Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
"When do you think those cookies will be ready?"
She narrows her eyes at me, taking a little too long to realize what I'm asking.
She had mentioned specifics when she called earlier in the week, and I was too distracted by Claire coming down the hallway to commit them to memory.
"Tomorrow by lunchtime," she answers. "Claire came by earlier today for Corbin."
Even Cash wrinkles his forehead at her abrupt change in topic. The woman was never the best at being sneaky, but I can't seem to help focusing on her mention of Claire's other boss. He happened to be at the bar the last time Claire worked and it makes me wonder why he was there at all. The man doesn't normally come in during the week, and it's a rare occasion to see him on Friday or Saturday night. Is he there for Claire?
"She mentioned working at The Hairy Frog. Said she's working tonight. That her shift starts late, after dark."
"She is," I agree. "She's a great waitress. See you tomorrow."
I walk out without a snack and a heavy box in my pocket, annoyed that Adalynn would bring up Claire's other boss.
With a growl, I pull the box from my pocket when the damn thing digs into my leg as I sit inside my truck. I toss it into the passenger seat, but the thing bounces and hits the floorboard, making me feel like a jerk if I broke the damn thing.
Maybe it's my own guilt for thinking of the woman when I shouldn't, but I somehow end up driving past the little duplex she lives in. I didn't have to see her address on the application she filled out the other night to know this is where she lives. The town is small enough that I knew she rented this place from Jason Brecken within a week of her coming to town.
Her living here is expected. There aren't many places in town for rent, but what isn't expected is the sight of Corbin McBride's truck parked a few spots down from Claire's car.
I'm out of my own truck and around the side of her duplex before that part of my brain that handles reason clicks on.
I'm both annoyed and glad that I can stand on the far side of her little chain-link fence and see inside her home. It's creepy that anyone can walk back here and see what's going on. That part of me that has seen bad things happen in other parts of the world as a soldier makes me want to jump the fence, bang on the glass door, and tell her to at least close the damn curtains.
I make it through step one, but movement inside makes me duck behind the wall to the right. Jason really needs to provide his tenants with a little more room.
After a minute of feeling like a creep, I realize just how disturbing I am when I reposition myself so I can look inside. What could I do if Corbin was inside with her? Not a damn thing, that's what.
I don't even have a right to be angry that it might be a possibility, but surely the woman knows better than to get tangled up with her boss, right?
I scowl when I pull Corbin out of that equation and put myself there.
I'm looking left, inside her house because the kitchen is all the way on the right, when I sense movement, but I'm too slow to dart back behind the wall.
I look over and find Claire standing on the other side of the glass wall, staring right at me.
Chapter 8
Claire
I blink three times because I can't possibly be seeing what I'm seeing.
There isn't a single scenario I can think of that would place Walker Conroy in my backyard, looking into my house like a perverted creep.
He has the wherewithal to look guilty, more like a deer caught in a set of headlights if you ask me, but he doesn't bolt. He simply raises his hand in a little wave as if it's an everyday occurrence that he gets caught in a woman's backyard.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the non-emergency number for the police.
I'm connected to dispatch for the county rather than Cash or Chandler, the officers who work at the local police station.
I explain my situation, telling the woman on the phone that although I agree that Lindell is a very safe community, I will not in fact open the door and ask the man why he's there. According to her, there has to be a logical explanation.
I insist on them sending an officer out to deal with the situation before ending the call.
"Claire."
I can both hear my name and see it on his lips when he speaks but I don't open the door or acknowledge him in any way other than to stare at him.