Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
After the feds’ announcement, I drove to her secure office building in San Diego to demand a face-to-face explanation. I damn well intended to hold her accountable for what happened to my father. But Reed Financial was locked up tight. A security guard told me the business had been permanently shut down the previous week. Bethany hasn’t been around since.
Furious but undeterred, I drove home. After some digging, I figured out where the woman lives. Early this morning I drove to her place, but her apartment was fucking empty. An elderly neighbor told me she left late on Christmas Eve with two bulging suitcases. She’s collecting Bethany’s mail for the foreseeable future since she has no idea when the shark will be back.
I’m livid.
“She fucking skipped town,” I tell Ash. “I’ll have to track her down again, and god knows how long that will take.”
“Zero minutes, brother. Ze-ro.”
My heart stutters. “You know where she is?”
“I’m looking at her right now.”
His assertion is so crazy I can hardly grasp it. “She’s drinking in a bar in Maui?”
“She’s working at a bar in Maui. She started waiting tables here about…two hours ago.”
My jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
Still, what Ash is telling me…it makes no sense. “Bethany Banks is serving drinks to tourists right now? This instant?”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure it’s the same woman?”
“It’s why I waited two hours to call. I wanted to be positive.”
“The one who graduated summa cum laude from Stanford with a double major in business and finance at seventeen? The one who got an MBA from Harvard at twenty? You’re telling me that woman is slinging beers at some island dive?”
“Hey, this isn’t a dive. Well, not a total one. And I don’t know about her pedigree. You’re the guy who’s memorized her bio. But I double-checked her face with a picture online. The woman I’m looking at is definitely her. To be honest, if I’d known the body she had to go with that face, I would have been motivated to find her sooner. Whoa…”
I grit my teeth. I give zero fucks about Bethany Banks’s body. I only care about holding her responsible for her actions. “Before I chase her halfway across the ocean, I need to be sure it’s her.”
Ash tsks. “I figured you’d say that. She introduced herself as Beth. And I can tell she’s never waited tables in her life. But if you want absolute proof, I’m texting you a picture right now. I took it ten minutes ago while I pretended to look at my phone as she was picking up drinks. See for yourself.”
A few seconds later, an image pops up in my text messages. I tap on the thumbnail. My entire body flares hot at the platinum blonde with the green eyes, delicate face, and revealing-as-hell bikini top. Who cares if she’s banging when she’s a cold-hearted bitch?
I force myself to compare this picture to others I’ve snagged from the Internet. Then I turn arctic cold. “That’s her.”
“Like I said… You’re welcome.”
“Oh, my god. Thanks, man. You saved me weeks of digging and probably a few thousand dollars in private investigators. Hiring one was my next move.”
“No need. Just hop on over to Maui. And bonus? Tropical New Year.”
The timing is terrible. But I have to go. I can’t let the little scam artist disappear again.
Holy shit, am I really going to jet on the first plane to Hawaii? It’s crazy and impulsive. And my last recourse.
But once I get to Maui…then what? Somehow, I have to prove Bethany Banks is no angel. If I charge in like a bull and make accusations or demands, will she even speak to me? Or will she simply vanish when the pressure gets too intense again?
In the back of my head, I remember my father telling me how much I’d like Bethany, what a wonderful woman she is, and that I should date her. Blah, blah, blah.
I’m not sure what to do or how to handle the situation, but I shout for my brothers, both of whom are nursing hangovers. When they finally stumble downstairs and give me groggy what-the-fuck glares, I sit them down.
“I’m going to Maui for a few days. I’m trusting you two to behave and not burn the house down. No parties. Keep the loudness to a minimum so the neighbors don’t freak. I don’t care if you have a girl over. I don’t care if you drink. But if you do, don’t drive. I’ll call you when I can.”
I’ve got my head in my phone, already looking for the next available flight, when Bry stands. “You’re just leaving us for some tropical vacation? It’s the fucking holidays.”
“This is business. I found Bethany Banks and I’m going to get some goddamn answers so that Dad can hopefully rest in peace.” And I don’t have to live with the regret of failing him.