Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“I heard you had a dog,” I say, offering my fingers for the German Shepherd to sniff. “What’s his name?”
“Rolf,” he answers. “He’s a K-9 retiree from New York. He makes good company.”
“Oh, wow. I bet he does.” I can’t help smiling while Rolf stretches his neck, tongue lolling, and sniffs my hand.
But his ears flip back with a disgruntled sound and he turns his face away, the slow wag of his tail completely stopping.
“I’m sorry?” I pull my hand back.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ainsley says. “He’s old, spoiled, and set in his ways. He doesn’t warm up to new people easily. Always takes the guys on the police crew a hundred treats to bribe him into feeling civil.”
I smile again, wondering if he’s talking about the dog or himself.
With a nervous laugh, I look away and run a hand through my hair.
“It probably doesn’t help that I still smell like varnish no matter how much I shower. That stuff’s potent, and aren’t their noses pretty sensitive? He’s a drug dog, right?”
“He was,” he says.
Then nothing.
I look him over carefully. He’s staring out over the water, his face pensive. Rolf settles at his feet, quietly leaning against his legs.
“So, what did you want to talk about, Officer Ainsley?”
“Micah,” he clips, his lips firm. “I’m not on the job right now.”
I huff out a breath. “Wait. I’m supposed to call you Micah, but I’m still Miss Grey? I’m not on the clock, either.”
“Using a respectful title has nothing to do with your job.” He’s so still, so quiet, the only motion is his thumb rubbing the leash looped around his cragged knuckles. “You can call me Mr. Ainsley, if you’d like.”
“It just feels stiff. I’m fine with calling you Micah if you are. You’re the one who won’t say my name.”
“Talia,” Officer Ainsley—Micah—growls.
Oh God.
His voice feels like a cloud of frost. I shiver.
My eyes widen as I hug my arms around myself.
Suddenly, I can’t even feel the cool night breeze.
I’m too hot, burning from my scalp all the way to my toes.
Breathe.
I count three breaths in, three breaths out, reminding myself I can’t get so flipping worked up over a guy saying my name, even if it’s with a voice like frozen sin.
“You wanted to talk about Xavier Arrendell?”
“Yes,” he answers, suddenly all business. His voice drops from cool to downright frigid. “How much do you know about the Arrendells’ scandals?”
“Um…” I bite my lip, racking my brain. There’s so much, growing up in this town, let alone the news lately. “I mean, until the last year or two, it was all rumors, right? The kind of stuff where you never really know what’s true and what’s gossip. I know the oldest son, Vaughn, he left a long time ago and no one knows why. But people think he did something really awful. And Montero, he’s a known womanizer. He and Lucia act like they kind of hate each other. I don’t know why they stay married.”
“Go on.” Micah nods.
“…but they know a lot of big celebrities and power broker types, don’t they? And people think Lucia’s connected, like using her money for dark stuff and not just charity, buying off rich folks for favors. Plus, all the rumors about the missing girls, but that turned out to be Ulysses and that whole rotten business with the new teacher. Then the Faircrosses and their trouble... I heard Aleksander jetted around the world, throwing wild parties with sex and supermodels before he started to settle down—” I stop and clear my throat. “I mean, before he tried to marry his half sister. Gross.”
“Nasty as hell,” Micah rumbles. “What else? What do you know about Xavier?”
“Xavier… I guess nobody talks about him as much. He’s older and not as flashy as the other two. But I thought there were rumors he’s been in and out of rehab since he was a teenager? He’s kind of standing in everyone else’s shadow, but it’s more like he’s a shadow himself.” I let out a rush of breath after tumbling over those words. “Did I miss anything?”
Micah’s eyes sharpen.
He lets out this low, rolling laugh like sandstone and grit. It lights up his face in a way I couldn’t have imagined, like a glacier catching the sun.
“Glad your lungs are doing better,” he says. “I don’t think you even stopped for breath once. When you showed up wearing the same color, I admit you had me worried.”
I glance down, blushing at my windbreaker. “This? It’s just my coat.”
“And the gloves, the purse. Does all that pink give you some special powers with your woodwork?”
“Hey! You can’t come at a girl for having a favorite color and a sense of fashion.” I turn my face up mockingly.
He chuckles like thunder moving in.
God help me, I can feel it in my bones.