Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
He goes straight to his phone and a few seconds later, a surge of power lifts and then dies.
“The elevator?” I ask.
“It’s the only thing linked to the back-up supply.”
I edge past Otto and take the stairs fast, my focus set, and walk straight through the trigger line outside the elevator. “They wanted us to see those screens. The line isn’t to trigger the bomb. It’s to let them know we’re here.” I smack the button for the elevator as Otto falls into the cart. “They’ll have a remote trigger.” The doors close, and we start moving, my eyes watching the floors tick down at a painfully slow rate. “He’s going to call any second,” I say, my stare rooted to the illuminated digits. “And listen to the explosion while he thinks I’m looking at the gift he’s left me.” I smile to myself as the elevator comes to a stop on the first floor. I can imagine the elaborate spectacle he would have made of it. Me, looking at my own face on the center screen where his unknown face should be.
I look at my phone when it rings, stepping off the elevator. I answer and put it on loudspeaker, adopting my historical tactic. Silence. “Kellan James,” he purrs, using my real name like a weapon. And it cements what we all suspected. My identity was in that safety deposit box. My question now, though is . . .
Was his?
And how the fuck did he get into it when I have the key?
“I’ve missed you,” I say flatly, striding through the lobby. “Lying low?”
He laughs, and it’s truly gleeful. “I heard you’ve been making friends.”
“Nice photograph collection.” I push out of the doors, Otto on my tail, and lock them up again. I give him the nod to turn the power back on.
“Ah, yes. Are you looking at them now?”
“I am,” I murmur, knowing that’s exactly what will be appearing on the screens next. “Deceased,” I murmur. “Nice touch.”
“You like?”
I look at Otto, who shakes his head in disbelief. That’s what happens when you spend years hunting someone. You start to think like them. “Beautiful,” I say, stopping at the Range Rover and opening the boot.
“Since you missed the party I threw for your father, I thought we could have a belated one, just for you.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Goodbye, Kellen.” The line goes dead, and I look to the top of my building.
Fire bursts out of the windows, spraying glass into the air.
“Fuck,” Otto yells, startling at the sound. And then we’re both cowering, shards starting to rain down on the street. I quickly throw my bag into the back and jump into the driver’s seat. “Jesus Christ,” Otto barks, slamming his door, shrinking in his seat as the windscreen is pelted.
“Looks like I’m back from the dead now too,” I say, pulling away fast, wishing I could call the fucker back and break the news that I’m still breathing. But I’ll just have to keep playing the game.
“You’re running out of lives, Kel,” Otto retorts quietly, his mood dark. “Let’s just get the fucking job done.”
I head toward Brad’s club, calling Goldie. “I’ve not taken my eyes off her,” she says in answer. “Not for a second.”
I wouldn’t expect anything less. “Where are you?”
“A small beach in a cove not far from the boatyard Black wants. It’s nice, actually. Peaceful. Sun shining, water still.”
“You sound close to joining the girls,” I say, feeling Otto’s dark mood lift. I turn a look onto him, finding him highly amused.
“Got a bikini?” he asks.
“Fuck off,” Goldie spits. “I’m still not talking to you.”
“What’s Beau doing?” I move the conversation along before these two start squabbling like kids again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was some warped attraction between them, because they bicker like an old married couple.
“Standing on the shore.”
“Face turned up to the sun,” I add, seeing her in my mind’s eye doing that in St. Lucia every day. Fighting to stay in the light. My heart twists and turns in my chest, praying that one day she won’t need to fight. “Has she got sunscreen on?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Complete block on her arm?” Because she forgets. All the fucking time, she forgets to protect her delicate skin. I know it’s only because she’s absorbed by the sunshine, and it’s never truly been a problem because I’ve always been with her to rub it on when she forgets. I’m not in the sunshine now. Not in the light. Not unless you count the fireball that was my apartment billowing in the distance behind us.
“Her sleeves are down,” Goldie says, and it’s quiet, as if she knows what that means. She does. We went forward so many steps, even amid our crusade for justice. Now? Now I fear she’s getting too close to the point of no return. I feel Otto’s sympathetic expression aimed my way. “What’s the deal?” Goldie asks.