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)
When that was done, still alone and getting bored, I curled up on the couch with my tablet and a cup of tea. I was locked out of my bank account. Ditto for credit cards. Clearly, someone had their fingers in my business, and it didn’t take a genius to guess it was the same person who wanted me dead.
I needed to talk to Eli about my accounts, but since he hadn’t reappeared, I’d have to let the whole issue of my frozen funds sit for the moment. I hadn’t been sure what I was getting into, investigating Emily Shaw’s death, but now I knew whatever this was, it was way bigger than anything I’d seen before.
I scrolled social media, checking in on listener responses to the latest episode I’d dropped on my podcast. So far, so good—everyone was eager for the season finale. My stomach knotted as I thought about that. I should be so much further into season five than I was. I should have walked away, found another case, another victim. Now I was in too deep to get out. If something didn’t shake loose soon, my career would be on the line.
Let it go, Sylvie, I told myself. There’s not a damn thing you can do about any of this until Eli comes back.
I could see the door to the apartment from the couch, and it remained stubbornly closed, still locked. I wasn’t stuck here. I could flip the deadbolt and let myself out at any time, but this being Sinclair Security, it was safe to assume everything was under surveillance. I glanced up at the ceiling of the apartment. I didn’t see any cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I’d ask Eli later, but wherever the cameras were, I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave the apartment unseen. And that brought me right back around to the real question. If I left, where would I go?
I didn’t know. The only safe place was my parents’ home, but that was states away, and the last thing I wanted was to lead whoever was after me to their doorstep.
I set my tablet on the coffee table and rolled over to my side, pulling up a video I’d been meaning to watch about modern forensic techniques. My eyes drifted shut as I listened to theories on chemical solvents and blood splatter, the technician’s voice sliding into a monotonous drone as fatigue dragged me under.
I jerked awake to the sound of my name, sitting up before I was fully conscious. Eli stood in front of me, hands on his hips, annoyance on his face.
“What?” I asked, blinking.
Somehow, I’d forgotten how hot he was since I’d seen him last. Those cheekbones, that lower lip, the way his thick, dark hair tumbled over his forehead. The black T-shirt stretched over his shoulders.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I did not need to be ogling Eli Bishop. I was an irritation he was putting up with. Mostly, I thought, so I wouldn’t get in his way. And while I needed to stay on his good side, I wasn’t putting sex on the table as a bargaining chip. Not that he’d asked. Drooling over his shoulders wasn’t going to get me anywhere but in more trouble.
Shut it down, I ordered my hormones. I’d made it to almost thirty without a traumatic romantic fuckup. I wasn’t going to break my streak now when there was so much more at stake, no matter how attractive my guard/partner was.
“Get up,” he said. “I brought food.”
“I just ate lunch.”
He let out a snort of laughter. “That was four hours ago. It’s dinnertime.”
“I slept for four hours?” I tapped the screen of my phone on the coffee table and realized I had, in fact, slept for four hours, and it was actually dinnertime. “Huh. Okay.”
I got to my feet, a little wobbly, still getting my bearings. I wasn’t a napper. Sleeping during the day always left me disoriented, wishing I could just go back to bed. But it was too early for that. I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I didn’t get myself moving now.
“What’d you get for dinner?” I asked.
“Barbecue,” he said. “I was going to do sushi, but I didn’t know if you ate fish.”
“I eat anything,” I said. “Except lima beans. Not a fan of lima beans.”
“Me either.” Eli’s face twisted. “They taste like sand.”
“Ugh, right? Did you get tortured with succotash when you were a kid? I swear my mom bought ten-pound frozen bags of it.”
“Yuck.” The smile that spread across Eli’s face was unexpectedly wistful before it vanished, and he gave a sharp shake of his head. “My mom also loved the succotash,” he said.
“I could go through the rest of my life,” I said, “never eating that again. I’m good with corn, just not the lima beans.”