Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
I pull my phone from my purse, planning to call her once I’m street level. It beeps with a text from Reese. I sent a car for you. He’s there when you’re ready.
I frown and text him back: How do you know where I live?
He replies with: Arrogant, sexy assholes know all.
He asked Lauren, who is going to get her pregnant booty whipped, and not by her husband. I glance at the text message and type: I said arrogant, good-looking asshole.
He replies: I like my version better.
I laugh. Again. That matters. I don’t usually laugh much. And I kind of like it. And I like this man. But stay the weekend? Am I really going to stay with him? God. I packed a bag. I think I am. I exit the elevator, and sure enough, there is a car waiting for me. Once I’m settled into the back seat, I dial Liz, who doesn’t answer. I leave a message. “Call me.”
I’m bothered by her not taking my call. Really bothered by it, and by the time I’m inside Reese’s apartment building and clearing my entry with the security desk, she still hasn’t called back. I dial her again on my way to the elevator with the same results. I try once more as I exit the elevator to Reese’s floor and decide to just set aside my Liz issues. It’s time to go help find real justice for an innocent woman and child. And this trial, and Dan, haven’t done that.
I’m just arriving at the door when it opens, and he appears, and boy, does he make an impression. In ripped jeans and a simple black T-shirt that is not simple on him, he looks like sex, sin, and just what I need in my life, aside from a real purpose. Right now, that purpose is to help him with this case.
“Hey,” he says as I stop in front of him.
“Hey,” I reply, deciding he always smells wonderfully masculine. “Is your team here?”
“Yes,” he says, but he doesn’t back up to let me inside. His hand slides under my hair at my neck and he tilts my face to his. “But before we join them…” He kisses me, this slow, seductive, drugging kiss that has me softening against him before he pulls back and looks at me. “What the hell are you doing to me, woman?”
“Hopefully encouraging you to do that again.”
“What happened with your agent?” he asks, his lips still a breath from mine.
“You really know how to ruin the mood,” I say, pushing against his chest with hardly any movement on his behalf. He’s still holding me. His mouth is still close to my mouth. “That’s not important.”
“We both know it is.”
“It’s not. Let’s go inside and do something that is.”
“Right. We’ll have that naked conversation when we’re alone.” He kisses me fast and hard before releasing me. “Come on.” He takes my bag and gives me a pointed look. “Kind of small.”
“Big enough,” I say, breezing past him and into the hallway before turning to wait on him. “But I need to get my computer out of it so that I won’t be dragging other things out with your crew.”
He shuts the door and sets my bag against the wall. “We certainly wouldn’t want your clothing all over the house, now would we? For instance, hanging off a lampshade.”
I’m already squatting by my bag, unzipping it, and my gaze jerks upward to his. “That’s where my, ah, garment was at?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes alight with mischief and amusement. “That is exactly where it was at.”
I grab my MacBook and zip up my bag before standing back up, at which time I decide to find out how much trouble awaits me in the other room. “Has the Walker clan left the premises?”
“Yes,” he says, his hands settling on his hips. “They came in like a hurricane, asked a ton of questions, and then left.”
“Didn’t you say they had a lead?”
“Yeah. They think the wife did it.”
My brow furrows. “The wife? You mean the victim’s boyfriend had a wife?”
“My client’s wife.”
“Oh. Wow. Do you think she did it?”
“They have me leaning that way, but what I think doesn’t matter. What I prove or what she admits does.”
“All you need is reasonable doubt.”
“I have reasonable doubt. You know that isn’t enough in these cases.”
“It’s supposed to be,” I say.
“Would have, could have, should have,” he says, motioning me toward the archway that leads to the kitchen and the parts of the house I have yet to see.
We walk through that archway and pass the kitchen to enter the room on the other side of the stairwell, which is not so unlike the living area. The room is rectangular, wrapped in windows, with the same mahogany hardwood, only in this case there is a thick gray pile carpet covering most of the sitting area. On top of it is an L-shaped gray sectional with several low cushioned chairs. Reese’s co-counsels are each on the floor, on opposite sides of the gray marble rectangular coffee table, their computers in front of them. “Cat,” Reese says, his hand at my lower back, “meet Elsa and Richard.”