let me see.” I get between him and the mirror in the small plain white bathroom. A box of medical supplies sits on the counter.
“Finished snooping?”
“For now. You gave me permission to look around. Therefore it’s not exactly snooping, is it?”
“If you say so. Did you find anything interesting?” he asks with amusement in his gaze. His jacket is gone and his hair is in disarray. About what you’d expect after the night we’ve had.