Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Payment is for me and the cleaner,” Boaz said, tapping on the paper Dominic had in hand. “Send it in increments, so you don’t ring any bells.”
“Sure, I got it. I’ll have it sent.” And he would. He’d work out the kinks later, when Boaz was far, far away from him.
Boaz nodded, and as if he were satisfied with that, he unlocked the doors again and climbed out of the car. Before he went, he ducked his head back in and said, “Keep Jolene away from this. If she finds out I did any work for you, I’m sure I’ll lose my position at True Oil.”
Dominic raised a guiltless hand. “The only people who know about this are me, you, and that cleaner. And I’m not going to rat on myself.”
“Too much on the line, right?” Boaz chuckled, his teeth glinting behind the blue light of the dashboard. His smile made Dominic shudder. “Don’t forget the deposits,” Boaz said, then he closed the door and went back to his truck.
Dominic drove away immediately, and though his flight to Raleigh wasn’t for another six hours, he headed straight to the airport, returned his rental car, and sat near his designated terminal, eager to get home.
He expected police to barge into the airport, arrest him in front of thousands of people, some of whom would have their phones out to record it. But no one came. He was safe, the body was gone, and once he was home, it’d be impossible for anyone to prove the horrible thing he’d done.
THIRTY-EIGHT
JOLENE
I couldn’t sleep after the way Dominic left. Something is going on with him and it’s throwing off all my plans.
I have to run into work for a virtual meeting with one of my tea suppliers. We’re running low on our lavender honey mix, and they’ve been having a hard time producing due to shortages. Fortunately, the meeting doesn’t take long and after having all the employees gather in the loft to discuss a price increase for lavender honey until the supplier can adjust, I leave the boutique and drive across town.
I checked Dominic’s location last night, shortly after he left. It showed him at the apartment we rent out on West Peace Street. I pull into the lot of our apartment complex, taking out my keys and entering the building with my fob. I ride the elevator up to our floor and my heart thunders in my chest as I approach our door. I unlock it and open the door slowly.
The apartment is vacant, and everything is as it should be. The bed is made. Kitchen counters are clean and spotless, the glass panes of the windows are smudge free.
I close the door behind me, setting my purse and keys on the kitchen counter. I’ve always loved this apartment. I tell myself often that when Dominic and I are over, I’ll live here for a while. I don’t care about the house. I’ll take my car, my things, and stay here. The apartment has a city view and right now the entire living room is bathed with sunlight, courtesy of the broad windows lining one wall. I glance at the kitchen made of marble, pale gray cabinets with gold handles and knobs. Nothing is out of order. It’s almost like no one was here, but I know Dominic was. I saw his location pinned here. He’d been at the apartment for hours before riding to Executive Mansion.
My heels click on the wooden floorboards as I venture across the studio, trying to find anything out of ordinary. I check under the bed to no avail. I check the bathroom, shuffling through the drawers and cabinets, but it’s all the same things—toothpaste, toothbrushes, wash cloths, towels.
I leave the bathroom, huffing as I step into the kitchen. I check each cabinet, drawer, and even the fridge and freezer. Nada.
Blowing a breath that causes one of my braids to flap, I stand in front of the window and look out at the city. Why did he come here last night? What was he doing? I whip out my phone, checking his location again on the app.
He’s on a freeway, leaving Raleigh. But wait. He’s not going in the direction of Charlotte. I frown, zooming in on the map. “Where the hell are you going, Dom?”
I lower the phone, glancing at the TV on top of the wooden stand. Two doors are on either side of the stand, but one of the doors is slightly propped open. I lower to a squat and draw the doors apart. The right side is empty however the left contains a shoebox. Why is a shoebox under the TV? I haul it out and carry it to the counter. When I remove the lid, my heart pumps harder and faster when I spot an old Nokia cellphone I’ve never seen before, along with a charging cable and folded sheets of paper. But what steals the breath out of my lungs most is the purse with dirt and blood on it.