Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
I should announce myself, say something, feeling like I’m spying on an intimate moment. Instead, I watch his hands, the scarred knuckles, calluses, the way they look strong and capable yet gentle in a way that makes my skin warm.
The horse lets out a hard breath, surrendering as he shakes his head. The man scratches its cheek, murmuring something I can’t hear. For a moment, his face softens, a hint of a smile.
Then he turns, catching me watching, and his expression quickly shutters. The softness vanishes, replaced by something guarded. Sharp. The kind of look I’ve seen on men with secrets to keep.
“Can I help you?” His voice is gravel and smoke, his posture tense. It’s enough that the horse turns away from him.
I step away from the car and walk toward the pen, the gravel crunching under my boots. “I’m hoping you might. I’m looking for Jensen McGraw.”
“Is that so?”
“Is that you?”
“Depends who’s asking,” he says, sauntering toward the fence, his expression wary.
“Aubrey Wells.” I keep my voice steady. I need to stay professional, but not too professional. The last thing he needs to know is that I work for the FBI. “I need to hire a guide.”
His eyes narrow, shades of green and brown, matching the scenery.
“Not interested.” He turns his back to me, heading for the gate.
“I haven’t told you what for,” I say, already panicking internally, even though I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“Don’t need to hear it.” He climbs over the gate with ease, landing gracefully on the other side. Then he gives me a hard look over his shoulder before he walks toward the barn. “Why don’t you get back in your car there, miss. We’re done here.”
“Well, I’m not,” I tell him though he keeps walking. “I’ll make it worth your while,” I blurt out.
He stops and turns to look at me, crossing his arms across his chest. Something dangerous flickers across his face. But I’ve spent years interviewing killers and criminals across metal tables in cold rooms. This man doesn’t scare me.
Even if he probably should.
3
JENSEN
She’s a pretty one, that’s for certain.
Long dirty-blonde hair that’s tousled as if she just got up from a five-hour fuckfest. Bright green eyes, what looks to be a nice rack under the layers, strong legs. But even though her jacket, plaid shirt, jeans, and combat boots look country casual, there’s no doubt she’s a city girl.
And from my experience, those gals only mean trouble.
Big trouble.
I scratch at my beard, eyeing Pepito. The stallion raises his head as if he too distrusts the intruder. Then again, Pepito hates everyone. Probably why he’s one of my favorites. Once he’s properly broke, possibly gelded, he might just take Jeopardy’s place in line.
I look back at the woman. She looks young but her demeanor is older. Someone in her thirties maybe. Someone who has seen some shit. Normally I would feel a bit of camaraderie for someone who has been dragged through the coals like I have but there’s something familiar about her, something in her eyes, that puts me on edge.
“What do you mean you’ll make it worth my while?” I ask carefully. I shouldn’t be taking the bait, but I am. Can’t help it. Despite the warning bells, the stranger has me intrigued.
“I’ll pay you,” she says, slowly walking toward me. She approaches me like you would a wild horse, which means at least she has some bit of sense to her.
I can’t help but laugh. “I doubt you can afford me, Blondie.”
“Look,” she says quickly, ignoring that. “I read about you today. The way you helped find that missing hiker. I need your expertise. Doesn’t matter the cost.”
“I didn’t spend a few days searchin’ for him out of the goodness of my own heart,” I tell her. “The family paid handsomely.”
“So will I,” she says. She takes in a deep breath as if to steady herself before she says, “Fifty thousand dollars and another twenty-five if you find her.”
I blink at her, my blood rushing in my head. Fifty, possibly seventy-five thousand dollars? I’m sure as hell glad I didn’t tell her that the hiker’s family only paid me twenty, which I already thought was a lot for a search and rescue. Seventy-five thousand could nearly cover what I owe Marcus.
It could buy me freedom.
“Who is her?” I ask warily, not sure if this a trap since it seems too good to be true. I glance over at her black Dodge Durango. “You a cop or something?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head adamantly. “Not a cop. I just want to find my sister. She went missing three years ago, somewhere in the area. Maybe in these mountains.” She gestures up toward the peaks and my blood runs cold.
Not there.
Anywhere but there.
“Who is your sister?” I ask, swallowing the knot in my throat.