Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Chapter twelve
Beau
I’m in Ignacia’s bed. Again. I’m sleeping just a few feet away from her, although sleeping is a relative term, and it doesn’t accurately describe what’s going on here in the least. I think she’s asleep. She has been for a while.
But it changes radically when a loud bang comes from outside.
She jerks up in bed, her eyes wild and frightened, and something happens to me that isn’t driven by work or fueled by skill or duty. It’s not just me putting myself between the client and harm. It’s an instant and immediate rage that makes no sense. The rage is brought on by whatever and whoever is out there. If it’s a what, then nature is just an asshole, but if it’s a who and the who means to harm this woman, then they are going to be flat on their back in a matter of seconds. And as soon as I can get my hands on them, my hands will be choking the life out of them. Sure, I’ll go to prison. Even rich people can’t murder someone and get away with it, and murderous rage can hardly be called self-defense. But I’ll go. It will be worth it if it means Ignacia is safe.
I think about all that as I spring from the bed and dash downstairs. I have my gun out and ready in front of me. Ignacia would also kill me if she knew it was in the top drawer of the nightstand. She hates guns.
The same pudgy raccoon from the other night is out here again. I swear it’s the absolute same beast of a devil.
“Hey!” I yell at it and stride forward to the metal trash can that’s been knocked on its side. “Get out of here.”
It looks at me like it’s taunting me to finish that statement with before I put a bullet in your hide. Yeah, the bastard is calling my bluff. It knows I’m not going to shoot it. That I’m not going to shoot at it. I don’t discharge a weapon for anything less than immobilizing a threat to my life or my client’s life.
“Get going.”
More raccoon staredown happens. Then, the rotund creature stands on its hind legs, sticks one of its front legs down, and scratches its own nuts.
My jaw drops.
“That’s crude, man,” I say.
More staring takes place. At least it’s not hissing. Or springing. Rabies shots suck, and I don’t want to get one on the off chance this jerk is packing more than an alarming-sized set that he’s very eager to show off.
“Great. It’s established. They’re officially bigger than mine. Good job. Now, can you leave the trash for another night or just come for it quietly next time?”
The raccoon turns and ambles away so very slowly that it’s like the animal version of two fuck you birds flying high in the air. This guy clearly knows he’s won the battle, even if he has to leave the trash for another war and another night.
I right the trashcan and get the garbage bag back in. This time, I take it to the porch and tuck it inside the screen door. It has a latch on it, but I do wonder about the wisdom of what I just did. That raccoon doesn’t look like it’ll be deterred in the least. It looks capable of getting the door open with furious superhuman raccoon strength and feasting to the tune of incredible messes.
I leave it anyway and head back upstairs. I never took the safety off my gun. There have been very few times I’ve ever needed to.
My heart is still pounding far too crazily, and it doubles its furious rate and refuses to listen to reason when I see Ignacia in her floral granny nightgown with lace at the sleeves and collar, standing at the window with the curtains pulled back. Half of me wants to yank her away from the window, straight into my arms, but the other half says to be rational, and that’s the half I go with. That’s the only half I’ll ever choose. The one that listens to rules and reason and has both our best interests at heart. The one that isn’t insane and reckless and doesn’t want to admit I need a different kind of shot because there’s something about this woman with her big laughter, kindness, easy acceptance, sunny outlook, and perseverance and strength that has burrowed under my skin.
I put the gun back in the top drawer of the nightstand. It’s very token, I have to admit, but hiding it under the mattress doesn’t really work, and I would never ever put something like that under the pillow or leave it in plain sight.
She doesn’t turn around. She stays at the window, her body looking soft, the billowing granny nightgown that covers just about every inch of her somehow the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.