Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“She’s pretty.”
“Pretty sure she’ll fire my ass after I ditched her just now.”
The lights in the theater began to darken again.
“I’d better go,” he whispered as he placed his hand under my chin.
I closed my eyes, cherishing his touch. When I opened them, Wes was already gone—and so was Allan.
CHAPTER 32
* * *
Wes
“What the fuck happened last night?”
My boss did not sound happy. Though the call didn’t come as a total surprise, not after the earful I’d gotten from Shelby yesterday evening when I returned to my seat. What could I expect after running to protect someone other than the person I’d been hired to protect?
But I’d heard what I thought was a gunshot and reacted on instinct.
I sighed. “I fucked up, Tom.”
“Obviously, since I just got my ass chewed by Shelby Warner, who says she never wants you working for her again. What happened?”
“A speaker blew. It made a loud pop sound. I thought it was gunfire and ran to cover…the wrong woman.”
“Who the hell did you run to?”
“My…ex. She wrote the screenplay for the movie. I didn’t even think about it. That’s just where I went.”
“Did you know she was going to be there?”
I swallowed. “Yeah, I did.”
He heaved a sigh. “Then you should’ve told me you couldn’t work the job when I assigned it. You know better than that. You can’t commit to provide protection for someone when you’ve got a conflict of interest. Your instincts are compromised.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I guess I was thinking about this job as more protecting actors from the paparazzi, not gunshots. But the job is protection. Period. I fucked up. I understand if you need to fire me.”
“I should fire your ass. But I’m not gonna. Because if I were in your shoes, I’d have probably done the same thing. Though I wouldn’t be in your shoes since I would’ve seen the conflict and avoided it. Let this be a lesson learned, though.”
“Thanks, Tom. I appreciate it.”
We finished our call, and a few minutes later I went on the grocery run I’d been putting off since I arrived in LA. I stepped outside, and my phone buzzed as I climbed into the car. I ignored it at first, but when it buzzed a second time before I could get the key in the ignition, I frowned. Who the hell is texting me multiple times in thirty seconds?
I pulled out my phone and saw that two different people had texted me, and a third message came through as I looked down—this one from my mom.
Mom: Is Juliette okay?
My pulse kicked up. What the hell is she talking about? I clicked open the text and saw my mother had posted a link. In preview, I could read the headline.
Mob Boss Arrested.
What the…
I tapped the link, and a photo of Vince Ginocassi filled the top half of the screen—brown bathrobe hanging open with his hands cuffed behind his back as two agents wearing FBI jackets walked him to an unmarked car. The caption below read: Mob underboss turns against his family. Alleged crime boss Vince Ginocassi is taken into federal custody after feds flip long-time lieutenant Anthony “Tony Tall Tales” Mariano.
My heart thumped as I scanned the rest of the article. The murder charges stemmed from an unsolved case that dated back almost a decade ago. At the bottom were links to related articles. Clicking on a video, I watched Vince being led out of his house while Juliette’s mother stood in the doorway crying.
Fuck. Juliette. What if she thought I had something to do with this? I swiped to the phone screen and scrolled down until I reached her name. Hitting call, I waited impatiently while the phone rang. Once. Twice. After the third time, it went to voicemail. So I switched over to text and thumbed off a message to her.
Wes: I just saw the news. I’m sorry. I hope you know I had nothing to do with your dad’s arrest.
The text went from Sent to Delivered, then a few seconds later turned to Read. I waited and waited, staring at the screen, willing the phone to ring. But it never did. My chest ached as I thought about what she must be feeling right now. After ten minutes of sitting in the car, the suffocation I felt wasn’t just in my head anymore. The air was thick, the walls closing in around me. I needed to start the engine or roll down the window, do something. But what the hell could I do? I wasn’t a cop anymore. I couldn’t just call a buddy at the precinct for the inside scoop. And Juliette… Well, she clearly didn’t want to talk to me.
So I continued with the only thing I could do—go to the market, like I’d planned. I started the car, shifted into reverse, and eased out of the parking spot. Rolling down the window as I switched into drive, I let in some desperately needed fresh air. It helped, just not with the knot in my gut.