Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
When we pull off the street into a parking lot, we're not far away from Georgia's apartment. At least I don't think so. He drives up to park right in front of a brick office building. “Welcome to casa de Jay. I definitely prefer my house uptown, but when Georgia's place wasn't available, this is where you'd find Jay hiding out when I needed him to be available. I’m going to miss Jay.” He sighs, like he’s talking about a real person and not himself. “I had such a great fucking setup until your bitch of a sister ruined it. She was always fucking snooping around, digging her nose into things, but I could usually set her straight. Her biggest flaw was that she wasn’t quite dumb enough not to pay attention to what she shouldn’t.”
“You…” I trail off, catching Logan looking at me, his big eyes getting watery and his lips trembling. Crap, he's about to lose it. I want to draw more out of Dillard, but Logan doesn’t need to hear this, and I don’t want to risk Dillard doing something to him if he has a meltdown. “It's okay, Lo. We're going to be fine.” I want to reach over to at least hug him a little, but I can't even do that with my hands cuffed. “I promise.”
Please, Dillard, at least don't make a liar out of me.
“Alright, out we go.” He turns off the ignition and picks up his gun from the passenger seat. “I'll let you out, one at a time.”
Like Logan is some kind of threat.
He opens the door on Logan's side first and unlocks the belt. “Come on. Move those stumpy little legs. I'll get your Mommy.” He leaves the door open and comes around, leaving Logan to get out on his own. God, what if I can't keep him safe? As soon as Dillard unlocks my belt and gets out of the way, I climb out and hurry around to where Logan stands, clutching his helmet. At least Dillard doesn't feel the need to cuff a four-year-old. Even with my hands cuffed, I can put them over Logan's head and give him a good hug.
Dillard looks around as he guides us into the building, keeping the gun hidden in his jacket pocket. He taps the door code in, four digits, hiding them from me. Logan watches curiously, always interested in technical things. And then we're inside. The foyer seems to give access to several small businesses, heavy doors with textured glass windows in them and little plaques next to the door indicating what's in there. There might even be people in the building, but getting attention won't help if Dillard just shoots us.
Dillard brings us straight across to an office that only has a bare spot where the plaque used to be. He waves a card in front of the reader next to the door, then pushes it open.
“This used to be a lawyer's office if you believe it. Went bankrupt and we ended up with the keys.” Other than a thin layer of dust and a slight musty smell, like the ventilation system isn't working, this office could've been moved out of yesterday. The walls are a bland beige and ash-gray carpets lead the way deeper into the space.
“It smells.” Logan wrinkles his nose.
“It does, doesn’t it? We'll leave soon.”
“And get donuts?”
“All the donuts you want.” That gets a little smile out of him.
There's got to be some way to overpower Dillard. Or escape him, or at least get out a call on Logan's phone. But not while he's got the gun pointed at us.
The office is bigger than I expect, going in an L-shape that covers most of the floor, with a kitchenette and sitting area in the middle. The fridge hums and the dishwasher is half open with dirty dishes in it. A twelve-pack of bottled water sits on top of the counter next to the sink. Past it, we come to an office that's been converted to a bedroom, with a cot, blanket and a space heater. The desk at the end has papers and a laptop on it.
All the windows are barred.
“It's not much, but it's home,” he says with a dry laugh. “I’m sure you understand why I preferred your sister's apartment. She wasn’t a half bad cook, and I didn’t have to pay for laundry, but I've held on to this shithole, just in case. Not even my own people know about it, so for short periods of time, it can come in handy. Like now.”
“Your own people?”
He laughs. “The police, obviously. Ezra Dillard is a reliable officer. This is all an unfortunate setback. Eventually the evidence will be explained away because nobody wants to believe the worst of a guy they know and trust, and I’ll have very good explanations for everything.”