Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
I froze, watching as two cops got out of the car and walked up to my front door and tapped on the glass.
Griffin got up, his face suddenly void of all emotion, and walked to the front door.
When I made to follow, he held up his hand and stayed my forward progress.
“Let me talk to them first, please,” he rumbled, pushing through the door and calling out to the officers.
I couldn’t tell what was being said, but I was enraptured as Griffin’s face flashed from neutral to anger in less than ten seconds as he listened to the cops talk.
Griffin crossed his arms.
“Uh-oh. When he does that, he’s putting his foot down about something,” Lenore said.
I nervously picked up the first thing I found, nervously squeezing the squishy plastic in my hand while I watched the hub bub outside.
We both moved closer to the glass, watching as the officers spoke animatedly with Griffin.
They’d been going back and forth for maybe five minutes when the loud rumble of a Harley blasted down the street.
“Ten bucks says it’s Mig,” Lenore teased.
I wouldn’t take that bet.
I knew it was Mig.
Just like I knew that this…whatever this was…was going to be bad.
Especially if it got Mig hauling ass so loud that I could hear him from the time he got off the main drag in Uncertain.
“Shit,” I said, watching as Mig screeched to a halt beside the cop’s car.
“Uh-oh,” Lenore parroted. “He looks worn and ragged.”
He did.
His eyes had dark smudges under them, and I wondered how long he’d been out in front of my shop before he’d left.
Probably all night.
Mig didn’t waste time talking to the cops.
Instead, he passed the commotion, letting Griffin deal with it, while he walked straight into Lenore’s shop like he owned the place.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, not saying a word to Lenore.
Lenore watched Mig walk up to me, then snickered when Mig grabbed my arm and took me to the back room.
The squishy thing in my hand was probably ruined as I squeezed it to death out of sheer nervousness.
“Mig,” I started hesitantly.
He slammed the back room’s door closed, and then turned to me, studying my face.
“Your ex died last night,” he said softly.
My brows rose.
“Really?” I asked.
I wasn’t sure why I wasn’t freaking out.
I mean, I was married to Ross for two years before our divorce was finalized.
But I couldn’t find it in me to be surprised or even upset.
Sure, it was sad, but Ross’ death seemed like it’d happened long ago to me, rather than just last night.
“Yeah,” Mig confirmed.
“How?” I asked.
I really should be freaking out.
“I sent Casten on the hunt for him after you brought the purses to my attention. He found him the night before last and finally confronted him,” Mig said, leaning his back against the counter. “Ross got spooked, scared he would lose the good thing he had going, and he went to the supplier that was giving him the drugs to sell. The supplier felt that he was a loose end that needed tying up, so he shot him twice in the chest at the state park.”
I blinked.
“He was dealing drugs with my purses?” I gasped.
I mean, I’d thought he was doing something bad, but it was more like I thought he was just stealing them from people and then selling those to the drug dealers. But no, not Ross.
When he fucked up, he fucked up royally.
No easing into the waters for him.
He was more of a cannon ball type of person.
Then a thought occurred to me.
“How do you know all of this?” I asked carefully.
Mig grimaced, lacing his hands over the top of his head and hunching in slightly on himself.
“To explain this to you, I have to tell you why, exactly, I started putting guards on you in the first place,” he said slowly.
My brows rose to my hairline.
“You mean, I’m mature enough to know important facts about things that directly involve me?” I said facetiously. “That’s interesting.”
He gave me a droll look.
“Do you remember the note you were clutching the night you got hurt?” He asked.
My eyes narrowed, and I thought back to the night I’d been knocked out with the piece of wood.
“No,” I hesitated. “I don’t remember a note at all, why?”
He pulled out his phone, and started pressing buttons on the screen before he turned it around and showed me.
I admired what had to be Mig’s new phone before the note on the screen stole my attention.
I read the note, my eyes widening.
“Holy shit!” I gasped. “So how does that note connect to Ross?”
“There was a note with Ross’ body. It said three words: Your fault, too,” Mig explained tiredly. “The handwriting on this note matches the one that you were holding on to that night. They’re identical.”
I pursed my lips.