Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 133127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Yes, this is her. Remember? She… she was hogtied in the trunk after being shot in the back of the head,” I stammer, excited I made the connection.
Ben’s eyes widen as he reads the report. “Fuck, look at the date of her death.
September twenty-second.”
My eyes meet his. “That’s the same day Chancellor died.”
I take my keyboard back and begin to search for information on this woman. I wait for it to come up on my screen. “Her name was Talia Thompson.” I read through the notes. “Twenty-three, high-end call girl.” I hit images and a selection of pictures of her come up. Some of them are high quality modelling shots, too.
“She was fucking beautiful,” Jes mutters to himself. “What a waste.”
“I know.” I sigh. “It says here that no known employer was found.” I purse my lips as I think. “Bring up every image that the police ever had of her.”
We go through image after image, and for over an hour we search through all the information we can find.
“Oh my God,” I mutter as I concentrate on the image.
“What?” Jes frowns.
“Look in the right corner of that one.” I point to people in the background of the image.
We all lean in and study the screen. It’s a picture of her at a funeral, and there in the right-hand corner is a man we know. “Kissinger.”
Ben shakes his head. “If she was one of Kissinger’s girls she was always going to die.”
“Who’s Kissinger?” Jes asks.
“An ex-biker smart as a whip, who runs a high-end brothel service in Sydney. He gets his girls addicted to drugs, fucking them up so bad they’ll end up doing whatever he asks of them.”
Jes raises his eyebrows. “Looks like Tahlia didn’t do what she was told.”
I narrow my eyes as I stare at the screen. “Or did she?”
Ben frowns. “What do you mean?”
“What if he had Tahlia kill Chancellor?” I look up Chancellor’s file. “What did he do for work again?”
“I.T.”
I frown as I try to connect the dots. “Hmm, I’m not sure how this all ties together.” I think for a moment. “Was he blackmailing him?” I turn to Ben. “Does this sound familiar to you?”
“I was just going to say the same thing.”
“You think that Chancellor is somehow connected to these girls’ deaths?” Jes asks.
“I think we need to talk to this Kissinger,” Ben says.
“Bring him in.” I reconsider that for a moment. “Actually, I’m taking next week off so wait until I get back.”
“Why are you having a week off?” Ben frowns.
“I’m taking a trip.”
“With who?” Jes asks. “You don’t take trips.”
I turn back to my computer and begin to type. “A friend.”
They both watch me, and I look up. “What?” I snap.
“Tully?” Ben smiles.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just a few days away.”
“Where are you going?” He smirks.
I lick my lips, knowing full well how this is going to sound. “Hawaii.”
Jes chuckles. “Aloha.” He punches me in the arm. “You, like, honeymooning or some shit now? You romantic bastard?”
“Fuck off.” I sigh.
Ben chuckles and massages my shoulders, as if he’s my trainer. “This girl’s got you by the balls. Your tiny, microscopic balls are in the palm of her hand.”
I bat his hand off my shoulder. “She has not.”
He slaps me hard on the back three times. “Happens to the best of us, man.”
They disappear out of my office and I stare at my computer screen for a moment, smirking to myself
Maybe she has a little bit.
Tully
I look at my reflection in the mirror as I reapply my lip gloss. I’m nervous. I’m meeting Brock’s work friends tonight and my stomach is churning. I even went out during my lunch hour today and bought a new dress.
I turn to look at the back of it in the mirror. It’s a cream mini with thin spaghetti straps that falls into an A-line skirt. It’s cute without trying too hard. I don’t like tight, trying-to-be-sexy clothes. Pants are usually my thing, but I wanted to try to impress tonight. I’m wearing high-heeled, tan strappy sandals with a matching clutch. My long hair is out and straight, and I have on Brock’s favourite bronze lipstick. I’m assuming it his favourite, anyway. Every time I wear it he comments on how fuckable my mouth looks. The security buzzer rings out, and I smile at myself in the mirror. Okay, let’s do this.
“Hello?”
“I’m here to pick up my fuck pocket,” his deep voice purrs.
I giggle. “You do have a way with words, Romeo. Come up.” I push the button to open the front security door. Idiot. Where does he get this shit? Moments later, he appears and my heart sings.
“Hey,” he says softly as he takes me in his arms and kisses my lips.
I cling to him and close my eyes. God, every time I see him I feel closer and closer. I missed him today, and not just his smartass mouth. I missed all of him. It was a soul-deep kind of longing. One I haven’t felt for years.