Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Then my fucking ex-boyfriend called, and I’d gotten so wrapped up in fighting with him that I’d forgotten all about locking up the box again. In fact, I hadn’t given it a second thought—not until I saw it sitting there wide open, with an empty slot where the Rolex should have been. How could I be that careless?
With a sigh, I turned and started trudging uphill, back toward my rental. I’d been out here for what felt like hours, combing the neighborhood, but Jack had disappeared. He’d only had a few seconds head start too, which was the time it took for me to chuck the unloaded gun in the drawer, follow him off the balcony, and untangle myself from the hedge.
He was really fast though, and I just wasn’t. The only reason I even knew which direction he’d gone was because I’d caught a glimpse of him in the distance. He’d been running down the middle of the street, but as soon as he reached the neighborhood beyond the park, he'd ducked into the shadows and that was that.
It was time to pack it in. If some cops should happen to roll up on me, I’d definitely be questioned. It was beyond late, and I was sweaty, barefoot, and in nothing but a pair of shorts, which I’d ripped on the bushes that had failed to cushion my fall. Looking like this was bound to attract attention.
Not that I was giving up. I’d track down that little thief if it was the last thing I did, but not like this.
Once I got back home, I tried the front door. It was locked, of course. With a dramatic sigh, I plucked the plastic trash can from the side of my neighbor’s house and tried to use it as a step to help me climb up onto the balcony. On my first attempt, it rolled out from under me, and I ended up landing back in those fucking bushes. During attempt number two, the plastic lid folded inward, and I dropped into the bin like a huge bag of trash. The fact that there was something squishy under my bare feet made me shudder.
This was Jack’s fault. I was already furious with him, and this just added fuel to the flames.
Finally, I managed to brace the can against the building and climb up onto its rim. From there, it was just a matter of swinging my leg up high enough to get a foothold on the edge of the balcony, then heaving myself up with a death grip on the metal railing.
The whole time I was doing this shit, I kept waiting for the sound of police sirens. If any of my neighbors saw this, they’d definitely report it as an attempted break-in by the world’s most inept cat burglar.
Somehow though, I managed to flop onto the balcony without a SWAT team arriving on the scene. Then I crawled through the open doors and collapsed in a heap, breathing heavily and sweating onto the beige carpet. Even though I worked out religiously, I obviously needed to add more cardio to my routine. I wasn’t nearly as fit as I liked to think I was.
Eventually, I got up, closed and locked the double doors, and pulled the curtains. When I crossed the room, I expected to find the mahogany box totally emptied out. After all, I’d left the doors open and this place unguarded for the last couple of hours, and there was plenty left to steal. Everything else was still there, though. Surprisingly, Jack hadn’t doubled back and finished the job.
I closed the chest and stuck it in the closet. There was no hurry to lock it back in the safe, since the most important thing I owned had already been stolen. The rest was just stuff.
Next, I went into the bathroom, stripped down, and stuffed my torn shorts into the trash can before stepping into a hot shower. I took a long time scrubbing myself down, since I was a grimy mess. Afterwards, I toweled off and spent some time dressing my cuts and scrapes with antibiotic cream and bandages.
There was one more thing I needed to do before bed. I pulled on a pair of black cotton pajama pants, went downstairs to the home office, and took a seat at the desk, which I’d never actually used before. Then I began to sketch Jack on a sheet of copy paper, while the memory of him was still so fresh in my mind. I’d always been good at drawing for some reason. My mom called it a gift, but so far it had proven to be useless. Maybe now it’d finally pay off.
It took four attempts, but after I finished a sketch that captured his likeness, I wrote down everything I knew about him. It wasn’t much. Under the (probably fake) name he’d given me, I noted his approximate height and weight, age, hair and eye color, and where we’d met. Beneath that I wrote in big letters: $2000 reward for any information on the whereabouts of this man. It was tempting to offer a huge amount to really motivate people, but I figured I could end up with multiple tips and might have to pay several people, so it was best to keep the amount manageable.