Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I use the app on my phone to open the garage, instructing him to pull in.
“Get the fuck out of the car,” I snap at the doc, suddenly frustrated.
He frowns, then pushes the button to turn off the car. “Can I grab my medical bag?”
I nod, both of us getting out. I watch him as he grabs the bag, keeping the gun in my hand. There are shelves on the walls, and I open one of the metal toolboxes that doesn’t contain your everyday kind of tools, plucking a pair of handcuffs out. Always be prepared for anything. It’s what I was taught and what I tried to teach Cillian. What a shitty lesson for a father to pass down to his son.
Like most of our properties, the door lock has been replaced with a keypad, so we don’t have to keep keys for everyone. I press the code in, push the door open, and signal for the doc to go inside.
He does, setting the bag by the door, then looking around. We’re in the kitchen with the dining room to the left, the living room to the right. It’s one huge open space with a hallway on the other side of the living room, leading to the two bedrooms.
“Nice place,” he says.
Ignoring the pain in my arm, I hook one of the cuffs around the doc’s right wrist—I don’t want to use his name—then the other to the old metal heater beneath the window by the table, then pull a chair over. I pat him down, making sure he doesn’t have another phone or anything else on him—something I probably should have done earlier. “Sit.”
“Is this necessary?” he asks, and when I don’t answer, he does as I say. I get a bottle of water from the pantry—the house is stocked with water and dry foods, but the fridge will be empty—and hand it to him.
“I’ll be back.”
He looks away in an almost pouting way, but not one that’s childlike or spoiled—like he’s angry, contemplating, maybe even silently plotting my demise.
Good for him.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“If I could reach something, I would.”
I smirk, again noticing his fire, before going to the porch and immediately calling Conan. Despite the early hour, he answers quickly, sounding awake. “What’s wrong?”
“I fucked up,” I reply, nothing but silence greeting me.
“I’ve never had you say that to me before. What happened?” Conan asks.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. How in the hell do I explain to him what I did? That a ghost of a feeling made me react so erratically.
“Kidnapped the son of our governor.”
Again, silence before Conan laughs. “Shut the fuck up.”
“No, I’m deadly serious.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“I didn’t know who he was at first?” I answer as though I’m asking a question.
“Why did you kidnap anyone? And how old is this son?”
“In his thirties, I’d imagine. He’s not a child and…I can’t answer that part. I just…was at the hospital with him. There was an attempted hit on me. I shot one of the guys, but the rest got away. He was there. I took him with me.”
Conan’s voice is lethal when he asks, “Who tried to kill you?”
“I assume the Bellinis. They were amateurs, not someone made or connected.” Because apparently, I’m forty-eight years old and suddenly making more than one mistake. I never should have intervened at the gas station that night, either. “Listen…I need you to look into it. They said that’s him, so I know they were looking for me. I also need to make sure any evidence of me at the hospital is scrubbed. We got lucky, and I don’t think anyone saw anything, but security cameras and all that shit need to be taken care of.” If we can’t deal with it at the hospital level, with their security systems, Conan’s contacts within the police station can.
I rub a hand over my face, hoping I didn’t just fuck us all. What in the hell was I thinking? “Also…see if they’re saying anything about the doc.”
“The doc?” he asks.
“Preston Abbott is his name. I don’t think he has a family to go home to.” Something I should have checked into. “So, unless he’s meeting someone, has an appointment or work, maybe they won’t realize he’s gone for a while.”
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Fireside,” I give the name of the house. I’m not surprised when Conan is quiet again. This isn’t the house where we usually do things like this. It’s a hideout, yes, but it’s also a place where I used to come with my family. The place I came when Moira died.
“Rian…what’s going on?”
I look through the window and blinds at the doc. I haven’t had any more of the neck tingles, but even if I had, that’s not something I can tell Conan.