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)
My brows rose.
“Sure,” I said.
It might be really nice not to have to see or hear Jennifer whine for more than an hour.
“Great, do you want to come to the diner with me? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said.
I shrugged. “That’s fine. You’ll have to take me to work afterwards, though. I have to be at the salon in about an hour and a half.”
And that’s how I ended up driving away with another man instead of waiting for Mig to call me back over.
A ride I took without my phone so he couldn’t reach me.
“Do you know evasive maneuvering that can get us away from my babysitter?” I asked, pointing at Core who’d followed us on his bike.
Officer Shields smiled.
“From what I understand, you’ve got some bad guys responsible for that scar I can see on the side of your head,” he said softly. “So if it makes Konn feel better to have you followed wherever you go, then I’m not going to lose him.”
I narrowed my eyes. Konn, aka Mig, aka He-Who-Caters-To-His-Ex-Wife, was on my shit list. And I didn’t care about making him ‘feel better.’
We didn’t speak about what he wanted to talk about on the way there.
We spoke about the weather and how unseasonably cold it was for this time of year.
Normally, in October, it was eighties during the day and sixties at night.
Today it didn’t get above sixty-five, and it was going on half past two.
When we walked into the diner, everyone looked up, and eyes started to widen.
Normally, I was with Mig when I came in here, so I was sure it was a shock to see me with a hunky, older man.
One who wasn’t, might I add, in his uniform.
“Take a seat anywhere you want, but the further away the better,” he said.
I went to the very back of the room and slid into the round table that took up the very back booth.
“What can I get y’all to drink?” The waitress asked.
“Sweet tea,” I ordered.
“Coffee…black,” Officer Shields said with a small smile.
Once the waitress left, he turned to me and started.
“We went through Ross Autrey’s computer to see if we could find any links or lines we could follow, but we came across something interesting, and I wanted to know if you knew about it,” he said.
I raised a brow.
“Okay,” I said slowly “Sock it to me, Officer Shields.”
Officer Shield’s grinned. “Call me Byron.”
I nodded, and he continued.
“Your ex-husband was living a second life. One that was centered entirely upon you,” Byron explained.
I sighed.
Of course he did.
Because why not?
“What did he do?” I asked softly.
“He started accounts in your name. You’ve got at least six open right now, with him as the co-signer.” He handed me some papers, and I felt my eyes widening as I saw the dollar amounts associated with each of the accounts. “And we need your permission to sort through these to determine where the money’s originating from.”
I nodded. “Of course you have my permission. What all do you need from me?”
“Just consent for now. If we need to go further, we will,” he explained.
My stomach clenched as I thought about what all those zeros on that bank statement meant.
“None of that money is mine. I’ve never seen that many zeros in my life,” I told Byron.
Byron nodded. “Me neither. That’s pretty impressive.”
I agreed.
It was.
Just not how he’d acquired it, since I was sure he was dealing drugs to get that much in the first place.
“Okay. What else did you have questions about?” I asked.
He produced more papers from the front inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing and placed them on the table in front of me.
“Do you know who Liam Cornell is?” He asked.
I blinked.
Then nodded.
“Yes, I do,” I confirmed, my stomach knotting in agony at hearing his name.
“He’s listed as your ex’s employer on his life insurance policy,” he started. “But we can’t find what ‘business’ he owns, and we were hoping you could shine some light on him for us.”
I didn’t want to shine any light on him.
The last time I’d tried to help someone find anything out about Liam Cornell, I’d ended up with a headache the size of Texas, and a radical change in clientele…not that Mig realized that.
Because if he had, he wouldn’t be very happy.
But there was no way I was giving Mig one more reason to hate Liam Cornell.
Not if I could help it, anyway.
“The only reason I know the name Liam Cornell is because he used to be a client of mine,” I replied. “But he’s also who Mig suspects was the reason for this,” I said, fingering my still sore part of my face where the wood had connected with my cheek.
“Why does your boyfriend think it was him?” Byron asked.
I sighed. “I’d really like you to talk with Mig about that. He knows a lot more about him, and since my attack, I’m uncomfortable even talking about the man.”