Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“How much mayhem have you experienced to know that?” I had to ask, trying not to stare at her ass as she bent over to search the fridge.
She straightened and cracked a tiny grin. Unlike the last smile, this one put a flicker of life in her eyes. “Just enough to know it makes me hungry,” she said. “I realize I asked for yogurt and granola, but…”
“Alice ordered us lunch. I don’t know what, but I told her we were starving and wanted protein, so it’ll probably be good. She’s going to let us know when it’s here.”
“Oh, okay. I can hold out for that.” She turned and leaned against the counter, bracing her palms on the edge. The stance threw her shoulders back, and for a second, I couldn’t tear my eyes off her full breasts stretching the T-shirt.
Fuck.
I didn’t have to lecture myself that checking out her body was inappropriate, unacceptable, blah blah. I knew that well enough. I didn’t fuck around on the job. Never had. Never thought I’d be tempted. But something about Sylvie Calloway was digging under my skin. The green apple scent of her shampoo or lotion drifted across the kitchen, and abruptly, I had to go. Alice hadn’t buzzed with the food, but Sylvie was safe enough if she stayed in the apartment.
“I’ll go get lunch,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few. Don’t leave the safe house.”
She shook her head, her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied my face. “Not going anywhere at the moment.”
“At the moment? Or until I tell you that you can leave?” I needed to make it clear who was in charge here.
The side of her mouth curved up. “I’ll be good, boss.”
“I don’t believe that for a fucking second,” I said as I let myself out, locking the door behind me.
Sylvie Calloway wasn’t just in trouble. Sylvie Calloway was trouble. Sooner or later, I’d have to decide what I was going to do about that.
Chapter Seven
SYLVIE
Eli left abruptly, shutting the door a little too hard behind him. It was pretty clear that I was the reason he was irritated, but I was too tired to care. The deadbolt turned with a click, and I wondered if he thought he was locking me in. If he was, I wasn’t sure I cared, at least not right now. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere. I didn’t have anywhere to go.
It had hit me in the shower, when I’d finally stopped moving long enough for the last twenty-four hours to settle. I was damn lucky I’d had that lead to Sinclair Security. If I’d shown up in Atlanta just following the trail of that Peach Pass, I would have found nothing. And I’d be completely, utterly on my own.
Or dead.
So many ifs. So many different paths I could have taken. Like not investigating Emily Shaw’s murder. It was sad to say the world was chock-full of unsolved cases of murdered women. I could have picked any one of them, but that car bomb had intrigued me. So here I was, living on sufferance, my life shut down and a target on my back.
Sinclair Security was the only thing standing between me and whoever had blown up my van and cut off my credit cards and bank account. That meant I needed them a lot more than they needed me, but I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out.
Eli came back a few minutes later, as promised, his dark brows pulled tight. He dropped a brown paper bag with string handles on the counter, looking past me rather than at me. Clearly, he was still in a mood. Whatever. I was too tired and hungry to stress about it.
“Lunch,” he said, pulling out a stack of napkins and plastic-wrapped silverware. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back later.” He left again, the deadbolt clunking into place a second after the door shut behind him.
Lunch turned out to be a gooey, cheesy, humongous serving of lasagna. I would have made do with chips or something, but I could get used to this. I’d have to thank Alice later. Between two meals’ worth of lasagna and the necessities she’d stocked in the kitchen, I was set for food.
I wandered the apartment after I finished eating and stored my leftovers in the fridge. There wasn’t much to see—an elegantly planned living room with an oversized flat-screen TV that flowed into a dining area and from there to the kitchen. On the other side of the apartment, there was a short hall, at the end of which were two decently sized bedrooms, both with king beds and ensuite baths. I’d dumped my shopping bags in one of them before my shower and spent a few minutes unpacking and tearing off tags before I made use of the washer and dryer.