Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Because this was a man rich enough for his own private plane. Of course he had his own damn airstrip with his own staff who were likely so dependent on his paychecks that they wouldn’t step in even if he held me down and assaulted me in front of them.
Great.
That was just wonderful.
“You can unclench your jaw, Shawn,” he said, making me stiffen again at hearing my name on his lips. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You know, that is the exact thing that every shithead rapist-murderer in movies says right before he gets to the raping and murdering.”
“What do I have to do to inspire some confidence in me?” Bellamy asked.
“Give me back my knife, for starters. And my gun,” I added, and that niggling, uncomfortable whisper in the back of my head still wanted to know why I’d had the gun in the first place.
“Alright, here,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket, and tossing my knife back at me. “Better?”
“And the gun?”
“Could depressurize the cabin if it went off. So we are going to keep that safe up by the pilot for the time being.”
Well, if he was telling the truth, at least he wasn’t in possession of it. And honestly, his suit was cut tightly enough that I was pretty sure I would have seen the bulge of the gun if he had it on him.
With the migraine meds slowly starting to ease the slamming in my head, I was able to see things a little more clearly.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” I asked, flicking open the knife that I’d had since I was eleven years old. It was familiar. And sturdy. And sharp. It could do some serious damage if I needed it to.
That was reassuring, at least.
“Well, for starters, why you killed Brandon Adams.”
Those words fell like a ton of bricks on me, knocking my air out of me.
Yes, I’d been planning that hit.
I’d worked out the layout. I’d arranged to get a gun that wasn’t traceable. I’d even watched the man’s movements to get familiar with his schedule.
But I hadn’t been ready to move yet.
Then again, I’d lost a whole day.
It was possible that in that day, I’d finalized the plans and set them in motion.
I wouldn’t have moved until the timing was perfect, though.
So who the hell was this Bellamy guy?
How did he know I’d done it?
How did he get close enough to me to drug me? And, apparently, touch my ass for some reason? I wasn’t exactly a trusting person. I was suspicious of any man who got too close to me. And I damn sure didn’t let them put their hands on me.
I mean, of course I did.
Sometimes.
A woman has needs, after all.
And, sure, this guy was incredibly good looking.
But my gut was telling me I hadn’t randomly ran into him, or found him on some hookup app or something.
That didn’t work with the story he was feeding me about Adams and the drugs and having questions for me.
So, what did work?
“Do you work for Brandon Adams?” I asked.
He did have a big staff, after all.
Men and women who would lose a steady paycheck with his death.
But they also stood to gain nothing if they found me and questioned me. It wasn’t like Adams had anyone left who would reward them for bringing his killer to justice.
So, what, then?
“Did you work for Adams?” I asked, trying to buy some time until I could wrap my head around the situation.
“I do not,” Bellamy said, shrugging.
“Were you a guest of Adams last night?”
“No.”
“If I guess correctly, are you going to answer honestly?” I asked.
“If it amuses me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I feel too shitty for this,” I grumbled, taking another sip of my water, hoping some hydration might help the situation.
“Shitty. Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Bellamy asked, standing and re-buttoning his jacket. “Come on,” he invited, opening the door toward the rest of the jet.
“Come on where? We’re on a plane.”
“Well, depending on how crummy you feel. There is a bathroom to throw up in, or a kitchen to get some coffee and toast in.”
“You’re serious,” I said, eyeing him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because ninety-nine-point-five percent of the world flies coach or business,” I said, taking a deep breath as I decided that coffee was absolutely going to help my mood.
“Ah, yes, and how lovely it is to be part of that point-five other percent,” Bellamy said, moving out of the door.
And, sure, the bed was nice. And private. And my stomach was objecting to the idea of moving, but the promise of coffee and something in my stomach to ease the rolling had me climbing off the bed.
I found my shoes nestled beside it, and went ahead and took a minute to strap my feet into my trusty old black and white Chucks before making my way to the door.