Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 133182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I just wasn’t in the right state to do anything about it at the time.
Hell, I don’t think I’m in the right state to do this now.
My heart pounds harder and harder with each step I take toward the dresser.
But again, if I don’t do it now, when?
After James gets me pregnant and I’m stuck with him?
“Yeah,” Amanda nods her head as she types in the password to get past the lock screen. “It wasn’t hard to crack them.”
When the desktop pops up, Amanda looks to me, her eyes full of sympathy and sadness. “The passwords are simply a combination of you and your mother’s names and birth dates.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, fighting off the dark cloud of grief and loss that wants to swallow me up.
A hand touches my back, rubbing and trying to soothe me. Another one wraps around my arm in a version of a hug.
Opening my eyes, I force a smile for my two best friends, grateful to have them with me to do this.
Clearing my throat, I ask Amanda, “Did you read any of the files?”
She shakes her head. “No, I only cracked the passwords. It didn’t feel… right to read the files.”
Nodding, I turn my attention back to the computer.
Using the touchpad, Amanda navigates the pointer for me and clicks through a few layers of folders.
My father was a meticulous notetaker, so I’m not surprised to see he has folders and folders full of documents.
I remember when I was little, probably around five or six, I would find little scraps of paper and post-it notes all over the house with things scribbled on them. He would just write things down on whatever was around whenever a thought or idea struck him so he didn’t forget it later.
And almost everything he scribbled down had something to do with a case he was working on or helping with.
When I couldn’t read, it wasn’t a problem, because I had no idea what any of the scribbling meant. But the day I found an envelope with the words rape, torture, and strangulation on it and asked my mother what they meant, all hell broke loose.
My parents argued from time to time, of course, but the fight they had that day was the worst I had ever seen. My mother was beyond livid and even threatened to leave him to protect me.
It took my father agreeing to keeping his notes in a place I couldn’t find to appease her. When they made up, my mother went out and bought him a laptop the next day.
This very laptop.
Every case he’s ever worked on since then, all his notes, thoughts, and feelings about them, is right here, at our very fingertips.
“Here…” Amanda says thoughtfully and finally stops clicking. “This is what I think you were looking for.”
When I glance at the folder and see the name—Sophia Cronin—I immediately feel sick to my stomach.
My father was a man of truth, logic, and numbers, he possessed very little creativity. In fact, I’m pretty sure he preferred to live in reality and not fantasy. I don’t think I ever saw him read a book for pleasure.
The fact that he named the folder after me, a folder buried deep in his case files, already confirms what I’ve been fearing all along.
He was personally trying to hunt down the Russians behind our kidnapping.
I’ve had my suspicions. After my rescue, I gave up my townhouse and moved back in with him because I didn’t feel safe by myself.
But he was rarely home, always working on something.
And this… this just further cements it.
Reaching for the touchpad, I double-click to open the folder.
A prompt immediately pops up asking for a password.
I just stare at the prompt for a moment, wondering if it’s a sign I should stop and turn back. That maybe I’m better off not knowing…
Because what if there’s more to my father’s death than what’s on the surface? What if there’s more than the Russians taking the opportunity to take him out?
That’s what James seems to believe. Why he’s so gung-ho about protecting me. I know he thinks someone betrayed my father. Someone on the force.
Yesterday, when he showed me the department’s personnel files and explained his suspicions, it took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from showing him my surprise and worry.
Brushing him off was almost as hard as lying to him about being sore and having terrible cramps.
Speaking of which…
Turning to Amanda, I ask, “Hey, you don’t have any birth control pills on you, do you?”
There’s no point in asking Beth, she’s already knocked up. She’s only a couple of months pregnant, but I doubt she still carries them around with her.
Amanda blinks at me in surprise. “Uh… no. I have an IUD. Why?”
Trying not to show my disappointment, I shrug. “No reason.”