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)
Because Reno was a criminal, like me. It was obvious. I didn’t know what to say to that, and I only got as far as, “I…um—”
Then Mandy chimed in, “Just keep us in the loop, Jack, and do whatever you can to make sure he’s okay. That’s all we ask.”
I said I’d do my best and handed over my phone. Romy typed in his number, his mom’s, and the bar’s, which nearly doubled my total number of contacts.
Then they both walked me to the door. “It was great meeting you,” Romy said with a smile. “And again, I’m sorry about inviting Reno’s ex over. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”
I said, “I know, and it’s fine,” as I took a moment to study him. He was twenty-seven—the age I usually pretended to be—and I now realized I definitely couldn’t pull it off. Romy just seemed so innocent and trusting, and I hadn’t been either of those things in a very long time. If that was typical for twenty-seven, then forget about it.
He and his mom took turns giving me a hug before I left the apartment. When I got outside, I found Reno pacing in the parking lot. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me and asked, “What was that about?”
“Romy asked if I wanted to go clubbing sometime, since we’re both in our twenties,” I joked, and he rolled his eyes as we climbed into the SUV. “I’m obviously kidding. They just asked me to take care of you and make sure you’re okay.”
“How are you supposed to do that, exactly?”
“Don’t ask me. I can’t even take care of a house plant, let alone a big, surly gangster.” He grinned as he started the engine, and I added, “I’m prepared to get very annoying and lecture you if you start skipping meals and missing sleep, though. They both gave me their phone numbers, so I can rat on you if you don’t take care of yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being patient with all of this, and for being so charming with my family.”
“I’m naturally charming, so it’s not like I had a choice.” That made him chuckle.
It was a five-minute drive to the bar. A worker was just finishing up the window when we arrived, and two of Reno’s men were sitting in an SUV drinking coffee.
While he checked in with his people and sent them on a break, I paused on the sidewalk and asked the glass installer, “Is this window actually bulletproof?”
The guy said, “Nah, there’s no such thing. This is the best product available, but it’s only bullet-resistant. A single shot will penetrate the outer sheet and get stopped by the polycarbonate layer in the center. Nothing’s going to stop multiple shots from a high-powered weapon, though.”
I muttered, “Well, that’s great.”
After the lookouts and the worker took off, I followed Reno into the bar, which was hot and stuffy. He said, “Make yourself at home while I turn on the lights and the air conditioning.”
I stood around awkwardly while he went in the back. A few moments later, about a third of the lights came on, illuminating the bar area and bathing the rest of the room in a soft, golden glow. Then some retro Rat Pack-style music began to play.
I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, since it was going to take the air conditioner a minute to do its thing. When Reno came back, he was carrying a large bowl of lemons and limes. A random thought occurred to me, and I asked, “Why wasn’t your house six thousand degrees inside when we arrived?”
“I have everything running off an app, and I turned the air conditioning on an hour before we got there. I keep trying to convince my mom to let me install the same thing here, but she’s not big on technology. It’s about the only way she shows her age.”
He stepped behind the bar, and I took a seat and said, “Speaking of your mom, I was going to mention how odd it is that you and she are the same age.”
He smiled and told me, “She’s actually sixty-three, but you’re right that she doesn’t look a day over forty. Don’t tell her I let that slip.”
“Me? Never. As you know, I’m a big fan of lying about your age.”
While we were talking, he took off his suit jacket and hung it on a hook behind the bar. A sick feeling welled up in me, and I froze at the sight of his gun. When he saw my expression, he removed the shoulder holster and stashed it and the weapon beneath the bar. Then he said, “You really hate guns, don’t you?”
I nodded. “The first time I ever saw one, I was eight years old. The thug my father hired to track down my mom waved it in her face and made her cry. I’ve hated and feared them ever since. Every time I see one, it takes me right back to that moment.”