Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong?” I ask. That's the only reason these two would break my trust by trying to track my location when they knew I was going off the grid. Mac peers around.
“Why don’t you step out on the porch?” Mac says, and Naomi grabs the front of my shirt, my hands locked down around her wrist.
“I’m only helping you along.” She pulls, and I let her as I release her wrist. Mac closes the door.
A war is raging inside of me about what I should do. I glance back toward the door.
“We’ll have the talk inside.” I turn the knob. I’m not going to keep Bonte out of parts of my life. I’ll let her see what she chooses.
“Hey.” Naomi grabs me again. “It’s about her,” she whispers.
“All the more reason.”
“All right.” Naomi shakes her head, following me in. I’m sure she’s seeing I won’t budge on this. Bonte is standing there with a bat in hand.
“Blair,” I call to her, making it clear that her secrets are safe with me. I won’t out her, and she’s not that happy with my family right now. “This is Mac and Naomi.”
“Hi.” Mac gives her a wave, and Naomi only gives a slight nod.
“For the record, I wanted to have this conversation outside. Then maybe we could have it in here.” Mac says.
“Blair’s with me.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder, tucking her into my side. She doesn't resist, letting her body settle into mine.
“Shit,” Mac mutters. “How do I put this?” She glances at Naomi, who turns her attention to us.
“The two individuals that you live with are dead,” Naomi says, tone flat. “I don’t think it’s your work, but the Marino men can go off the rails, and with your history—”
“Wait, what?” Bonte asks.
“It’s okay.” I kiss the top of her head. I don’t think she cared for the people living with her much, but she still knew them. I’d guess she was put with them since she was a minor at the time.
“Dead. There was a message left.”
“Okay, Naomi.” Mac grabs her arm. “Maybe I'll take the conversation over from here.” Naomi nods and steps back.
“What was the message?”
“Where is she…” Mac says. “The thing is, the message was—”
“Oh, on the wall in blood. He used a paintbrush,” Bonte finishes for Mac.
“Lots of psychos write in blood but not with a paintbrush that they brought with them. So I went digging.” Of course, Mac went digging. “There was an FBI agent that was killed in that style. Then two other agents from the same group were just gone. Dead but no details. I’m guessing those two were killed by the same person, but the FBI didn’t want people to know. Those three people were in the process of tracking down a serial killer.”
Mac rambles off the information like she is a fucking computer.
"The Collector," Naomi says with a smirk. "He's rather interesting." It does not surprise me in the least that Naomi is intrigued by him.
"My dad."
"Well, shit," Mac mutters.
"Pretty cool," Naomi says, and Mac hits her shoulder.
"That's the shit you say that weirds people out. Right there. Don’t get mad, either. You wanted an explanation."
"I wanted one example, and now you're pointing them out every five minutes."
“Because you’re weird and you say weird things.” Mac throws her hands up.
“He’s back.” Bonte runs her hand up my chest.
“Are you sure he was ever gone?” I ask. “The message sounds like he’s been keeping an eye on you, and now he’s mad that you’re gone.”
Bonte’s nose scrunches. “Possibly.”
It would be too much of a coincidence that I snatch her up, and then her father, whom she hasn’t seen in years, pops up during that period. He thinks she’s in danger, and that has drawn him out.
“Is this going to be an issue?” Naomi cuts in. “Does your dad want you dead?”
Bonte shakes her head no. “He ah”—she swallows—“tends to kill the people around me that he thinks are an issue.”
“That’s why he’s got two killing styles.” Naomi actually sounds excited. “It’s been driving me nuts. But still. That agent’s wife…” She trails off.
“When other kids watched cartoons, Naomi watched true crime,” I explain.
“Yeah, I had to hack the freaking TV every other week for the password.” Mac rolls her eyes.
“My mom didn’t approve.” The edges of her lips pull up. If Naomi is soft for anyone, it’s her mom, Tova. “So I did it in secrecy.” She points at me and then Mac. “And none of you better tell her, either. Even though it was ten years ago.”
“We know not to say shit to upset Aunt Tova,” Mac says.
“Tova is—”
“I know who she is. I’ve met her, your parents, and a handful of others at a football game.”
Naomi cocks her head, and I know she’s piecing something together. “What?” I ask her.