Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“He’s digging to find out how they’re connected to me and if I have a motive,” I corrected.
“That’s still good for us. If there is a link between Cavendish and your grandmother, he’ll find it. And if he tries to bury it, that’ll be all the proof we need about who had their boot on his neck.”
“But how will you know if he finds something?”
“The old man brings his case files home. They make for decent reading.”
I nodded, worrying my lip. “We can’t rely on him to find everything for us. Correction: I won’t rely on him. AgriProspects is gone, but Cavendish’s accounting firm isn’t. I’m—”
“We.”
“We are going there tomorrow. Also, I’m stopping by the only two youth centers in town to see what they know of a Blake Jensen.”
“Fine. We’ll get it done before I go on a collection run.”
He, and therefore me, headed inside.
“Shower,” he stated. “You’re going to do that thing you do.”
Smiling, I kissed his cheek. “Happy to.”
The next morning, I crawled out from under Cairo’s arm and dressed in the dark. Paris and I had eight a.m. classes and were meeting for breakfast.
I stepped out on the porch and waved to the workers fixing our window.
“Morning.”
“Morning. What do you got...?”
His friendly chatter faded as I landed on the mailbox. Poking out of the slot, tucked in with the supermarket coupons like another piece of junk mail, was a black letter.
I didn’t recall telling my feet to move. The command to lift my hand did not come from me. All I knew was in the next breath, my fingers were running over the stamp.
It was a white rose.
The home you made a crime scene didn’t slow you down at all. Of course, you just mailed it.
To the house, said a voice. He wasn’t worried about the Bedlam Boys getting their hands on this first. What does that mean?
Hands shaking, I tore open the letter.
I’m very angry with you.
You lied to me and you gave away our secret. Why is Sharpe telling the cops he’s a witness to the man in the shiny shoes who murdered Hope?
I’ve got friends everywhere. They let me know when a stupid little fool is trying to get one over on me.
When I found out what you did, I was so angry, I didn’t want to talk to you anymore.
I saw you coming out of St. James’s place the other day and decided to kill you right then. If you think you can trick me, or that you don’t have to play the game properly, then you’re not going to play at all.
I was about to end this shit for good, but I didn’t because you don’t get that gift.
It’s you and me, bitch.
Forever. For always. Until I say you can go.
With that fact accepted, you’ll have to make it up to me.
I don’t know who killed Verlice, but it sure as hell wasn’t you. Even though it should have been. That guy was nothing. He wasn’t worth what we’re building.
I’ll make you see that.
The next one won’t be so easy, but you’ll do it because from you they’ll have a peaceful death.
I won’t be that nice.
Fuck you.
They left the creepy hugs and kisses off their sign-off this time. The new one didn’t make me feel better.
I shoved the letter in my backpack, torn between going inside and telling the guys, or walking straight into a police station.
This was beyond me now. This psychopath was not playing around and I did not need to bury another friend for the message to sink in. The sooner I found out who he was, the sooner I could hand these letters over with a name and never think of the Letter Man again.
“Rainey.”
I plastered a smile on my face as Paris climbed out of her car. She was gorgeous as ever. Paris loved raiding her mom’s closet for outfits she could turn vintage. That day’s look was a puffy top, brown leather skirt, and clunky boots.
“Hey, I’ve got your change of clothes here.” Paris waggled her bag at me. In it would be jeans, a top, and maybe even a sweater if I was lucky. My days of bargaining for clothes were over.
“Oh, how I long for the days of sneakers,” I called. “Remind me of what it’s like. Is it glorious?”
“It’s pretty glorious.”
I ran up to her and we smooched cheeks. Pulling back, she gave me a funny look.
“Wow.”
I squeezed my pack strap. “What is it?”
“Girl, you are sexed up. Are you getting any sleep at all?”
Fire licked my cheeks. “What? Where did you get that from?”
“Um, you practically galloped over to me, walking funny like you’ve been going cowgirl—bareback, and bucking all night and day on that saddle.”
“That’s too many puns!”
“Plus, you’re covered in hickeys and glowing like someone, or someones, broke your orgasm meter. Spill it. Tell me everything.”