Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Taking a deep sigh, I sit back.
“Whitson, Lux,” I begin in a precise tone, “we must leave.”
Drawing in a sharp breath, I cut the lights, yanking the lamp from the wall. Next, I get up and guide Luxury behind me. Clutching a notebook, Whitson rounds out the fold. Silence meets my ears as I push open the door to their flat. After a quick entryway check, I cock my head to the two, huddled together.
Halfway to the elevator shaft, a diminutive police officer pulls away from where he was wedged against a neighbor’s closed door. Pointing a Beretta at me, he shakes out, “Freeze!”
Fucking cunt’s here to save the day. Although holding his ground, he slowly advances. Luxury’s arms envelop my waist, face hidden against my spine.
“Luxury Whitson, Doc, Detective Caruso sent me.” The cop edges upward on the tips of his toes.
“Hell of a job you’re doing!” Whitson says, moving up toward my side.
“Wait,” I warn him.
The cop retorts, “I’m—”
Ears piqued, I growl, “Shut the fuck up. Both of you.”
I lift Whitson’s revolver just as another gun goes off. Luxury’s cries overpower the weapon. Whitson clutches his gut and falls forward.
“No!” The officer startles. I fire a round at the man in black, directly behind the cop. Luxury descends to her knees, sobbing as she places quivering hands on her father’s abdomen
Bloody fuck.
I’m not the hero, after all.
40
LUXURY
Day Twenty-nine
* * *
A strong disinfectant scent streams steadily through my nostrils as I focus on tapering off another panic attack. Detective Caruso and I stand near the open blinds of my father’s hospital room. Knuckles tingling, I clutch tightly to Dad’s notebook. When I refused to turn it over to a uniform cop, Caruso showed some leniency, sending the officer away and devoting all his attention to Victor.
Again, I dedicate myself to filling my deprived lungs.
Special Agent Victor Gary? This is crazy!
“It appears someone sent a hitman to murder your father,” Caruso says. “An armed Navy Seal—Octavius Barnum—captured two of the assailants.” Caruso pauses to glance at a pad he has flipped open. “Burnum disclosed that he and Tom Hanover were called in by Milton Springston on behalf of Bobby George Inc.”
“Where’s Milton?” Victor growls, posted on the opposite wall of the corridor.
“Dead. Hanover, too. Barnum’s being treated for a gun wound inflicted to his upper left chest.”
In utter shock, I chug more air. A myriad of questions sifts through my mind, but Caruso’s attention is on Victor. How could I’ve not known he wasn’t a doctor? A muscular body, teeming in delectable scars.
Oh my . . . shit . . . he was not kidding about murdering people while we screwed against the window. A torch of embarrassment springs over my cheeks, flushing my neck.
“Special Agent Gary,” Caruso addresses Victor, “may I assume a liaison role? I’d like to assist with any—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I sort of gathered that.” Caruso sighs, tapping his pen against his notebook. “But I’ve known Miss Luxury for some time now, so I’m vested in her safety. Aside from the two men Barnum apprehended, have you pinpointed who’s the ringleader?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” Victor replies coolly.
That’s why he answers so briskly at times. Dammit, Luxxie, you were so clueless.
Caruso nods and addresses me. “Luxury, you have my number.”
I nod.
While forking his teeth over his lip, Caruso again waits an awkward beat before speaking. He nudges his chin to the security detail at attention right outside of the open door. “I’ve heard of Bobby George’s services in the past. It’s a good thing your father hired—”
My brows pinch. “What, who? You’re saying George and . . .” My mind is still reeling over Victor Gary! But Caruso has sensed our relationship, so I clear my throat. “My dad hired someone named George?”
Although the detective’s interest is piqued, Victor steps forward. “Luxury, we will discuss this further at a later time.”
The cop sends a wary glance Victor’s way. Burt strolls over, surrounded by an air of authority, as he flashes a badge. “Detective—”
Caruso holds out a hand, “Car—”
“Caruso,” Burt shakes it, incorporating a Midwestern accent. While I’m in shock that he’s not British, Caruso appreciates his sturdy shake. “I’ve taken the two suspects Barnum brought into federal custody. How do you like the sound of no paperwork?”
“Very well, sir.”
“I’ll bring you up to speed, as much as possible, while Gary finishes questioning Miss Whitson.” Burt rounds Caruso off, escorting him down the corridor while Victor guides me into the room, closing the door behind us.
I’m in his arms in a flash. My head burrows into his muscular chest. I temper an exhale, devastated by currents of emotion.
Compassionate knuckles skim my cheekbone. “Your dad needs rest, Little One, and we need to have a chat.”
Swallowing the tension eroding my throat, I reply, “I know. I just . . . can’t imagine not having you. Just hold me a little while longer.”