Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Is there someone you could call?” he asked when we were both standing in my tiny bathroom.
I nodded.
“Can I call them for you before I go?”
I shook my head. “I can do it. Do you want the, um…DNA sample now?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Can you come by the department?” he requested.
Another nod from me.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little holder that looked like it was made of baseball glove leather. He flipped it open and slid out a business card. He handed it to me and I took it.
“Call me and let me know when you can make it in. I’ll take the sample personally.”
That was nice and all, but I’d hurled in front of him. I’d cried into his uniform (I could see the mascara smears on his shoulder, yikes!). I didn’t need to open my mouth and let him rub a Q-tip in it.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“We’re in this together now, Lillian.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I had friends.
I had my grandparents, all getting up there in years, but still living and doing it in Indiana.
But after my parents disappeared, I’d felt very alone.
Enter Willie and me making the stupidest decision of my life.
Now, Handsome Harry Moran was telling me we were in this together.
I couldn’t hack it.
“Don’t be nice to me,” I warned.
Surprise slashed through his face. “Pardon?”
“You’re going to make me cry again.” I flipped out a hand. “Being a nice guy and all.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stop being that,” he said.
“Fantastic,” I mumbled, and he smiled.
There was no bright that could cut the dark that had very recently consumed my life. Or, I should say, very recently re-consumed it.
Except that smile.
He took me out of my amazement of that fact, and captivation with his smile, when he pushed, “You’re going to get someone over here?”
I nodded.
He kept pushing. “And you’re going to call me and tell me when you can come to the station?”
I nodded again.
“You’ll get through this, Lillian.”
I wanted to believe that.
But I wasn’t so sure.
His voice dipped, and honest to God, the way it sounded, it felt like I was back in his arms. “I’ll get you through it, honey.”
“You’re being nice,” I warned.
He smiled again, reached out and touched the back of my hand like he was sending out a search party. He found what he was looking for, seeing as his fingers wrapped around mine and he pulled me out of the bathroom.
Still holding my hand, he led us to the great room and asked, “Where’s your phone?”
I looked to the kitchen counter.
He drew me there.
When he stopped us by my phone, I looked up at him. “Are you going to wait for me to call Kay?”
Or Jenna, Janie or Molly.
“No, I just wanted you in your pretty kitchen with your pretty flowers before I leave you.”
Oh my God!
This totally sucked!
Years, I’d been watching this man, thinking he was the bee’s knees.
I did not need to find out my parents were (very likely) irretrievably gone after denying for nearly two decades my parents were gone and then find out how much of the bee’s knees this guy was.
He read my annoyed expression, I knew, when his lips twitched and he muttered, “Sorry, I’m being nice again.”
“It’s irritating,” I snapped, taking odd comfort in being peevish rather than being a slobbering, wailing mess.
He bit his lip, but that didn’t stop his smirk.
I narrowed my eyes at it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he stated.
Whatever.
“Hang in there, Lillian,” he bid.
I switched targets and narrowed my eyes at his eyes.
“Right,” he muttered, openly fighting a smile.
I watched him walk to the front door and I braced when he stopped at it and turned to me.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” he said.
He. Was. Killing. Me.
“Go away,” I returned.
“See you tomorrow,” he repeated.
“Whatever,” I replied, this time verbally.
He shot me another smile.
And then Handsome Harry Moran was gone.
FOUR
Sell His Soul
Harry
Harry’s thoughts were all over the place on his drive out to metaphorically bang his head against the wall at the Zowkower compound.
He should be going back to the station. Getting his shit tight. Re-reading that email from Coeur D’Alene. Re-assessing what little they knew about the bones they’d found in that grave on the side of that mountain.
But he didn’t because after meeting Lillian, it was now burned on his brain.
Man. Woman. Both in their mid to late forties.
Both died of gunshot wounds, and they knew that because they’d found the bullets in that hole with them, surmising they had once been in their bodies, along with bullets that had made the holes in the skulls.
He tried to rein it in, the varied directions his mind was leading him, but he could still feel Lillian’s grief wetting his shirt, and Harry knew all about grief.
So he was struggling.
He’d been in this business a long time. You get to know people, how they think, how they work, the fucked-up shit they get up to, the stupid mistakes they make, the depths of denial they could dig.