Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
The coffee cup halfway to Blue’s lips stops moving. For a second, I think I’ve genuinely shocked him. Then he sets it down and covers his mouth with his hand, but I can see his shoulders shaking.
“Did I just make the big scary murderer laugh?”
“You have an interesting way of phrasing things,” he manages, still fighting a smile.
“It’s one of my many charms. Along with my stunning morning hair and my ability to make any situation awkward.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Blue stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see him weighing the pros and cons in his head.
“You understand this isn’t going to be like the movies? No montages, no dramatic moments where everything clicks into place. It’s going to be ugly, methodical work. And there’s a very good chance it will change you in ways you can’t come back from.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And you understand that once we start down this path, you’ll never be the same person again?”
“Blue.” I reach across the table and put my hand over his. “I’ve been walking this path since I was eighteen years old. The only difference is now I won’t be walking it alone.”
He looks down at our joined hands, then back up at my face. Something changes in his expression—a decision being made.
I grin at him, feeling lighter than I have in years. “When do we start?”
“Patience. Remember?”
I sigh and realize I shouldn’t push it. I just got the man to agree to something that I in no way thought was possible.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer to show me around town,” I say. “I’d like to go this morning.”
Blue glances at his newspaper—something called The Grimlock Gazette with headlines about harvest festivals. This place even has its own newspaper. “I have an appointment, but . . .”
He stares at me across his perfect breakfast spread. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“Hans will drive you,” he says finally.
“Okay.”
“He stays close.”
“Define close.”
“Close enough to help if you need it. Far enough away that you can pretend he’s not there.” Blue picks up his coffee cup. “Although Hans isn’t exactly known for his subtlety.”
I think about the giant German man who chloroformed me yesterday. “I noticed.”
“There are parts of town you should avoid—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand. “If I’m free to explore, then I explore where I want. No banned zones, no helpful suggestions that aren’t really suggestions.”
Blue looks like I just asked him to juggle live grenades. “Some areas can be unpredictable.”
“So can I.”
We have a staring contest across the table. I win when he sighs and reaches for his pocket watch. A pocket watch . . . but then again . . . did I expect ordinary with this man?
“How long do you need to get ready?” he asks, checking his watch.
“Thirty minutes.” I stand up, smoothing my wrinkled dress. “I need to shower and change out of this outfit and look like someone who belongs in a small town instead of a crime scene.”
Blue nods, although he still looks like I just asked him to let me go skydiving without a parachute. “Hans will meet you out front.”
“Perfect.” I head toward the door. “Oh, and Blue?” I pause at the doorway, suddenly feeling the weight of everything he’s done. “Thank you. For saving me. For helping me save myself. I . . . I appreciate it.”
Something in him changes direction, the careful mask slipping just enough to show surprise. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”
“Yes, I do.” I meet his eyes directly. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
His smile is small but genuine. “I’ll be here.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flutter, and I’m not going there right now. “Don’t get too excited. I’m terrible company in fancy situations.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
I’m almost at the doorway when he calls after me. “Saylor?”
I turn back, and for a moment something vulnerable crosses his face.
“Don’t worry, Blue. I promise not to get murdered on my first full day here.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
Chapter Twelve
Saylor
Hans drives like he’s transporting nuclear waste instead of one moderately curious woman. His massive hands grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes constantly flicking between the road and the rearview mirror, where he can monitor my every breath. The sedan purrs along winding roads that appear designed to disorient anyone trying to find their way back to civilization, and I’m starting to understand why Blue felt comfortable letting me explore—there’s literally nowhere to run.
“So, Hans,” I say, breaking the silence that’s been stretching between us for the past fifteen minutes. “How long have you worked for Blue?”
“Years and years, Miss,” he replies in that thick German accent, his focus never leaving the road. “He is good boss. Very fair. Pays well.”