Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I wipe off a few crumbs and look at the number. 45826.
Lovely. That’s not much to go on.
I don’t start panicking until I look up and see the big tags with numbers on the machines. Five digits, just like what’s on the metal plate.
And there, in the corner, with an OUT OF ORDER sign taped to it, is the washer that matches the number in my hand.
No coincidence.
It’s clever, really. No one here cares enough to look too closely at a busted machine.
The old lady’s laundry finishes and she starts hauling her clothes out of the washer into her bag. Her back is turned and I see my moment.
I’m not built for this.
The movies always portray this sort of thing as fun and adventurous. Scary, sure, but in an adrenaline-coursing heroic way.
They don’t show how your entire body turns to stone with real fear.
I need to pee.
I need to lie down.
Jeez, I need a whole new life because I did not sign up for this, stalking around and sleuthing after creeps and crooks.
The washer that’s out of commission opens too easily. I stare at it, surprised it wasn’t locked or something.
The drum looks oddly hollowed out, the innards more like a thin cover. And inside—a black bag.
I don’t think, I just reach in and tug the zipper down, revealing a flash of green cash. Lots and lots of bills.
I’m finally about to breathe when a thick hand lands on my shoulder.
I’m screaming before I even whip around.
24
SWEET REGRETS (DEXTER)
Junie’s eyes roll like marbles as I swing her around, and I curse myself for scaring her.
Goddammit, though, she should be afraid for doing this alone.
Past her, in the hollow drum of the washing machine, I catch a glimpse of cash sticking out like waving leaves.
Fucking hell, this is bad.
The kind of bad you only hear about on a crime podcast or Sunday evening TV specials.
I’d bet my life this place is rigged with cameras, too.
Which means the owners of this money will have a crystal-clear shot of my face, and more importantly, they’ll have hers.
If they haven’t already figured out their cover’s been blown by nosy interlopers, they will pretty damn soon, and they’ll know who’s responsible.
What will they do to keep their secret safe?
There could be men with dead eyes and sidearms barreling toward us in black SUVs right now.
I need to get her the fuck out of here.
“Dex,” she whispers, staggering back like she’s been hit.
I stare her down, hating that I hope it’s finally dawning on her just how serious this is. Shit, if I hadn’t found her here first—
No.
I bury the thought before it sees the light of day. I’m not going to lose my shit just because her curiosity trumps her sense of self-preservation.
“Outside. Right fucking now,” I bite off, slamming the washer shut so hard it echoes through the room.
The old lady by the front doesn’t even look at us as we head through the door.
To think I was angry at the way I handled warning her. At the way she’s involved in this fuckery thanks to me.
The way I yelled at her.
I thought she was angry because of the situation, the fact that Haute was playing us for fools.
Never did I think she’d be bold enough to go searching for answers on his turf.
Weak sunlight struggles through the evening clouds, glinting off Junie’s hair as she yanks her arm from my hand.
“I can walk, you know. Jesus.”
“Keep moving,” I grind out.
A couple people turn to stare at us, frowning. Who the hell can blame them?
I hustle along, faster to lessen the chances of anyone remembering our faces.
“We can’t talk here,” I whisper, stepping closer to her so she has to look up at me. “Get in my car, Junie.”
“What about my van?”
“I’ll send someone to pick it up later.” My temper hangs by the frailest thread. I massage my temples, trying to keep my worries in check. “For fuck’s sake, Junie, get in.”
She holds her ground, stopping and frowning at me. “And if I’m not leaving the van?”
“This isn’t the time for an ego battle, sweetheart,” I say desperately. “Come on. We need to go.”
She shrugs.
“I drove here and I can drive myself back.”
Insufferable.
The longer we stay, the more attention we could draw, and the more likely it is someone’s going to swoop in on that cash drop and realize it’s been compromised.
“If you get moving now, fine,” I growl, pinching my nose. “Back to my place. I’m not arguing that.”
She glances at her van like she’s considering making a run for it, but then she nods. Maybe it’s finally sinking in, the gravity of the situation. Or maybe it’s just because she knows we can talk freely there without any risk of men with guns barging in.
I don’t even know what I’m going to tell her.