Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
It was a beautiful evening made more so by the way she watched me as I peeled her out of her clothes in my bedroom. She put her palms flat against my chest and looked at me like she wanted to remember the shape of my face so she’d never forget it. And I had this thought, very clear, that I’ve spent thirty-six years on the planet and this is the first time another person has looked at me like I was something they wanted to commit to memory.
After, when we lay in the dark with our breath leveling out, she said my name once in a voice I hadn’t heard her use before. Just before she fell asleep and I swear it was like she was putting a stake in the ground.
Josie fell asleep with her head on my chest and one hand curled at my sternum. I didn’t sleep for a long time but lay in the dark and counted her breaths. I tried to stop my brain from running the math on how many ways she could be taken from me before I had the right to keep her.
The complications are still complications.
I’m still a man who smuggles illegal art for a living and I’m still a convicted felon. I’m still standing between a Russian and the woman I’ve fallen for. I have an old friend who’s either back in the fold or one phone call away from putting Josie’s name in the hands of a killer.
None of that went away as I was making love to her, but some of it got quieter.
My phone vibrates beside the cutting board and I wipe my hands on a towel before I nab it.
It’s from Marcus. All good here. C’s been on The Quartermaster since six. Helped me clean the bilge pump filter without bitching once. Old Connie. Maybe we’re okay, boss.
I read it twice and hope beyond hope it’s true. I want that old Connie back. I want the run to go clean and once we get to the other side of this with everyone alive, I want to make some decisions with my life.
My fingers type out a quick response. Good. Keep watching.
I put the phone face down on the island and stare at the stool where Josie sat last night when I finally banished her from helping me with dinner.
I was stirring the angel hair pasta and she said, “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I replied without thought or hesitation. Because there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, and that probably includes leaving my smuggling life.
But she didn’t ask me to give that up.
Instead she said, “If anything ever happens to me, will you make sure to call my dad to let him know?”
My stomach dipped. “Josie.”
“Anything,” she reiterates, putting emphasis on the word. “If Mikhail grabs me, if I get hit by a bus, if I have a brain aneurysm and drop dead in the produce aisle at Met Market. I don’t want him to find out from the news or from Malik or from a uniformed officer at his door. I want him to find out from you.”
I should be relieved she’s not just talking about Mikhail but rather any unfortunate incident. Except I don’t want to think about it at all. “Don’t talk about that.”
“I’m talking about it because… well, I’ve never had someone who was important enough for me to put that responsibility on them.”
And those were exactly the right words. Telling me that this was an honor she’s never asked of anyone before, and I nodded without hesitation. “Yeah… sure.”
Josie sent me her dad’s contact information right then and there and I put it in my phone for safekeeping, hoping I’d never have to call the man.
But then about an hour ago, as I was waiting for the coffee to brew, an idea struck me and next thing I knew, I was calling Bill McAdams.
The doorbell rings as if on cue. “Speak of the devil,” I murmur and wipe my hands once again before heading toward the door.
Josie’s father stands there holding a small paper bag. He’s in jeans and a flannel under a canvas barn jacket, no concession to the weather beyond a wool watch cap he pulls off and tucks into a pocket. I noticed the first time I met him, Josie inherited his blue eyes.
“Good morning,” he says with a broad grin.
“Good morning,” I say, waving him inside. “I’m glad you came.”
“Hey,” he says with a laugh. “Any chance to hang out with my daughter, I’m going to grab it.”
Bill’s eyes sweep the interior of the great room, takes in the open kitchen to the right and the wall of windows overlooking the Sound. He whistles low. “This is a hell of a house, Finn.”