Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“What about the police? You called them?”
She lets out a bitter huff as her eyes roll hard. “Yeah, they said ‘sorry that happened, go to this link on our webpage,’” she replies, throwing her voice into what I’m guessing is an approximation of the coldhearted officer who answered her call. In her own voice, she continues, “Basically told me too bad, so sad, and that I could complete their automated form to get a case number for my insurance.”
“Insurance, that’s a good thing, right? It’ll pay for the ring.”
Penny’s lips twist into a sarcastic grimace before she snaps, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But no. I have business insurance, but for a piece I literally just bought and have no certification on, I don’t think they’re gonna cut me a check like that.” She snaps her fingers. “Besides, my insurance already costs enough. With a big claim like this, it’d either drive my premiums through the roof or they’d drop me altogether. So no, the police were no help, and my insurance is useless too.”
Fuck. We’re hitting the boards at every turn.
“How about this? Let me go talk to the store owner. I can see where she got it. Maybe that’ll tell us something about who took it? Or where we can find another one?”
“We?” Penny snorts in derision. “There is no we, Griffin.”
Though she’s absolutely right, it hurts to hear her say it so bluntly. She might as well tell me she hates my guts. Normally, that’d be all I need to nope out of this situation and ditch her on the sidewalk, but I don’t. This is Penny, and it’s different. So fucking different with her.
“Let me try. Wait here,” I say, holding up my hands and hoping that, for once, she’ll do what I’m asking. “Just let me try.”
When she buries her face into her hands and starts openly sobbing, my heart shatters into a million pieces. I have got to fix this, one way or another. Any way that I can.
I force myself to leave her, striding across the street and not giving a fuck about the cars coming. They can stop or they can take me out like a real-life GTA game, I’m not sure I even care at this point.
A tiny bell tinkles above the door as I enter the antique store. I look left and right, having never been in a store like this, but thankfully, the counter is in the middle, right in front of me. There’s an older lady in overalls behind the counter, but my beeline for her is thwarted by the two customers she’s currently helping.
As out of place as I am in this store, so are the two guys she’s talking to, and I’m instantly suspicious. I lock my gaze on them, studying everything. They’re close to my height, so easily over six feet, broad shouldered, and well dressed in suit pants, button-downs, gold jewelry, which should all be fine, but the expressions on their faces are all wrong, making them stand out. They’re pissed and taking it out on the kind-looking woman.
I move a little closer but stay several feet back—far enough to not draw attention but close enough that I can eavesdrop to make sure the woman is okay.
“A ring. Huge, gawdy diamond with a thick, ugly gold band. I know it’s here.” Goon One slams a hand to the wooden counter like the woman is hiding it in one of her many overall pockets. Goon Two bumps him out of the way with an added side-eye that says cool it.
Oh shit. I’ve seen a ring like what he’s describing. Not the ugly part necessarily, but the rest? Yep, I saw a huge diamond in a thick band . . . in Penny’s bag, right before it got snatched.
“I apologize for my friend here,” Goon Two says politely, playing the part of the good cop to the other guy’s bad. “He’s upset because the ring shouldn’t have been here in the first place. It holds . . . um . . . sentimental value, so we’d like to get it back. We’ll even purchase it back because we understand this isn’t your mistake. It’s ours.” He arches an accusatory brow at Goon One like he’s daring him to disagree, and I get the feeling he’s the one to blame.
“I wish I could, but I sold it already. Less than an hour ago, actually.” To her credit, the cashier does look sorry the guy has lost a piece that is important to him.
“You sold it?” Goon One repeats, looking surprised that a store would dare to sell merchandise, as if that’s not the sole purpose for their existence.
Goon Two takes a steadying breath. “Who did you sell it to? Maybe we can purchase the ring back from them?”