Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Eventually, Ira caught his breath and wiped his eyes. “That man really got you,” he chuckled, grinning like a devil. “You were played, girl.”
I glared at the stairs in righteous fury. “He is so lucky I can’t climb those stairs right now,” I muttered. “Because if I could, I’d use that bathroom, then rip the damn sink out and throw it at him the next time I see him.”
Ira chuckled. “You still might need that CPR refresher, but I’ll cheer you on.”
Golden light stretched across the clearing as the sun dipped lower in the sky, inching toward the horizon. Full and content, the raccoons had wandered off to wherever raccoons go when mischief turns to drowsiness.
With the day’s heat finally easing, a gentler warmth settled in—no longer stifling but something close to comfortable.
I leaned my head back against the chair and winced as my skull pulsed like it was hosting a very low-budget drum circle. The rest of my body wasn’t much better—just a rotating cast of minor aches and complaints, like a group of grumpy roommates arguing over whose turn it was to do the dishes. I shifted to glance at Ira, who was watching the sky like it owed him answers.
“When do you think he’ll catch up with me?”
He turned his head, blinking himself out of his thoughts. “Who?”
“Clayton Barris. When do you think he’ll find me?”
Ira frowned, but his voice was steady. “Hopefully never.”
I let out a small, humorless breath. “Very optimistic.”
He nodded. “Maybe he’ll try and get through the bayou and end up swallowed by it. That happens, you know. People go missing out here all the time.”
I smiled faintly. “So, like, he heads out all confident, and then chomp, the swamp eats him? All they find is a single chewed-up shoe on the bank?”
“Preferably an ugly one.”
“God,” I whispered. “That’d be poetic.” Silence settled for a moment. “Why would someone keep coming after me?” I asked eventually. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to find a hole in the ground somewhere and disappear? Go to Mexico, buy a shack, and sell mangoes. Just...not risk prison?”
Ira looked thoughtful, sipping what had to be his sixth cup of coffee. “Because you’re the witness, the one who saw the worst of it. And you know the things they don’t want known.”
“I sent in everything I found,” I pointed out. “All the files, the evidence, and the names.”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “But when this goes to trial—and it will—they’re gonna need more than anonymous folders. They’re going to want your words and your face, along with every gritty, uncomfortable, damning detail delivered in person.”
I leaned my head back again and closed my eyes. “God, it used to be such a fun job. Honestly, I enjoyed it. The hours were decent, there was no one breathing down my neck, and every now and then, I got to wear a disguise—which was always a good time. And now, everything's changed.”
I raised my hand and waved it dramatically. “Now I’m a raccoon queen with two broken bones and one hell of a headache.”
Ira chuckled softly.
“Seriously,” I groaned. “Who even kidnaps people anymore? It’s 2025. We have email, veiled threats on TikTok, anonymous DMs, and creepy deepfake videos uploaded to shady forums. What happened to that kind of intimidation? They're classics.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t pack the same punch. Killing someone or terrifying them in person—that’s personal. It’s theatre.”
“Well, it’s lame,” I snapped. “Not to mention unoriginal, overdone, and honestly just tired at this point, and wildly inconvenient.”
“That it is,” Ira agreed. “Still, gotta say, I’m grateful for Gladys.”
A flicker of warmth spread through my chest at the mention of her. “Yeah, me too.”
“Can’t imagine where I’d be without her.”
I smirked. “Do you two keep in touch while you’re apart?”
He sipped slowly.
“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did she post a loving video for you on Facebook? Maybe dancing to a love song in her kitchen? Something with sparkly filters?”
Ira gave me a flat look.
My eyes widened with excitement. “Do you have social media? Oh my God, give me your handles so I can follow you both! Do you post reels? Are you on TikTok? Tell me you’re on TikTok.”
He just shook his head slowly. “Have you ever heard of sarcasm, Gabriella?”
Deadpan, I drawled, “No, never heard of it. Is that an app?”
He burst out laughing again, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that seemed to shake loose from deep in his chest. I found myself smiling, too, despite the dull ache still pulsing at the side of my head as I rubbed it gently. The pain hadn’t gone anywhere—but something else had settled in alongside it. Not quite relief. Maybe just the flicker of something lighter. Hope, maybe. Or, at the very least, a momentary distraction—just enough to carry me through the rest of the day.