Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He hugged her instinctively, clutching her tight, and looked around until he found me in the living room, where I was collecting the trash from Hannah’s ministrations.
The two CPD detectives, Reilly and Ochoa, both stood, as did Alessia’s bodyguards, Carlo and Gianni.
“Welcome home,” I greeted him, so relieved to see him, ready to fall apart just a little and wanting him to come over and hug me too. I didn’t say any of that, of course, because there were people in our house. Instead, I put my hand on George’s forehead. His coloring was terrible, and there had been a cold sweat earlier. Not that he’d been hurt in the altercation where he saved my kids; these were previously obtained wounds.
“Hi, Dad,” Kola said from the end of the table where he was sitting with the truly stunning Alessia Ricci, who was holding an ice pack to his cheek.
“Good evening, sir,” Alessia said, giving him a winning smile.
Before Sam could answer her, Harper chimed in.
“Mr. Kage, I made meatloaf,” Harper informed him. “It’s almost ready, and I think it’s going to be okay.”
Not the most glowing recommendation ever.
Sam nodded, squinted at Jake—who was clearly mashing potatoes—then back at his son with the cut lip and bruised face, to the stunning young woman, who smiled at him again, to the two CPD detectives in terrible ill-fitting suits, to the bodyguards in bespoke Italian suits that fit like a glove over their impressive frames, and finally over to me.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded, because if I spoke, my voice might have broken, and I didn’t want that.
“Sir, if I may,” Ochoa began, “I need to apprise you of the attempted murder that––”
“It was an attempted abduction, not an attempted murder,” Gianni—he had not provided me with a last name—interrupted, talking over Ochoa. “This has nothing to do with Chicago PD.”
“Nothing to do with the police? This is your story?” Reilly sounded crazy-sarcastic. “We’ve got a total of four men in the morgue and one in the hospital, but there’s no need for the police? Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?”
“I already told you everything I know,” Alessia said sternly. “Two of my bodyguards were killed when three other guys tried to kidnap me. That’s it. That’s all I know. Period.”
“Miss Ricci, you were almost killed,” Reilly stressed to her. “You need to talk to us.”
“They weren’t trying to kill her,” Jake corrected them. “They were trying to abduct her.”
“Yeah, see,” she snapped, gesturing at Jake with her beautifully manicured hand. “Somebody besides me was paying fuckin’ attention.”
Everybody was talking at once then. Hannah was inconsolable, now sobbing into her father’s chest; Jake was clearly trying to pulverize potatoes into submission—they were going to win that fight, as they hadn’t cooked long enough—Kola was grinning at Alessia, who was staring at him with big dark besotted eyes; and Harper was checking something on his phone that, from his expression, he didn’t like. God willing, it was not the meatloaf recipe.
As the decibel level in the room rose, I could tell Sam was about to explode, but the moment I saw the muscle in his jaw go, the front door opened and in walked Eli Kohn, dressed better than anyone else, hands down. The crisp powder-gray three-piece suit and cordovan wingtips made him look like he was late to dinner someplace fabulous.
“No,” Eli commanded, and everyone went instantly silent. Even Hannah took a trembling breath and quieted.
Sam, of course, had no idea that Eli had gone to his car to retrieve his iPad. Eli had been in the house earlier, and had already established dominance. He’d stood nose-to-nose with Ochoa and explained that, as the incident concerned the son of the chief deputy, he, Eli, would be taking point. He had already spoken to their commander. He had also made it clear to Gianni and Carlo that Alessia would be talking to the police, but under US marshal supervision. It was impressive, as he’d done it all with no backup, only his badge and credentials.
Then there was George, who had killed two men earlier in the evening, now sleeping, possibly passed out, in Sam’s recliner, but it was hard to say how much assistance he could offer in his current state.
“Thank God,” Sam groaned, relieved, I was certain, to not only see a face he knew but one he counted on for answers.
Crossing the room quickly, picking up the box of Kleenex on the side table as he moved, Eli pulled two tissues for Hannah and told her to blow her nose. She followed his directions and looked better afterwards.
“So you know,” Eli began, “everyone in your home has been fully vaccinated. I looked at shot records on their phones myself.”
Sam nodded.
Eli then lifted his tablet and played a video for Sam. I had seen it earlier, the one that made me nearly pass out, and just hearing it made my blood run cold.