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)
And then she smirked, and that burned through his cock too.
She knew exactly what she did to him, and she liked it.
It was safe to say, Harry not only liked it too, he liked that she did.
“Better get that, honey,” she purred.
His dick twitched at the tone of her voice.
Fuck.
He didn’t move other than to pull the phone out of his pocket and look at the screen.
It was his father.
That wouldn’t have anything to do with Sonny and Avery, but his dad had no reason to call, and Harry was a cop. Something souring in his gut told him to take it.
“Hey, Dad,” he greeted.
“Harry. Son,” his father replied.
Harry straightened, taking Lillian with him so she was sitting on the edge of the table, but his attention drifted over her head as he focused on his father.
“Everything cool?” he asked hesitantly, because he could already tell it was not.
“Harry, I brought Caro around to the house to show it to her, and, son, you need to come out here.” His father paused, then, “Don’t bring Lillian.”
Shit.
“But call one of your deputies to come with you,” his dad finished.
Shit.
THIRTY-THREE
Not Thinking Good Thoughts
Harry
Harry pulled up beside his dad’s rental car.
Caroline was in it, maybe because autumn had taken firm hold and the morning was chilly.
Maybe because of what Harry saw across the front of his house.
He reckoned it was the second one, considering the pallor of her face and the weak smile she aimed in his direction.
His father was standing several feet from the foot of the steps.
Harry got out and joined him.
Once there, he stared at the bright red spray paint, in huge letters, spelling out Back Off!!!!!!
And yes, there were six exclamation points.
All the front windows had been smashed in, some shards on the porch, but Harry could tell right away that most of the breakage would be inside, meaning someone had thrown something through them from the outside.
“Got an idea of who did this?” his dad asked tightly.
He had three, and to be gender inclusive, four.
Karl Abernathy.
Roy Farrell.
Cheryl Ballard.
And Willie Zowkower.
He was a cop, so he had cameras, and he focused on the one he had pointed at his front door.
It was covered in red paint.
He pulled out his phone and opened up the camera app.
He hadn’t sprung for the system that sent motion sensor notifications. He didn’t have much to steal, he lived among the wildlife, and critters would constantly trip the sensors, and in being forced to contemplate it in that very moment, he’d been riding a lowkey ambivalence to his home since he lost Winnie.
In essence, he didn’t give much of a shit.
Like now.
He wasn’t upset at the damage.
He was annoyed with the message.
He scrolled through footage of when his camera was activated. He saw some racoon activity.
And then there he was.
Definitely a he.
Cheryl was out.
Dark clothes. A balaclava covering his face and hair. He kept his head down as he approached, then lifted a gloved hand, fingers spread over his face, which effectively hid any features the ski mask might expose, and then there was nothing but the nozzle of the spray can. Any footage after was just dark.
Willie Zowkower was tallish, maybe an inch or two shorter than Harry, and lean but muscular.
Roy Farrell was average height, now on the wrong side of middle age, and he carried quite a bit of extra weight.
Karl Abernathy was firm on the short side, stocky, and he used to be bulky with muscle.
Harry had always wondered if Abernathy’s short stature was one of the reasons he was such an asshole.
The man in the video had a hint of a gut, but his shoulders were broad, and he was at most, five six.
And Harry would recognize that puggish gait anywhere.
His phone vibrated in his hand as he replayed the video, and he saw it was a call from Trey.
Goddamn it.
They’d exchanged numbers the evening before. Trey and Mark had told him they’d had to dump the commissioner of their fantasy football league when, on the first game of the season, he changed his lineup illegally. They appointed a new commissioner but hadn’t found anyone to replace him. They invited Harry to tap in and take his picks.
Harry had never been in a fantasy football league, even if he was a football fan. This was because, as noted, the last eight years, he hadn’t done much of anything but his job. Doc had pulled him out of the prison he’d created for himself, but that only meant he hit up a few of the frequent parties Doc and Nadia threw.
Other than that, and recently finding Lillian, he hadn’t pushed it further.
Even knowing he didn’t have the time, he’d accepted the invitation, partly because he was going to be a part of her crew now, he liked these men, and this was as an official of an invitation of friendship as men could extend, partly because he was a fan of football, but also because it was high time he got a fucking life.