Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Jericho closes the refrigerator door with only a bottle of water in his hands before taking a seat across from me at the bar.
We've been in this situation before, and neither one of us sees the need to fill the silence with chatter. I can respect a man who can sit in silence.
But, for some reason, quiet scratches at my skin like thorns.
I almost open my mouth to voice my failure, to ask for direction, to confess that this job isn't something I can do. I'm too fucked in the head to pretend to be someone I'm not, but then the realization hits me. I've always pretended to be someone I'm not. Controlling my thoughts and my initial reactions to things suggested by those whispers has been something I've perfected in my life.
I don't walk around snapping necks of everyone who gets on my nerves. I don't maim and torture people when they take too long to accomplish a task I'm involved with. I don't hunt down petty criminals and set their houses on fire.
I come to the conclusion that Jericho isn't my fucking therapist, and really he has no business bearing witness to such confessions. If anyone needs to be told I want out, it's Ace.
Wordlessly, I stand from the barstool and leave the kitchen, heading up the stairs to my bedroom.
This house is massive, one that was rented out as short-term rentals for people wanting to come to East Tennessee and enjoy the mountains. It has fifteen bedrooms and seventeen bathrooms. I have no doubt it will eventually be stuffed to the gills with people who join the organization, coming in and out as they work jobs assigned by Ace.
The house came fully furnished, and I know that was a lot of the appeal when Kincaid and Ace were trying to decide where to locate this new organization.
Although the cabin's aesthetic doesn't really appeal to me, I don't give enough of a shit to change anything about it. The bed is comfortable enough and everything in the bathroom works. As far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me.
The shower calls to me, but if I'm going to keep working on this case, then I need to know more about who I'm facing.
I pull out the chair to the small desk situated in the corner and log into the portal I've been given access to. It would be much easier to have the ability to research people ourselves, but I think this is Ace's way of keeping tabs on what we're doing. It grates on my nerves, but, at the same time, I understand that it is what it is. It's not exactly smart to release a bunch of psychos into the wild without minimal oversight. That's how shit goes sideways. It's not like we're operating in some third-world country like a lot of the missions New Mexico sent us on.
We have to tread a little lighter here.
I type in my request, asking for all information on Zara Hailey, before logging off, stripping out of my clothes, and heading for the shower.
I force my mind into a safe space, one where I analyze everything I said to her today and try to look at it from different angles to make sure there was nothing suspicious about it.
If she were smart, she would never speak to me again, but it seems there's something about my constantly shitty mood that she finds interesting. I know I should've taken her up on her offer, but I'm no good with impromptu situations. I need a plan and a goal.
As I scrub at my skin, the heat of the water stinging every inch it touches, I work through a handful of scenarios on how things can go the next time I see her. I realize that if she's given free will, I may have to end up adjusting on the spot. As hard as that will be for me, I can count it as a challenge.
And I really do love a challenge.
Chapter 6
Zara
Irritation swims in my gut as I once again glare at my reflection in the rearview mirror of my car.
I press my fingers into the lines at the outer corners. I'm not a vain person. I'm not one who goes looking for the latest serums, lotions, and creams to keep from aging. The most effort I put into my health is making sure I eat at least two vegetables a day and try to drink as much water as I can. But even that isn't really about not growing older.
"This isn't on you," I tell my reflection.
Owen drove off earlier as if I had some type of illness he could catch, as if I repulsed him just by asking him to lunch.
I shouldn't take it personally. Clearly, the guy is an asshole, but no matter how long I keep telling myself that, I still feel like shit about it. I feel like I did something wrong, that there's something wrong with me.