Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I’m more than willing to grant you Sloan in return for Colm’s death. I would think you’d be jumping at the deal.”
There was no missing the threat that wasn’t quite a threat. Dmitri might sweeten the deal with Sloan because he wanted Sheridan dead, but if Jude didn’t fall in line like a good little soldier, the man would have no problem taking her. I’d need an army to hold his people off—or at least a better hiding spot. He’d consider his options once he was back in Callaway Rock—back with Sloan. For now, he knew damn well that Dmitri wouldn’t let him walk without agreeing to this. “I already took your damn contract.”
“Yes, you did. And breaking your word won’t be without consequences.” Romanov rose and buttoned his suit jacket. “You’d do well to remember that if you suddenly have a change of heart.”
* * *
“Good job today.”
Sloan smiled at Marge. “Thanks.” Ten days since Jude had gone and she was finally getting to the point where she wasn’t afraid Marge would fire her on the spot one day. She even sort of liked the gruff older woman. Marge told it like she saw it and, as a result, Sloan always knew where she stood with her—and her compliments were worth their weight in gold.
Marge eyed her. “I think we can set up a more regular schedule going forward. You good with mornings?”
“Sure.” Sloan didn’t have a preference either way, but she did enjoy the breakfast shift. She still didn’t know most of the residents of Callaway Rock by anything other than their faces, but she was learning names as she went. They all seemed to come through the diner at least one day a week to take breakfast from Marge and catch up with friends. It was downright cozy.
“We’ll have you working the eight-hour shift from six to two, Wednesday to Sunday. If you need time off, I need minimum of two weeks’ notice. You sick, you better be sick or—”
“I’m fired.”
Marge snorted. “Something like that. Now git. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
Because the longer Jude was gone, the more difficult it was to drown out the little voice in her head saying that something terrible had happened to him. She lay in bed and tried to imagine what could have pulled him away. If he was really the hired gun Sorcha swore he was, had he left to take a job? The thought made her sick to her stomach.
She managed a smile, though, for Marge. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sloan raised her voice. “Bye, Luke.”
“Don’t forget your grub.” He slid a foam container through the pass-through. For whatever reason, he seemed to think she needed to fatten up a bit, so he slipped her food at the end of each shift.
“Thank you.” She accepted the food and headed for the door. It was well past the lunch rush hour, so there was no one about as Sloan kicked off her shoes and headed down the sandy beach for home.
Home.
She wasn’t sure when the O’Connor house had become home, but it was. She still missed her siblings something fierce, but she had to admit she liked her life here. She liked her job, enjoyed the people who lived in Callaway Rock.
And Jude…
Well, Jude was something else altogether.
And he’s still not back.
He hadn’t even left her a number to contact him. Not that she’d call, because what was there to say? They didn’t have a relationship, not really. He’d been very, very clear about what her expectations should be, and she’d accepted his terms the same way he’d accepted hers. Changing the rules now wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
Except that broken condom might have gone and done exactly that.
Sloan had to make an effort not to press her hand to her stomach. She didn’t feel any different. But then, the websites she’d looked up said it could be weeks yet for the hormones to build up enough to exhibit some kind of physical response in her body—which was right around the time she could actually take an over-the-counter pregnancy test.
Weeks of not knowing.
Anxiety rose in a tidal wave, threatening to send her curling up into a ball and waiting for all this to blow over. She fought the feeling. That is not who I am anymore. I’m stronger than I used to be. She would find a path forward, one way or another.
As she approached her house, a flash of movement in the window next door caught her attention. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she stopped, wondering if she should call the police. If her family—or their enemies—had found her, the local sheriff would be in over his head and she’d likely be consigning him to his death. What do I do?
The choice disappeared as the door opened. Jude. Relief made her sway, but as quickly as it had come, it vanished, morphing into anger. Ten days. He’s gone ten days and he doesn’t bother to let me know he’s okay.