Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Your brain isn’t working,” I teased him, taking a seat on my couch. “I gave you a lot of shit, man, especially about your paperwork. Don’t you remember that?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t like Kage or Doyle. You were never out to get me. You never tried to hurt me or embarrass me.”
“Of course not,” I agreed.
“See? Yeah. Of course not.”
I turned on the TV to check baseball scores, ignoring him, and Chickie sat beside me, looking like a statue, not relaxed in the least.
After a few minutes of silence, Brodie said, “Did you ever read the reports about how Craig Hartley shot that dog?”
“Craig Hartley didn’t shoot the dog,” I corrected him, my focus still on the TV. “He saved the dog.”
“Is that right?” He pulled his Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster. “The serial killer saved Ian’s dog?”
Ian’s dog. The words were spoken so flat and cold.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked him, scowling. “Put the gun away in my house.”
“Make him go with me to the backyard.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer.
“Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”
His gaze met mine, and I waited, holding it, not looking away. My gun was on the counter, still fully loaded, ready to fire, with a round in the chamber, but it was much too far to be of any help. The only thing keeping Chickie alive was the game I was playing.
I had sent Bodhi the No Lights text. It was a thing only the men who worked for Sam Kage knew. Simple words that meant that danger wasn’t imminent, but hurry the fuck up because whoever sent it needed backup. But even if I hadn’t, or if Bodhi didn’t get the text, he still knew, from our brief talk before the line went dead, that I had an intruder. With everyone knowing that Brodie was out there, I knew Wes was probably on his way with no lights and no sirens, though it was possible SOG was further away than I thought which left Bodhi mobilizing something himself. All I could do was wait and keep Brodie talking.
“So you’re saying you won’t let me kill Ian’s dog?”
“What’s wrong with you?” I snapped at him. “I mean, really, what the hell?”
He got up then and started pacing, still holding the gun. I got up, and when I did, he pointed the gun at me.
“For fuck’s sake, Gabe,” I yelled at him, “if you’re gonna shoot me, then fuckin’ shoot me, but at least don’t be a psychopath about it. Just tell me why first.”
He stood there, and I could see his mind working, thinking, running through his memories of me. I had called him after he was fired, left messages telling him I hoped he was okay. I didn’t know if he got them because he’d never called me back, but I’d made the effort.
It occurred to me that he’d tried to have Eli killed, and would have blown up Ian, but I had never been in a place of power or authority over him. I was a senior investigator, yes, but that came with years on the job, not status.
“Sorry,” he said under his breath, holstering the gun.
“Okay.” I took a breath. “I’m gonna put Chickie in my bedroom so you don’t get the urge to shoot him again, all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“Come, Chick.”
He followed me to my bedroom, where I had him walk in ahead of me. He turned around before I could close the door, fast for such a large dog, and I hated leaving him in there because he looked anxious, trying to get past me and out. “No,” I ordered, and he sat and whined. I would have rather had him out there with me, and his presence had been comforting, but Brodie would hurt him, and I couldn’t have that.
Back in the living room, I saw that the pizza had come and was now sitting on my coffee table. He hadn’t opened it, waiting for me.
“Where the hell did you order pizza from that you get it in—what was that, like ten fuckin’ minutes?”
He coughed softly. “I actually ordered it on my way over here,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Like I said, I didn’t think you were home.”
“So you were gonna do what, break in and squat here? Order food and make yourself at home? What the fuck, Gabe?”
“I just needed a place to stay for a couple of nights is all. I would have left you money to fix the window I would have had to break to get in, and this place would’ve been sparkling.”
He had no idea I had an alarm which was good for me.
“Are you mad?”
He sounded lost, like a child. It was sort of heartbreaking.
“No, I’m not mad, but get plates and paper towels, you animal,” I directed, and he moved quickly. “I do wanna talk about what’s going on with you though.”