Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
X: I heard the sirens and saw you being loaded into the ambulance. I felt sorry for you. And I care because I don’t like seeing good people in pain.
Me: You don’t even know me.
X: You’re right. I don’t. And that’s what makes me perfect.
I sniffed back fresh tears. Perfect for what?
X: To talk to.
Me: Why would I talk to a creep who left a phone in my letterbox all because he/she saw me being beaten?
X: Because that creep has promised to never hurt you. And if he can do anything to help you…then he’ll do it.
Me: So you’re admitting you’re a guy?
X: Damn, guess I just did.
Me: And you live around my neighbourhood?
X: I didn’t say that.
Me: How did you see me being loaded into the ambulance then?
X: I was just passing through.
Me: Right. Sure. Don’t believe you.
My brain throbbed with questions. Huddling on the chair, I fired another message off before he could reply. Is this Jim?
I didn’t truly think X was eighty-three-year-old James McNab, but it might trip him up. If he knew Jim, then I might be able to narrow down who it was. I wouldn’t put something like this past the residents on this street. A helpful Samaritan doing the right thing in a very shady way.
X: I have no idea who Jim is.
Me: Sure, you don’t.
X: You’re ruining this, by the way.
Me: I’m ruining it? Ruining what exactly? Your attempt at some creepy god-complex superhero attempt at….I don’t even know what to call this.
X: Call it whatever you want. You can call me your friend too if you’d like.
Me: I have a friend. I don’t need another.
X: Okay then, consider me your little secret.
Me: My little secret?! Do you say that to all the girls you plan on murdering?
X: Murdering? What? I literally just said I would never hurt you.
Me: Yet you’re hiding behind a screen and asking me to keep you a secret.
X: If no one knows about me, then no one will know what we talk about.
And that was my limit.
Tossing the phone down, I reached for mine and called the police.
* 12 *
Zander
Nobody’s Perfect
WELL, THAT BLEW UP SPECTACULARLY IN MY face.
What the hell had I been thinking?
Putting a burner phone in her letterbox? Telling her to keep me as her dirty secret? Christ! No wonder she thought I was planning on murdering her!
Thank God, I’d paid cash for the phone and not put in any of my details. This could destroy my career. I could be arrested. Gran would be rolling around in her urn right about now, wondering why the fuck I’d done something so stupid!
She called the police.
If I wasn’t so shit terrified, I would’ve been so damn proud of her.
I’d heard stories from Melody that Sailor had a sharp tongue, inappropriate sense of humour, and could give back as good as she got, but I’d never been on the receiving end of such a conversation. Whenever we’d talked, it’d never gone past the common pleasantries of strangers.
I hadn’t been prepared for the kick in my gut as her replies vibrated in my palm. I’d been wrong that she was broken from what Milton did to her. She wasn’t. She might be a little banged up and choking on things she didn’t want to voice, but she wasn’t broken, and that…that gave me decidedly mixed feelings.
I no longer just felt responsible for her but was also intrigued by her.
And that wasn’t gonna work because I couldn’t be intrigued.
I didn’t have time to be intrigued. Intrigued led to…other feelings.
Feelings I’d done my best to convince myself were never there.
Feelings I definitely had no business feeling: that tightening in my chest. That rush of endorphins and surge of testosterone snarling with unpermitted possession.
For God’s sake, I’d only had one conversation with the woman, and I was already contemplating going over there and telling her everything.
I’d always known I was a goody-two shoes. I’d never been able to lie or steal or break even the smallest of rules. But it wasn’t just the well-behaved doctor inside me needing to confess what I’d done but the very real, suddenly very protective part of me that didn’t want anyone else to know just how incredible she was.
Goddammit, this is bad.
Nursing my small icy glass of Johnny Walker, I watched from my living room window as the two police officers stepped out of Sailor’s front door and headed toward their cruiser parked across her driveway.
At the last second, they cut down the footpath, onto my property, and rang my doorbell.
Christ, could this get any worse?
What gave me away?
How had they figured it was me so fast?
Should I call a lawyer?
Throwing the rest of my drink down my throat, I hoped like hell I didn’t smell like alcohol at two o’clock in the afternoon. Raking my hands through unruly red hair, I straightened my glasses, smoothed my grey t-shirt, and strolled to the door as if I wasn’t about to explode inside.