Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
He knew just as well as I did what the other looked like when they’d just hooked up with somebody.
Luckily, he didn’t push it.
He turned to the car and said, “How long do you think we should stay here?”
“Well, seeing as the stores just opened, I’m thinking they’ll be here any second,” I guessed.
“I hope so,” he muttered. “It’s fuckin’ cold, and now I’m hungry.”
It was fucking chilly.
That was why I’d been unable to comprehend how the woman I’d just fucked in the bathroom had been wearing a goddamn dress.
She had to have been freezing.
My gaze went beyond to the Whataburger, wondering if she was still there, and blinked in surprise when the blue polka dot dress came into view, much closer than I’d expected.
What the…
The woman from earlier was now walking toward us, a look of absolute horror on her face.
And with her was another woman and a man. A very familiar, pissed-off-looking man.
“Three o’clock,” I said to my partner.
My partner looked up and he hissed in a breath.
“Please tell me that’s not who I think it is,” he pleaded.
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the lawyer or Shasha Semyonov, but both were very bad.
The woman probably didn’t register on his radar, but she sure did register on mine.
“Fuck,” he grumbled. “That lawyer is a goddamn shark.”
She was.
Elianora Bates was known in these parts as the end all be all to police cases.
She had this weird sort of sixth sense that helped her get every single one of her clients out of tight binds.
And of course, she would be walking up with who I assumed owned the car that we’d just found a dead body in.
The three individuals came to a stop just outside of the police line.
My gaze went to the woman who should have on a fucking jacket and didn’t.
Forty fucking degrees out and she was in a t-shirt dress.
What the fuck?
“Gentlemen,” Elianora called. “What seems to be the problem here?”
“Is this your car?” John asked her.
“No, this is my client’s car,” she said. “What’s going on?”
As quickly as possible we gave her the bare minimum that her hatch had been open and it was investigated.
She’d find out eventually, and when she did, she wouldn’t be nearly as cooperative.
“Whose car is this?” I asked, expecting it to be Shasha’s.
It, of course, wasn’t.
Because how else could my day get any worse but for the car to belong to the woman that I had just fucked in the bathroom thirty minutes ago?
“It’s mine,” she said in a quiet voice.
“And what’s your name, ma’am?” John asked carefully, trying to appear to be nice.
He wasn’t.
We were partnered together for a reason—no one else could stand working with us.
But since we were good at our jobs, they didn’t want to let us go because of our personalities.
However, that was the best thing they’d ever done, because the two of us had bonded.
Both of us fresh out of hell—i.e., Iraq—and neither one of us too certain on the civilian world now.
We’d bonded, albeit slowly, and now I couldn’t imagine my life without the grumpy bastard at my side.
But nice was something we’d never been accused of being, and John was usually the one that pretended because he was better at it than I was.
“Nastya Semyonov,” she answered, not falling for his fake nice act.
My stomach sank.
Of. Course.
She would be the sister of a criminal mastermind.
Though, if I were being honest, I’d always been quite impressed with how Shasha Semyonov kept his shit tight. There was nothing on him to be found, and that was how I liked it.
He could continue to do what he did—I wasn’t fucking stupid, I knew he’d killed, or been a part of killing, the man that’d hit his wife with a chair. I also knew that he’d taken out a hot-shit lawyer that liked to defend the dregs of society—abusers mostly.
But it still fucking sucked that she was the sister of Semyonov. That sort of made her off limits.
Right?
Then again, the murder investigation she was currently the prime suspect for should definitely keep her far away from me until we’d exonerated her.
And we would.
I was a damn good judge of character, and there was no way in hell she’d done this. But we, of course, had to jump through all the hoops.
“And that will be the last question she’s answering,” the lawyer said. “What’s going on? From the very beginning.”
“There seems to have been a body in your car, ma’am,” John replied.
We gave the three of them a quick rundown on what’d happened last night, and I knew she’d finally figured out why I’d left the bar so abruptly last night.
Last night I’d fully intended to take her home with me.
She knew it as well.
The connection we’d shared was one of those that you didn’t deny.
Which happened to be why I’d fucked her in a Whataburger bathroom less than an hour ago.