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)
I narrowed my eyes, then said, “And what’ll be my reason for dropping by?”
He shrugged. “Go get a couple of cookies or something. Then you’ll have a reason. Or bring him lunch.”
I dropped the wrench I was about to start using on the cabinet next to my car, then moved everything off of it so I could close the hood.
“Leave it,” he said. “Take my ride.”
I chose to follow his advice.
I stopped by Pie Hard and bought every single cookie that she had left.
It wasn’t many. Just about three dozen.
“You’re a Godsend!” she said as she looked at me with tears in your eyes. “The circus family came in, and posted about this place, and now I can’t keep cookies on the shelf! It’s nine a.m., and I’m all empty!”
I grinned at her. “You deserve it. All this is so good.”
Every last cookie she’d given me was beautiful, and no doubt delicious.
“How would you feel about being a taste tester for a few new things?” She got a sad look in her eyes for a long moment before she said, “I don’t have any family.”
After promising my new bakery friend I’d taste anything she baked , I headed down to the police station, and walked inside.
The DPD was freakin’ massive.
I had absolutely no idea where to go once I was inside.
Heading up to the glass panels that separated the public from the actual station, I smiled at the woman behind the glass and said, “Hi, I’m here to see my, uh, boyfriend. Detective Carter.”
“Quincy, Quinn, Quaid, Auden, Atlas, Gable, Garrett, Germaine, or Garnett?” The woman asked dully.
Well, since Germaine and Garnett were married…
“Uh, Quincy.” I smiled. “Is he here?”
I knew he was here.
His truck was outside. I’d seen it from the road.
“I’ll take her back,” a male voice said.
I looked to see the patriarch of the family standing behind me, looking all official and shit.
Dressed in a pair of black slacks, with a white long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into his pants, he looked every bit the assistant chief.
He had a badge and a gun at his side, and he was carrying what looked like a box of food.
“What’s all that?” I asked curiously.
“That’s lunch for my children who never seem to grow up.” Germaine rolled his eyes. Then in a higher pitched voice he said, “Dad, since you’re leaving, can you bring back food for us? We’re all hungry.”
I laughed at his impersonation.
“I mean, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you did raise them to be that way.” I paused. “But if it’s any consolation, Quincy makes sure I’m always fed. That’s why I’m here…” I held up the box. “Didn’t want him to starve.”
Lies.
I wanted to see if what Kinny said was true.
He punched in the code for the door and said, “Just come through right here if you ever need back.”
I raised a brow at him. “I could’ve easily hidden that number from you. But you saw it.”
I had.
“This hallway runs the length of the station. Jail cells are on this wall right here.” He indicated to the left. “You have to walk all the way around to get to the back to where all the detective desks are. My office and a few other higher ups are back here, too. That’s why I took you this way instead of through the actual bullpen.”
I followed in his wake, groaning when the smell of the food he was carrying hit my nose. “What is in that?”
“Tacos from that taco truck down the road.” He paused. “There’s plenty for you to eat. Go get them for me? My office is right here.”
He showed me his office, which had enough seating for what was likely his entire family group, then pointed toward where I could see a slew of desks with some men standing in a huddle around one desk in particular.
I couldn’t see him, but I had a feeling that was Quincy’s desk.
“Sure,” I said, following him into his office to drop off the cookies in my hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks, darlin’,” he rumbled as he started pulling food out of the box.
Nervously, I walked through the maze of desks, smiling shyly at the few men who were sitting at them.
I mentally cursed myself because if I’d intended to come down here, I would’ve dressed differently.
I didn’t want to embarrass him with what I was wearing, which admittedly wasn’t much.
I’d intended to work on my car, which meant that I had to wear my dark clothes that hid the dirt and grease as much as possible. I was in a black tank top with my oldest bra—a bright pink racerback sports bra—underneath. I had a pair of cutoff black jean shorts, and a black pair of Converse on my feet that I’d had since I was sixteen.