Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“I’m NOT.” I rubbed my side and glowered at her elbows, which should be registered as a weapon. Taking the opportunity to sneak a look at her watch, I wondered how much longer this service could last.
TWO HOURS. Two hours is how long we stayed in that barn, the temperature rising as the morning passed. We talked about a lot more than death. There was a giant hugging circle that occurred, where everyone wandered around and hugged and blessed each other. I was introduced a dozen or so times as Laurent’s cousin, a moniker that no one seemed to believe, but everyone accepted. We returned to our seats and waited as ten or fifteen people stood up and told stories of blessings that they had received, or prayers that they needed. We sang. Prayed. Sang. Listened to more of the pastor. Sang. Heard church announcements. Prayed some more. Then, finally, it was over.
And I thought the eleven o’clock service with Mom had been long. I had the ridiculous urge to fly her to Louisiana just so she could sit with me through next week’s worship and slip me peppermints during the slow parts.
Next week. The impact of my thoughts hit me at the same time as the sunshine. I stepped out of the barn and lifted my hand, shielding my eyes from the glare of it as I stepped off the bottom step and onto the trampled grass. In a week, would I still be here?
“Let’s talk.” Laurent’s hand closed around my arm and he pulled me forward, striding us toward the truck. I struggled to keep up, surprised at the quick clip of his steps.
He opened the door of the truck, practically shoved me in, and held up a hand to Septime. “Get a ride back with someone.”
The order brought me to full alert, the sermon forgotten, and I scooted over into the passenger seat. “What’s wrong? Is it Dario? Tell me—”
“Here.” He pushed his cell phone out, the screen open, a text message showing. I took it carefully, worried I might hit the wrong button, and read the display.
—Hawk shot. No word yet on condition. Please tell her.
I read it three times, then closed the phone and passed it back to Laurent. Sitting back, I tried to think through what this meant and how it affected our situation.
Everyone dies. It was probably sacrilegious, but I couldn’t help but feel relief.
DARIO
He watched the FBI agent as he adjusted a cheap watch into place.
“Sorry to get you up so soon. I understand that you had a late night.”
Dario ignored the comment, glancing at his attorney.
The man smoothed down the front of his suit and lifted one expensive shoe, resting it on his knee in the casual pose of assholes everywhere. “You had news for my client?”
They already knew the news. The beauty of calling half the news outlets in town to document Hawk’s arrest? They’d also caught his death. A dozen cameras, shuttering through every bloody minute of it. It’d hit the newswire before Dario had landed. By the time he’d been back in his cell, he knew everything. His ranch foreman, Nick, had shown up and shot Hawk, then been taken down by three slugs in the chest. Another death, caused by Dario’s mistakes.
He stared down at the table and listened as the agent recounted everything he already knew. Nick had driven in from the ranch. They found a hotel reservation under his name at the Hampton Inn. He’d shot Hawk with a gun registered in his name. There were a hundred witnesses and camera footage of everything.
“You have any idea why Nick Fentes would want to kill Robert Hawk?”
Dario looked up, his brow furrowing. “Is that a fucking joke?”
His attorney cleared his throat and tapped the table in the sort of warning motion that would get him fired.
Dario tilted his jaw to one side, the muscles in his neck popping, and collected himself, then spelled everything out for the idiot. “Nick and Gwen have been in a relationship for some time. Robert Hawk, directly or indirectly, killed the woman he loved. If I’d had a gun and a death wish, I’d have done the same thing.”
He almost had done the same thing. In Hawk’s home, staring at that chicken shit of evil … he’d physically struggled with the desire to reach out and wrap his hands around the man’s neck, squeezing the cords of tendons until the bones beneath them snapped. Bell had been the only reason he hadn’t. Protecting Bell, and the thought of a life with her … that had kept his temper in check and his hands by his side.
Nick hadn’t had that seatbelt to contain him. His world had ended in the same moment that Gwen’s had, and Dario hated that he’d been the one who had to tell him. The silence on the other end of that phone… he had felt the heartbreak, had heard the emotion in the hard exhale of breath. Nick hadn’t asked who had done it. Dario had told him about Bell, and he had instantly understood, their joint hatred and concern about Robert Hawk a topic that had been discussed at length.