Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Garrett didn’t forget a face.
Then again, I didn’t usually forget faces either when they looked like hers.
But he was, in all seriousness, a genius. That was why he’d once upon a time been so good at undercover work. He could remember names, faces, and details that everyone else would forget.
“What’s this now?” Quaid asked, leaning back in his computer chair.
“This girl showed up and I swear I saw Quincy’s soul leave his body.” Garrett grinned. “But then she lost her shit because her best friend committed suicide. Quincy here had to console her, and I swear to God, I knew that one day they’d be together based on how he was holding her.”
“Well, joke’s on you,” I mumbled darkly, trying to resist the urge to fold up the sheet and shove it into my pocket to look at later. “We’re nothing.”
“Yet.” He shrugged. “Hey, do you still need me tonight? That guy fucked me over, got blood everywhere, and I need to shower.”
Quaid groaned. “I need help, though.”
“You don’t need anything,” Garrett said. “You just like the help because it makes your life easier. Because you know damn well and good someone won’t show, and then you’ll actually have to leave your desk.”
“Hey,” Quaid said. “Fuck you. That’s not very nice.”
“Not very nice, but incredibly accurate,” I teased Quaid. “You’re at your desk so much now, you’re getting a little pudge.”
Garrett laughed.
“You fucking asshole.” Quaid grabbed his stomach with both hands. “I am not getting pudgy. Marty Mart, am I getting pudgy?”
Marty Mart, better known as Detective Marten, looked over at the three of us. His gaze settled on Quaid, though, and he tilted his head sideways for a few long seconds before saying, “Well, you are at your desk a lot. I wouldn’t say you’re getting pudgy, though. Just maybe soft.”
Quaid slapped his hand onto his heart and said, “I broke my foot!”
“You broke your big toe,” I corrected. “And it’s been healed for the last four weeks. It’s time to get out of this little cubicle hell and start living again.”
It was more than that. He’d not only broken his big toe, but he’d also torn his Achilles tendon during a foot chase. A foot chase that he’d still apprehended his suspect during, then whined like a little girl for a week before our sister, Ande, finally convinced him to stop being a dumbass and go get it checked out.
Turns out, it was torn, he had a broken big toe from the fall, and he’d been walking around on it all week like it was fine. Which it wasn’t.
Quaid threw his arm around my shoulders, then pulled me in tight to his side. “So does this mean you’ll help me tonight if Garrett needs to leave?”
I was about to say no, but the paper in my hand felt like it was burning a hole through my palm. Almost as if I needed to do this just for the possibility of seeing her again.
I folded up the paper, glad I now had an excuse to keep it, and tucked it into my pocket. “Remember my day off.”
“Hey, you swindled me into covering your shift in two weeks. Why do you need so many days off?” Auden asked as he walked up, punched Garrett in the kidney, then knocked Quaid’s arm off my shoulder before pushing through us to his desk.
His desk that we were all gathered around.
Why were we gathered around it? Because Auden was the most likely one to have snacks, and we were all hungry.
He made a show of opening up his snack drawer, and we all acted innocent when he found it ransacked. “You are all such assholes.”
We’d all learned to pick locks when we were fifteen and sneaking out of the house to go drink and fuck girls in high school. We’d had to learn to be really fucking good at it, too—the lock picking, not the drinking and fucking girls—because our parents were cops. Sneaking around a bunch of cops who knew everything we did, and when we did it, wasn’t easy.
But we’d accomplished it anyway.
Our sisters were much nicer to our parents in high school.
Then they’d both flown the coop, Addison for the Air Force and Ande for nursing school, then as a flight medic.
When Addison had died four years ago, our lives had been irrevocably changed, and not a single day passed when we didn’t miss the hell out of her.
Dealing with suicide was hard.
That was why when I had to tell anyone about their loved ones doing the same thing, it broke my heart a little bit each time.
My sister, Addison, had suffered at the hands of someone who was supposed to love her. A man we hadn’t even known was her husband until Addison had taken her life then left Ande a journal written in their own secret code that only she would be able to read.