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)
It’s the truth. I can see it in his eyes.
I truly thought this nightmare was going to be over. That we’d hit this pawnshop, find the missing ring, and everything would be okay. But it’s not.
I gambled big, and now I’m going to lose big. Financially and professionally.
The reality hits me hard. Or maybe the ups and downs of this roller coaster of a day have finally sent me retching over the side of the cart, because I collapse, sitting on cold linoleum floor and leaning back against the display case.
“I’m so screwed,” I whisper helplessly, staring at the flecks in the commercial flooring. Flecks that I’m not sure if are by design or are just dirt. “Entirely, completely, totally . . . screwed.” I wish I had a thesaurus right now to better express how bad this is, but the dull roar in my head wouldn’t let me read one anyway.
Griffin squats down next to me, his knees splayed wide. “You’re not. I’m gonna fix this. I swear.”
I glance up, finding Griffin’s jaw hard and his eyes cold. But there’s something else. “Why are you doing this? Helping me? This should be your best day ever. Annoying Penny losing her shit and her shirt all in one fell swoop,” I accuse dryly.
It’s the truth. Griffin hates me and has taken pleasure in my pain more than once before, so this should be the Powerball of victories for him, except he doesn’t seem all that happy about it.
He shrugs, and he cuts his eyes away. “Dom will kill me if he finds out I let your ring get stolen.”
That makes sense. Griffin and my brother are close, as close as brothers without the blood relation, but Dom has a wicked sense of loyalty where I’m concerned. He would destroy anyone who hurts me, even Griffin. But there’s something else in his voice, his eyes. There’s more, but before I can ask him what, Paul the Pawnshop Prick spouts off, “Wait. Did you say Dom? As in Dominic Lee? Are you Griffin Mahoney? Fuck, man, I thought you looked familiar!”
With the accidentally helpful hints of our private conversation, Paul’s clocked Griffin. If he says one word about how the Hawks can make the playoffs, I won’t be surprised to find him lying across the display case again.
As Griffin stands, I’m holding my breath. In fear? In anticipation? Maybe both.
“Yeah, that’s me. And this is Dom’s little sister. She’s a jewelry designer who does custom heirloom work, and one of her pieces was literally stolen out of my hand today. I need it back.” He clears his throat and swallows hard. “I mean, she needs it back.”
Paul seems much more interested in what’s going on now, and in helping us. He glances around like someone might be listening, though it’s only us in the store, and leans in close. “I don’t do stolen merch here. But there are places that sorta specialize in it. And a few fences, depending on the size of the diamond you’re talking about.” He drops his chin and gives Griffin a meaningful look from beneath his brows.
“What do you want?” Griffin snarls.
“Two tickets to this weekend’s games against the Vortex.”
Paul is a salesman at heart. He has to be to run a successful pawnshop. Negotiating with people pawning their goods to give the least amount possible and negotiating with buyers to get the most amount possible. Still, I expect Griffin to refuse. He’s not one to kowtow to manipulation tactics.
“Done. Tell me everywhere you’d look if a valuable ring was stolen by a white guy with freckles and brown hair, wearing a red hoodie, that knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand.”
I didn’t realize Griffin had gotten such a good eye on the thief, and I can’t help but look at him in awe. The teeniest-tiniest bit, and then . . . anger. “You almost had him, didn’t you?” I snap.
He grits his teeth, not sparing me a glance. “Penny.”
Fine, he’s busy doing the menacing thing with Paul at the moment, but this isn’t over.
We get a list of pawnshops that aren’t always so particular about the origin of their merchandise and the names of a couple of fences, and leave with Paul reminding Griffin that he’d better see those tickets before the weekend.
Back on the street, I smack Griffin’s arm. “If you saw the guy, we need to call the police back. Maybe he’s a serial mugger, and they know where he hangs out, looking for hapless shoppers to snatch their bags or purses or whatever.” I sound like Velma having a jinkies moment, but a clue’s a clue, right? “With this new information, they might be able to help us find the thief, or the ring, or both.”
“You already said they don’t give a shit, and I don’t care about the thief. Just want to get the ring back.”