Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
It’s an odd kinship, this unspeakable thing we both know.
I suddenly wonder if Janelle Bowden ever felt that with her asshole husband, and what it must have broken in her when she realized it was all a lie.
No, there’s been no sign of Chief Bowden all these months. Raleigh PD concluded he must have drowned or bled out when he jumped in the water and crawled away, and they’re just waiting for his remains to surface in the next year.
I have my doubts.
The pure evil looking out at me from the chief’s face when he finally came unmasked doesn’t die that easy.
There’s a sixth sense like a blade running over my neck, telling me the day will come when we’ll have to deal with this shit, and next time we’ll finish the job.
Janelle’s been soldiering on as best she can, but it’s been torture, realizing the man she married, the man she loved, was a criminal stranger.
I hope like hell I’ll never hurt Talia with any dark surprises, even if mine would never scratch Bowden’s fuckery.
She’s taught me how to be honest with her—and with myself.
It’s a lesson I won’t forget.
“Gerald?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what, son?” His wrinkled brow furrows.
I chuckle. “For being you.”
Gerald’s only answer is a thoughtful look and a slow smile.
Yeah.
He gets it.
We drive the rest of the way in happy silence, making our way home.
When we get back to Redhaven, I drop Gerald at the shop without going in just yet.
I have a few things to throw together first. I don’t think Talia even realizes I’m outside. Through the window and half-open workshop door, I can just make her out, bowed over her drafting table and focused.
I wave Gerald off, waiting until I’m sure he’s safely inside, then pull away to go do a little shopping.
It’s well past sunset and I’m dirty and sweaty by the time I’m done.
I stop by my place, shower, change, pack a camping bag, and head back to the shop. The front lights are out and the door’s locked, but there’s still that telltale golden cone of light through the door, the lamp over Talia’s desk shining off her autumn-fire hair.
I head to the side door and knock.
Gerald tromps down to let me in, already smirking. “So you’re gonna do it tonight or what?”
“Shhh,” I hiss as I step inside.
“She’s not gonna hear you, son. She’s in another world. Seems like somebody needs to give her a good reason to take a break.”
“Yeah, I’m working on it.” I take a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”
“Fine, but you won’t need it.”
I hope like hell he’s right as I duck into the workshop.
Talia looks so breathtaking it fucking hurts in the low light, like she just stepped right out of a fairy painting with her hair spilling out of its messy bun.
Still totally absorbed in her work, just like Gerald said.
I almost hate to interrupt her—only, she’s got that crease between her brows that says she’s been stressing, too.
As I walk in, Rolf perks up from his spot by her feet.
I’ve started leaving him with her during the day for company while I’m working. I think he might love her more than I do sometimes, and he’s even becoming an unofficial Touch of Grey mascot. The customers adore him. He gets plenty of extra affection during the day with the way they all spoil him.
He'll be keeping Gerald company tonight, I hope.
“Hey, Shortcake.” I clear my throat, stepping closer.
She doesn’t even look up.
I laugh to myself.
When my woman’s in the zone, she’s fucking there.
I wait until she’s not sketching anymore, lifting her stylus from her tablet before I touch her shoulder lightly. She jumps, blinking her wide blue eyes rapidly with a small gasp.
“Oh! Micah, when did you get here?”
“I’ve been and gone. Did you even notice your grandfather was back?”
“He is?” She cranes her head toward the stairs. “…oh. Whoops.”
I lean over, peering at the delicate linework sketched on her tablet screen. “Project’s making you that crazy, huh?”
“Ugh, you have no clue.” She sighs. “I’m about to tell them to take their money and find someone else. Half the stuff she wants isn’t even feasible, and if I try to tell her that she gets all snotty and I….” She stops and shakes her fists, the stylus twitching between her fingers. “I’m tempted to do what she wants and then ask the wedding photographer to send me the pictures when it all breaks and dumps her on her ass.”
“Careful. Someone’s getting my vindictive streak.” I reach over and pry the stylus from her fingers, setting it aside. “Break time. You’re taking the rest of the night off.”
“But the deadline—”
“Will get even tighter if you work yourself to death.” Catching her hands, I tug at her gently, coaxing her off her seat. “C’mon. Get your gear. We’re going camping.”