Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
She sidles closer, and just the heat of her presence sends a pulse of awareness through my body. She must notice my hungry expression and giggles. “Let me cook for you.”
I blink at her. “But you cooked last night.”
She shrugs. “I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me.”
“I can’t argue with that.” I pull eggs out of the fridge, and she gets to work on making an omelet. “I’m starving.” I smile.
Aubree smirks, flipping the omelet expertly. “Yeah, we really worked up an appetite.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at the memory. “That was… unexpected.”
“Good unexpected, I hope,” she says, her voice quieting.
“Definitely,” I murmur, stepping closer to rest a hand on her lower back. She leans into the touch, her body language telling me she’s as affected as I am.
Our moment is cut short by the chime of my phone on the counter. I sigh, letting go of Aubree to check the screen. It’s a text from Dean, and judging by the urgency in his message—“Need to talk. Info on stepfather”—I know it’s not gonna be good. I unlock the phone and scan the details.
Aubree’s brow furrows. “What’s up?”
I glance over at her, torn between telling her outright and trying to soften the blow. But I promised to keep her in the loop, and she deserves that. “Dean says your stepfather, Charles, has had a few large transactions in his bank account recently. They’re suspicious because nobody knows where the money’s coming from, and one of the transactions happened the night before your pizza shop was attacked.”
Her spatula slows as she processes my words. “The night before the brick?” she echoes, eyes widening. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Dean doesn’t know for sure if it’s connected,” I add, watching the flicker of anxiety in her expression. “But he wants to dig deeper. See if Charles is funneling money for something shady.”
Aubree turns off the stove and slides the finished omelet onto a plate. I reach out, steadying the plate before it falls from her trembling hand. She busies herself by grabbing a second plate from the cupboard and dividing the omelet, but I can tell her mind’s a million miles away.
Finally, she sets the plates on the small table and gestures for me to sit. “Well,” she says, exhaling sharply, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve always suspected Charles was after money.”
I lower myself into a chair across from her, tension gathering in my shoulders. “You did?”
She nods, looking down at her plate instead of at me. “Yeah. My mom’s… she’s well-off. My father left her a big inheritance when he died, plus she’s got a successful real estate business of her own. Charles came into the picture about a year ago, all smiles and charm. But I never fully trusted him. I don’t think he married her because he loves her.”
I watch her push the omelet around with her fork, appetite seemingly forgotten. “So, you think Charles might be in financial trouble, or something like that?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” she says, glancing up with a bitter twist of her lips. “He supposedly runs a real estate office, but my mom mentioned it was bleeding money. He’s a smooth talker, though, so she wrote it off as temporary problems. He’s always going on about how ‘the next big deal’ is right around the corner.”
I’m quiet for a moment, absorbing what she’s saying. If Charles has money problems, it’s not a huge leap to wonder if he’s capable of something worse—like hiring someone to scare Aubree out of town to get control of her mom’s assets. It’s a stretch, but I’ve seen worse motivations in my line of work.
Aubree sighs, finally forcing a bite of her omelet into her mouth. She chews slowly, her gaze distant. “I just hate thinking my mom could be so easily manipulated. She’s smart, but she always wants to see the best in people.”
“It’s not her fault,” I say gently, crossing an arm over my chest. “Some people are experts at deception. If Charles is one of them, I’m sure he’s very convincing.”
She nods in reluctant agreement, then sets her fork down, apparently giving up on eating. “You think he’s behind it, don’t you?” she asks softly, folding her hands together in her lap.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Dean wouldn’t have mentioned those transactions if he didn’t think it was worth looking into. It could be a coincidence, or it could be that Charles is funneling money to someone who’s threatening you. We don’t have evidence yet.”
She exhales, leaning back in her chair. “You realize what that means, right? If my stepfather is behind this… It’s not just about me. It’s about my mom too.”
A pang of worry stabs through me at the thought of Aubree’s mother being at risk. If Charles is that desperate for cash, who knows what else he’s capable of? “I know,” I say firmly. “But let’s not jump to conclusions until we have proof. Dean’s good at digging up information. If there’s something to be found, he’ll find it.”