Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“No. No calls. Friends?” I snorted. “Hell no. No friends, nor was I cool with any of the girls at Aleksandr’s home …” Just … the person who wanted to help set me free before Jamie came. People were transactional, and this person was also young. Reckless.
I know that car making a ruckus out there. An Aston Martin—good, good. You have higher standards than you let on when moving into the chef’s quarters.
I blinked away Aleksandr’s arrogant retort. My friend in the Aston Martin claimed to have people to help. Could you really trust anyone these days? Some people talked too much. Case in point: Aston Martin. Still, I probably should tell Jamie that someone was out there and might be allowing emotions to get the best of them—while trying to save me—since the guy in the pantry said I was the mission. “Um, Ja—”
“Emails are another way our cover could’ve been blown.”
My eyes widened. Sweaty palms ran over the front of my cotton pants. Silence.
“Jordyn …” he probed.
“So, here’s the thing. I sorta went to a free clinic the day that I came. And I sorta”—Dang, Jordy, you’re too grown for this—“used an old email address that I haven’t in a while. I wanted to make sure I didn’t have any STIs.” Weak with embarrassment, I nearly melted into the seat and slid to the floor in a puddle. Then I squared my shoulders. So what? Jamie preferred to take things slowly, and I deserved to know about my health. Sex wasn’t on my mind. And it definitely wasn’t the driving force for me to get checked out. “Had to use my email for that,” I repeated. Don’t be mad. Please don’t be mad.
Jamie nodded. “That might be it.”
Mm-hmm. Too kind to point the finger. I just tore down this man’s life.
“I understand your health is important to you. Those were things on my list to discuss with you once we opened up the floor for conversation. Then I forgot and—”
“No. I’m a grown woman.” I turned in my seat. The dim, flickering light from the cement ceiling cast shadows along Jamie’s angular face. “I was a Queen B for the longest. When I let you in, you were perfect. Always wanting me to feel comfortable at your home. You thought of everything. You had a list. I … just have this mouth. This mouth of venom.” And this mind of torment. Though I felt stronger in the last five months, a long road sat between me and feeling whole. Fully whole.
He leaned over and cupped my cheek in his hand. “We’ll get our life back. Just trust me. Things are gonna get worse, full disclosure. We’ll figure it all out once we get to Long Beach.”
Where his family lived?
Old vows of vengeance swelled in my chest. He was taking me to his family. The very family whose inaction left me even more broken than I was during those seven precious days that Jamie was captive with me too. I couldn’t voice that. Because that vile, tiny idea seemed to suggest misery loves company. While I knew my entire heart belonged to Jamie, I still hated me some Clan MacKenzie.
16
HUNTINGTON BEACH
Deputy Chief Nolan McGregor
If you want something done, do it yourself. That age-old adage still reigned true.
As a law enforcement officer, I was no stranger to popping Rolaids. Forty years on the force—the first twenty with little movement on the Long Beach police force—I’d tried everything from the OG Rolaids to power gummies. And now I sucked down another bottle of the liquid cherry-flavored antiacid, worried that they’d found me out.
The sound of a 504A—vehicle stripping—in the background grated my ears. Had to make this quick. I white-knuckled the back of the skinhead’s leather chair. The confidential informant’s fingers zoomed over the keys of his laptop.
I glanced around the office of the chop shop licensed only for tune-ups and oil changes. Pinups and big muscle car posters graced the walls, and to my rear, a door led to the garage where more of this idiot’s White Power affiliates were at work.
Crap. How low had the great Deputy Chief Nolan McGregor stooped? But the twenty-something CI had skills. In addition, the guy’s background clashed with the fact that Jamie rescued a Black woman, thus making him intrinsically motivated to help. Also, money was another deciding factor. And my badge.
I drummed my hand over the side of the chair. “You found the girl and shared her information with Aleksandr Chelomey?”
The CI rubbed a hand over his Nazi-tatted bald head. “That Russian even sent me a finder’s fee.”
Oh yeah? The skinhead was dumber than a bucket of rocks—when not staring at a computer screen. I glared at him. Why’d I give you all of that money to find her? It was no matter. This was all on me. I’d told myself to keep track of her when she was, what? Five, six years old? I’d rescued Jamie MacKenzie and left all the others. Her cry, though. I figured she was special.