Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Being an investigative journalist is her passion. It’s one of the things I love about her, and despite my better judgment, I hope she has it in her to get back out there and fight for what’s right one day. Hell, it’s the same as if she had asked me not to step foot on the ice ever again. I simply couldn’t do it, just as she could never give up what she loves.
The reason for my anger lies with Christian Baxter.
That bastard caused my family the worst heartache imaginable, and I’m sure he’s caused the same for many others. It was his crimes that started this. It was by his word that my wife was beaten within an inch of her life, and it was his doing that caused my son to die before he even had a chance to live.
Making Sophie hand over her investigation was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Watching her take Baxter down would have been the sweetest revenge, right along with me getting my hands on him, but I knew deep down that I needed to do what was right for her. I know she doesn’t see it that way. She looked at me as if I was taking something away from her, and maybe I was. Maybe I’m being selfish, but the thought of identifying her in the morgue doesn’t sit well with me.
That man will never take another thing from me again. Not if I have anything to do with it.
My hope for Detective Andrews to nail the bastard has started dwindling . . . a lot. He called me the day after the hospital visit to say that all the evidence Sophie had collected was taken from our home, the paperwork she had printed, her computer, her phone, and any electronic device that may have held the information. Gone. He then went on to say they visited her office, which had also been ransacked. Not one ounce of information on Christian Baxter was there, not even her phony article.
Detective Andrews has been unable to do a damn thing. He can’t get a search warrant for Baxter’s office as he doesn’t have any evidence to back it up. He then interviewed his PA, Aimee, who confirmed he had an alibi for everything, including the time frame when he was at my home, taking my son’s life.
Hell, the fucking city needs someone like Sophie digging into this shit, because Detective Andrews clearly isn’t qualified for his job.
We were able to recover the footage of Baxter barging his way into my home, which confirms Aimee lied about Baxter’s alibi, but it doesn’t help them to nail the charges on him since there’s no footage from inside the house. That means it’s Sophie’s word against his. It also showed that Sophie had opened the gate for them when they buzzed the intercom, and that she voluntarily opened the door to them.
As Baxter’s dodgy as fuck lawyers stated, there’s no evidence to show that other occupants weren’t already in the house, which is cause for reasonable doubt. So naturally, the fucker is getting away with it.
Though after a few words from me, Detective Andrews promised he won’t give up. After all, he knows Sophie’s success rate, and he knows she’s always right about this shit, so he doesn’t want to lose out on the glory of nailing the guy.
I’m getting myself ready for the first official training session of the season, though I’m not exactly that pumped about it. I know I should be since this is my first training session as captain, but I just can’t bring myself to the level of excitement that’s required.
I know things haven’t been great between Sophie and me. My anger, mixed with the different ways we’re each dealing with our grief, has put a huge barrier between us. Now that the cops are digging into Baxter, I’m petrified that something could happen to her. That he might come back and finish the job, blaming her for passing the information on. Fuck, the thought of him coming when I wasn’t here to kick that motherfucker’s ass has haunted me day in and day out. I’ve been fucking terrified to leave her.
Heading into our bedroom, I gently sit on the edge of the bed, being careful not to jostle Sophie. Even though she won’t admit it, I know she’s still in a great deal of pain. It’s almost like she thinks she deserves this, which is fucking ridiculous. As she feels me beside her, she slowly opens her eyes, and I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, though all that does is make her look away.
I let out a sigh. “I have to go to training,” I tell her.
She gives the slightest nod of her head. “Okay,” she murmurs, giving me nothing else.