Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Going downstairs,” Dominic announced, but he was already away from the room, gripping the banister and trudging his way down. He sunk to the sofa, shaking while staring at an abstract painting on the wall, until the cleaner popped up an hour later and said, “All done.”
“That’s it?” Dominic rose to his feet. He noticed the man’s kitbag in one hand and an orange hazard bag in the other.
“That’s it. Nothing will be found. Did a double cleaning, in fact.” The man looked Dominic all over, as if assessing him, and he wanted to shrink. Would this man tell someone about him being here? And where the hell was Boaz? What exactly was he doing with Brynn’s body?
“Do you do a lot of these jobs?” Dominic inquired.
The cleaner shrugged. “At least three or four a year.”
Dominic swallowed. “And you don’t tell anyone about them?”
The man smiled behind his mask. “I’d be out of a job if I went around telling people what I do for a living.”
Dominic nodded, wanting to find comfort in those words, but they only made him wary. The man left, and he cursed himself for not finding out his name.
Dominic’s stomach was grumbling as midnight approached. Boaz specifically told him not to leave, yet he hadn’t called or returned to the house. He began to panic, dialing Boaz’s number repeatedly and not getting an answer. In between that, Jolene was shooting him text messages. He hadn’t answered her call and she was clearly upset about it, and if he wanted things to seem normal, he had to play it cool, so he texted her back. He lied, saying he was golfing with John, then at a bar for drinks. She asked him why he hadn’t responded to her last night, and he told her he fell asleep. Another lie.
He was tempted to leave—get as far away from this house as possible—but then his phone rang close to two in the morning. Boaz was calling.
“Get all your stuff, get in your car, and leave,” Boaz murmured. He gave him instructions on where to meet him and Dominic hastily collected his keys, duffel bag, and bolted out of the house.
THIRTY-SIX
JOLENE
I’m sitting on the sofa, a glass of wine in hand and my laptop on the couch beside me, How to Get Away with Murder playing in the background, when I hear the front door slam. I gasp and nearly spill my wine when I hear footsteps thundering through the house.
“Dominic?” I call.
No answer.
I stand, walking around the corner to check the foyer. It’s empty. I look in the kitchen and he’s not there either. I hear footsteps above and set my wine glass down on the kitchen counter before making my way up. My red satin robe from Lovely Silk sashays around my ankles as I hurry up and find him in our bedroom. The closet door is open, and he’s coming out of it with a set of clothes. On the bed, he has a duffel bag, and he stuffs the clothes into it.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Where are you going?”
“I have something to do,” he says before disappearing into the closet again. He comes back out with a pair of tennis shoes and dress shoes and stuffs them into the bag too.
“Dominic, what’s going on? Why are you in such a rush?” I demand.
“I’m just—I have to go. I need time to prepare for the rally Saturday.”
“And you can’t do that here?” Not that I want him here, but still . . . it is his home.
“No. I have meetings, things in between. Better that I get a head start in Charlotte.”
“Okay.” I sink down on the bench at the bottom of the bed. Dominic zips his bag up, slings it over his shoulder, then walks toward the door. As if he’s forgetting something, he pauses and dumps the bag on the floor. I expect him to rush to the closet or even the bathroom, but instead he comes to me and lowers to his knees.
“Jo, I’m sorry about last night,” he says, and I press my lips, instantly fighting whatever emotion tries to take over me. I won’t break. I won’t forgive as easily this time. He always does this after one of his bad moods takes over. He’ll apologize, send flowers the next day, treat me to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. But today, there were no flowers, and clearly, we’re not going out to eat because he’s packed up to leave. “I’m just so stressed with the campaign and scared that I might lose.” He lets out an exasperated breath, his light-brown eyes swiveling to mine. He takes one of my hands in his and kisses the back of it. “I know I haven’t been the best husband to you, and I promise I will make up for my mistakes, but Jo . . . I need you on my side more than ever right now. There are things that . . .” He pauses, blinking rapidly. It’s now I notice the bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept well in days. “Just know that I need you. I can’t live my life without you.”