Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
There just isn’t enough time, and it’s too much of a risk.
I sigh in both relief and disappointment, then wipe Zelda’s computer, making sure any trace I was ever here is erased from the memory before shutting it down and sliding it across the table.
“Thank you,” I tell her, picking up my cup and taking another sip of tea.
Zelda stands and moves into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and takes out a large block of cheese. She opens a drawer and pulls out a huge kitchen knife. She flashes me a slow grin, the sun catches on the blade. My heart skips a beat, and slowly, I put down my teacup, realizing that this woman might not be the friendly home-making granny she first appeared to be.
I swallow hard.
Zelda brings the knife down hard into the block of cheese. She whistles as she cuts it into cubes.
She’s just an old lady trying to be hospitable, Frankie.
I inwardly laugh at myself. My paranoia is still around. The thought is weirdly comforting. Paranoia is normal for me, and right now I’ll take any taste of normal I can get.
I slide out my chair. “Thank you again, but I really can’t stay—”
“Frankie,” a familiar and very angry voice grumbles from behind. The barrel of his gun jabs at the base of my neck.
I freeze. The nerves in my spine jump. My chest tightens. He might as well be strangling me because I can’t catch my breath, but even with a gun to my back I can’t help but feel relieved and even…a bit smug.
“What did you DO?” he asks through clenched teeth.
Zelda turns around with the plate. She sees Smoke standing behind me, and much to my surprise, she isn’t startled.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she says to him. She turns to me. “This the truck?”
“Zelda this is…” I go to make the introduction, to show Smoke I haven’t told this nice woman anything that would warrant any harm coming to her, but Zelda laughs, cutting me off.
“I know who he is, dear.” Zelda rounds the table and Smoke bends down so she can plant a kiss on his cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you, or I’d have set out the good china,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“You of all people know I’m a paper plate kind of guy.” He’s cocky with her. Calm.
Who the hell was this man, and what did he do with the guy who threatened to cut off all my limbs while I watched?
Zelda’s gaze drops to the gun. She holds out her hand. “You know the rules,” she says sternly, and for the first time, I hear the slight trace of a Scottish accent in her voice.
Smoke leaves her hand empty but tucks the gun in his waistband. “Gotta break house rules this one time.” He glares down at me. “Can’t exactly trust this one.”
“She don’t seem so bad to me. We were just having some tea. She giving you trouble?”
“Something like that,” Smoke replies.
Zelda leans on the table and winks at me. “Give him hell, lass.” She pinches my cheek and smiles then turns back to Smoke, pointing at his gun. “A Glock17, Smoke? Thought you were a Beretta man?”
“People change,” he answers, still looking at me.
“You don’t change,” she laughs, swatting at him with a dishtowel.
“What alternate universe did I just fall into?” I ask, looking from Smoke to Zelda in a daze.
They both ignore me.
“Let me get another cup for tea out of the china cabinet in the den. I’ll just be a minute,” Zelda says.
“Make my tea a whiskey,” Smoke says, taking a seat beside me. He lights a cigarette and turns to face me, his long legs spread, his knee knocking into my thigh.
“Did I say china cabinet? I meant liquor cabinet.” Zelda shuffles from the kitchen.
We’re alone. Suddenly, I’m not feeling so brave about my big, albeit temporary, escape.
Plus, Smoke’s…calm.
Too calm.
“What did you DO, hellion?” Smoke taps the closed laptop with his index finger.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I really didn’t do anything. Didn’t get a chance to. Open it. Check for yourself.”
He’s not buying it. He opens the laptop and types in Zelda’s password. Christmas 1993.
“How do you know her password?” I ask.
“Who do you think bought me the computer?” Zelda sings, coming back into the room with a bottle of Jack Daniels on a silver tray with a doily underneath.
She sets in on the table and opens the bottle. “I’d get you a glass, but I know how you are,” she says.
Smoke grabs the bottle by the neck and tilts it to his lips, looking at me as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with each swallow.
He somehow manages to make drinking whiskey straight from the bottle look graceful. Grace and violence. What an oddly beautiful yet horrendous combination.