Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Fuck you, Bishop, and that high and mighty girlfriend of yours.”
I don’t bother engaging her. I just point at her suitcase on the floor. “Get dressed and get packed up. You’re leaving here now.”
“Or what?” she sneers at me.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I tell her, “I’m calling the police in five minutes. Pretty sure they’d have no problem with arresting you for assault and destruction of property. So I’d get going if I were you.”
She makes a growling sound low in her throat, her face an ugly mask of bitterness and hate. For a moment, I’m actually a little concerned about what she might do.
Thankfully, she spins away from me. Muttering curses and talking to herself under her breath, she gets dressed and starts throwing shit into her suitcase. It takes her about seven minutes but I give her a little leeway, because she’s at least getting it done.
By the time she’s finished, I have an Uber waiting out front. I even gallantly take her suitcase and carry it to the car. She throws herself into backseat and slams the door shut without a word to me. I go to the driver’s window and watch as his eyes get wide when I bend to talk to him. He rolls down the window and I say, “Know who I am?”
He nods.
Pulling my wallet out, I grab a fifty and hand it to him. “Get her to the airport and nowhere else, despite what she might say. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Scott,” he says, taking the money.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Devin,” he says eagerly. “Devin Carruthers.”
“I’ll have four tickets for next week’s home game on the seventh waiting for you. Enjoy.”
“Awesome, man,” he says with a wide grin.
I wait until they are out of sight before I pull my phone out and reluctantly call Brooke. She doesn’t answer, but a voicemail won’t do.
I call her back again, hoping she’ll see and realize it must be important if I called right back again.
Still no answer.
Walking into her house, I dial the front office main number. A woman answers, I assume the receptionist I met two days ago when I stopped by to take Brooke to lunch and almost beat the shit out of her new boss. I identify myself and ask her for two favors. To have tickets put in for Devin Carruthers and to find Brooke and ask her to call me. I tell her it’s a slightly urgent matter.
By the time I pick up the copper vase and the bookend, returning them to their rightful places, Brooke’s number is buzzing on my phone.
“Hey, babe,” I say with a heavy voice.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her quickly. “But, um…had a little problem here at your house and I’m going to need you to come home.”
“What problem?”
I proceed to tell her all of it. Every nasty thing that Nanette said, not to cause Brooke pain, but so she understands the gravity of the situation. That bitch is crazy.
“We need to get the locks to your house changed today. It can’t wait. I’m going to call a locksmith now and will stay here until you can get home, but I need you to come right now. Unfortunately, we’re not going to be able to get lunch today.”
Brooke gives me the reaction I expected. Levelheaded and efficient, without wanting to ask me a million follow-up questions. She just says, “Okay, babe…let me go let Charity know I have an emergency to attend to and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
This is good. I’m glad she’s taking it seriously, because I know Nanette has one of her house keys. I would have asked for it back, but why bother? Someone as crazy as that bitch could have had copies made. It’s safest to get new locks, and while he’s at it, I’m going to have the locksmith add some extra dead bolts. I think I’ll also call a security company to see if I can get someone out here to install an alarm today. I’ll pay them fucking double.
If I can’t, then I’ll just have Brooke stay at my place until I can get back.
Chapter 29
Bishop
Tacker seems surprised when I start undressing after pulling out a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt to put on so I can relax a bit.
“You’re not going out?” he asks as he nabs his shave kit from his travel duffel.
“Nah,” I say with a shake of my head. “Don’t feel like it.”
He makes a grunting noise of acknowledgment—at least that’s what I think it is—before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Grabbing my phone, I hop onto my bed and call Brooke. It’s only 8:30 P.M. in Phoenix.
“Hey,” she says, sounding out of breath.
“What are you doing?” I settle against the headboard and plant my feet on the mattress.