Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
I scroll through it, looking for any hint of what might have upset her. Aside from my calls, the only other one she got today came from the bar. Something is wrong. Seriously fucking wrong.
My instincts are screaming that truth at me.
I pace toward the desk, the air leaving my lungs in a rush when I see a photo on the floor beside the chair. It’s one of her and Brant, the same one I’ve taken out of the case file a thousand times and looked at.
The case file.
I drop to my knees, reaching beneath the desk for the file.
It’s gone. She knows.
Where is she?
Horror rushes through me, chilling me to the bone as the answer immediately materializes.
No. Please, God, no.
But I already know I’m right. I know her.
She went to confront Marnie.
I leap to my feet and take off, running full-out through the house, my heart in my throat.
“Flannery,” Kincaid says as soon as the plane touches down at the airfield just outside of Seattle and my feet are on the ground. His steely blue-gray eyes are grim, his lips pursed. His shield hangs around his neck on a chain, dangling over the bulletproof plate on his vest. He’s covered in tattoos with a piercing in his eyebrow. Even dressed like a cop, he looks like a gangster. There’s something wild in his eyes, something dangerous. He isn’t tame. He never will be.
“Tell me she’s safe,” I rasp.
“Seattle PD has eyes on the house.”
It’s not an answer and we both know it. My knees threaten to buckle, but somehow, I manage to keep myself upright. I manage to keep moving. I don’t walk. I jog to the SUV waiting for me a few yards away.
Another man in a DEA vest waits inside.
“Ames, this is Flannery, Flannery, this is Jason Ames,” Kincaid says, introducing us.
I jerk my chin in a nod of greeting. I’ve never met him before, but I know of him. He’s the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the DEA in Seattle. He’s one of the youngest in the country. He’s also one of the most well-respected. If he’s here, it’s not good.
“Tell me,” I growl as soon as Kincaid and I are both in the vehicle.
“Your girl is at the house,” Kincaid says.
Fuck, princess. Why? Why didn’t you come to me?
But I already know the answer to that question, don’t I? Why would she come to me? I had every opportunity to tell her the truth, but I didn’t. I stalled. I put it off. I waited. I couldn’t fucking stand the thought of watching the light in her eyes die. Of seeing her look at me with revulsion.
She needs me, but she’s the reason I fucking breathe. I wanted to hang onto her love for as long as I could. When it comes to her, I’m a selfish motherfucker.
“I have worse news, brother,” Kincaid says, his voice soft, apologetic.
“Tell me,” I grit out.
“Jack Hale arrived at the house about half an hour before she did,” he says. “They’ve got the blinds closed so we can’t see what’s going on inside, but she was screaming at the pregnant chick about killing her dad when the pregnant chick pulled her inside.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, my stomach twisting itself into knots. This is my fault. All of it.
Kincaid blows out a breath. “And you were right. Jack is in deep with Marcellus Moretti. I don’t know what you did to piss him off, but he does not like you,” he says as Ames pulls out, headed toward Seattle. “As soon as I started digging, my sources started getting skittish.”
“Fuck. He knows,” I mutter, thumping my head against the seat. Jack knew the gig was up as soon as I saw them together. He had to know I’d figure it out. Marnie may be impulsive and driven by spite, but Jack isn’t. He’s been laundering money through Brant’s company for years without being found out, and he managed to do it in a way that incriminated the hell out of Brant. He’s smart and crafty. A real wily motherfucker.
“Yeah, I’m thinking he does,” Kincaid agrees. “And I’m guessing he’ll use her to get to you now that he has her. You need to decide how you want to play this.”
There is no decision to make. If it’s my life or hers, she lives. It’s the only outcome that I can accept. A life without her isn’t a life anyway. It’s a death sentence. But if I die, I’m taking that motherfucker with me. He won’t ever get near her again.
“I’m going in after her,” I say, my voice grim.
Ames glances at me in the rearview mirror. “We need whatever evidence you have before you go in,” he says. “If things go south, we’re going to need it.”
“I’ll make whatever statement you need me to make,” I say. “But the only evidence I have is in that house with Raven. She took the case file with her when she left today.”