Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
I cut it off before the host utters another word.
“Interesting choice of audio,” Ryder says, looking amused. “Sounds like exaggerated fiction, though. Let me know if I should add it to my subscription list.”
“Probably not…”
“Noted.” He looks at his watch. “You should leave now. You can’t afford to be late again.”
Without saying another word, I put the car in gear and drive forward, following the directions onscreen.
I watch Ryder in the rearview mirror, watching him stare at me until I turn onto the main road.
Not bothering to return to the podcast, I turn on an old playlist.
Halfway through the third track, Kylie’s name crosses my screen via phone call.
“Hello?” I answer. “Kylie?”
“Oh good, you’re still alive!” She sounds out of breath. “Where the hell are you right now?”
“Miami,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“A lot. A whole fucking lot.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. “How long are you planning to be there?”
“Not too much longer.” I pull into the emergency lane. “I’m catching a flight to New York.”
“Are you flying into JFK or LaGuardia?”
“LaGuardia… Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“We’re talking at this moment, are we not? And you’re starting to scare me…”
“I’m currently boarding a plane in LAX. I’ll meet you at LaGuardia.”
“Kylie, that’s insane. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”
“It’s about that guy you asked me to look up,” she says. “I’m too fucking scared to talk on the phone about it, okay?”
“Kylie…”
“It’s a direct flight. No stops,” she says. “Will you still be in New York five hours from now?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, great.”
“Can you at least give me a hint about what you found, Kylie?” I return to the highway, assuming that “the latter” confession by Ryder is what she means. “I can probably guess.”
“No.” Her voice is a whisper. “You won’t guess this at all. Meet me at Whimstery in Terminal E, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And after today, you need to swear to me, on your life, that you will never, ever talk to this man again.”
“Kylie—”
“I gotta go,” she cuts me off. “See you in New York, and watch your fucking back.”
She immediately ends the call, and I shake my head.
I try to focus on the playlist again, but it’s no use. All I can do is wonder what the hell would make her jump out of bed and onto a plane.
By the time I’ve run through every single scenario my mind can conjure, I’m still an hour away from the airport.
As I’m crossing a bridge, a black Toyota pulls right next to me.
It drives at my side for the next mile, matching my exact speed.
Confused, I slow down.
It doesn’t join me for that part of the game. Instead, it speeds along, and I can’t help but notice that there isn’t a license plate on its rear bumper.
There’s only a blank white card.
Something isn’t right…
“Please drive the speed limit,” the GPS warns. “You will not reach your destination in time at this rate.”
I follow that command, but the Toyota is at my side again ten minutes later.
Looking over, I notice that the tinted windows are far darker than mine, and I’m hoping that this is nothing more than a coincidence.
Maybe I’m just imagining this.
I switch to the far right lane, leaving the middle lane between us, and within seconds the Toyota does the same.
Moving directly behind me, it’s now close enough to touch.
I purposely make a wrong left turn, then another, sending the GPS into a frenzy, and the black Toyota remains in direct shot of my rearview mirror.
It never leaves…
End of Episode 21
Episode 22
Ryder
Final Reminder:
Dear Mr. Edward Rochester,
On behalf of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, we request an urgent meeting with you (or a proxy) at the date and Florida address listed below.
As mentioned last month, there are some essential things we need to discuss, and an in-person meeting is non-negotiable.
Thank you.
I stare at the letter FedEx delivered to my estate hours ago, making a mental note to install another gate on my property.
Things like this aren’t welcome anywhere near me, no matter how “urgent” they claim to be.
And the only reason I’m giving it any of my time today is because Autumn was Miami-bound.
Or so I’m trying to convince myself.
Folding the notice, I double-check that everything on the plane is exactly how I want it to be for my return trip.
“Deposit that money into Miss Jane’s bank account and return here before I do,” I say to Anna as she fluffs a pillow. “And on the next flight, you need to learn all of her personal preferences.”
“Yes, Mr. Rochester.”
“As for you,” I look over at the pilot, “Text me when the refueling truck arrives. I want to get the hell out of this shit-hole of a city as soon as they’re finished.”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
Within seconds, several headlights cut through the early morning fog.