Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“For now.” All we need is one big, messy death that could have been prevented had we gotten there in time, or a case that drains our resources. “Did you know PEC was shutting down?”
“Of course. I heard a few days ago.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Why would I?” He scoffs. “I don’t report to you.”
“Because one of those people who lost their job is an angry, drunk giant with a history of violence, and he’s currently in my holding cell.”
Dillon falters, his bluster fading. “What happened?” Despite being a dick, he does actually care about the people in this town.
With a sigh, I fill him in on the day’s event.
“Well … it sounds like you got it under control.”
“Yes, but it could have gone an entirely different way.” I gave Matt grief, but I should have given him a hug.
“Look. I don’t have the energy to fight with you tonight.” Dillon lifts his hands. “And speaking of giving a heads-up, what about the violent, cop-killing criminal who just got released and is living right over there?” He points to the Landry ranch. “When were you going to tell me about that?”
I knew Dillon would hear about Logan’s return soon enough, and he wouldn’t be happy about it. He hasn’t been a fan since Logan punched him in high school for cheating on me—the first time.
“Why would I do that? I don’t report to you,” I parrot his earlier words. “And he didn’t kill anyone.”
“Great, you’re still defending him.” Dillon tsks. “Not a smart move.”
“I’m not defending him. I don’t want misinformation spread around.”
“You have a daughter, Emery. A beautiful teenage girl living next door to a guy who’s been locked up for how long?” His eyebrows arch with meaning. “You’re not at all worried?”
“Good God! He’s not a pedophile!” I scoff.
“A criminal’s a criminal. For someone in your position, I thought you’d know that much.”
I knew this wasn’t going to go well. “Logan’s been out for twenty-four hours. Leave the guy and his poor family alone.”
“I have nothing against Holt and Annie, or Sarah and Jon. They’re good members of the community.”
I snort. “Really? Why do you keep whining about them, then?” Who wants to buy our vegetables when Landry’s is open? I can’t tell which burns him more—the popularity of their farmer’s market or the fact that his own daughter would rather work there than at his family’s store.
Dillon’s expression hardens. “None of you have any idea who Logan is or what he’s capable of anymore.” He climbs back into his car, pausing long enough to demand, “Keep him away from my daughter, or you and I are going to have a huge problem,” before slamming his door. He pulls away, his tires kicking up loose stones.
“That went well.” I drag my tired body to the porch where the stench of Isla’s equipment greets me.
Duke wakes me with one of his half-assed, I-heard-something-but-I’m-not-feeling-threatened-enough-to-get-up-and-investigate barks.
I pull myself up from my sprawl on the couch. The glass of chardonnay I poured before dozing off—my third—sits abandoned on the coffee table. The television gave up on me, shutting off after lengthy inactivity. I can’t remember what I was watching before I fell asleep in my poor attempt to chaperone Isla and her friends at the bonfire out back, but the clock reads just after midnight.
“Logan!”
My ears perk up at the distant sound of a female voice. Did I hear correctly? Is someone calling—
“Looooogan!”
“Oh, shit.” I drag myself up off the couch. Shoving my feet into my rubber boots and grabbing my quilted jacket and flashlight, I charge out the back door, expecting to find a circle of teenagers sitting around the crackling firepit. Only two forms are there, though, slouched within the Muskoka chairs, scrolling through their phones.
“Hi … uh … Mrs. McAllister.” Cody holds up a can. “It’s Coke. I’m driving.”
Marcus tries to hide his can of beer behind his thigh, which I appreciate. I know he’s drinking, and he knows that I know he’s drinking, but we keep up appearances. I’m not naive enough to believe my teenager and her friends aren’t getting their hands on alcohol, but I’d rather it be here, where they’re safe.
These two are the least of my worries. “Where are they?”
“Uh …” Cody falters, his gaze veering toward the Landrys’ just as Isla’s best friend Holly’s voice rings out.
“Logan, come on! We know you’re in there! Come hang with us!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I snarl. Off I go, marching across the narrow field between our properties, my rage growing with each step. All I need now is for Dillon to find out about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.
I’m halfway between our properties when the sound of breaking glass cuts through the quiet night, followed by gasps and “Oh my God” and “Hurry, run!”