Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“I know. Oh, babe, I know.” I heard London sniffle, crying with me because that’s the way it was. When I was in pain, she was in pain and vice versa.
“So I haven’t backed down.” I sucked in a breath, getting control of myself. “Until now. I got a threat against you.”
London’s voice was instantly hard and demanding. “What kind of threat?”
I told her about the photograph and the warning on the back.
“Well, fuck that,” she hissed. “Do not let that stop you. I will be fine, Nee. Everyone knows I’m dating Nick and Nick has more power in this city—fuck, in this country—than most. They won’t touch me and risk Nick’s wrath.”
For once, I might actually be grateful she was dating the prick. “So you’re okay? You’re okay for me to keep going?”
“Yes. If someone killed your parents, you have to bring them to justice. I know you. I know you better than I know anyone. And you won’t be able to live with yourself unless you do this.”
“I love you,” I whispered, sucking back more tears. “I miss you like crazy.”
Her voice turned husky. “You have no idea how much I miss you.”
Something in her voice sent a shiver of warning up my neck. “Spoon … are you okay?”
“You don’t worry about me,” was her reply. “I’m all good. Now go teach this asshole a lesson and tell me when it’s done.”
I still wasn’t convinced there wasn’t something going on with her, but just as she knew me, I knew London and she’d only feel cornered if I pushed. But I would fly out to New York as soon as it was possible to check in with my friend.
We hung up with another exchange of love and I turned to find Ramsay waiting. I strode across the garden as the drizzle began to turn to rain and handed him his phone. “Thanks.”
He nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but I walked past him to hop up onto the concrete patio. Removing my phone from my pocket, I removed the SIM card first, then dropped both it and the phone onto the slab. I picked up a nearby bit of rubble and got down on my knees to start smashing the fuck out of them.
“Silver?” Ramsay caught me by the elbow and pulled me to my feet. I realized he’d been calling my name for a while. He bent his head to peer into my face, his grip on my arm gentle but firm. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I tugged out of his hold. “Bill me for the phone calls.”
“Silver,” he pushed. “I can help.”
No, he couldn’t. No one could help. I wasn’t dragging more people into this only for them to become targets too. We were so close to the finish line. Ramsay, everyone, would understand soon enough.
“I need to run some errands. Do you still want me to watch Akiva?”
Ramsay’s expression was tight with dissatisfaction, but he nodded. “Aye, I do.”
And that’s when I knew for certain Ramsay McRae had assigned me a very beautiful, very furry bodyguard and had no intention of letting me out of Akiva’s sight.
13. Ramsay
The first call Silver made was to the New York Chronicle, one of the largest newspapers in the world. The second to a London Wetherspoon, a sous chef in New York. A quick search on the internet brought up a number of photos of London and Tierney together as teenagers. London was Tierney Silver’s best friend and most definitely the redhead in the photo.
Someone had threatened the only family Silver seemed to have left.
Because she was working with a reporter at a newspaper?
I disliked the unknown.
I’d moved to Leth Sholas for anonymity.
To live out the rest of my life in peace.
If our newest resident brought trouble to the Isle of Glenvulin and that trouble ended up in the news, it might bring my own trouble to my doorstep.
Aye.
That was the only reason I found myself obsessing over the situation with Silver.
Of course it was.
I wouldn’t allow it to be for any other reason.
14. Tierney
Afew weeks ago, Cammie told me about the Isle of Kiln off the west coast of Glenvulin. It wasn’t quite as small as Stòr and had a tiny population of only six families. It was twelve miles long and four miles wide, and the community of the island ran a privately operated ferry to and from Glenvulin. I’d been intrigued and wanted to visit, but that urge almost turned into desperation over the subsequent few days.
Word about “the incidents” had made its way around the island, and I’d been treated to concern, accusation, and lectures from the community. I’d even been interviewed by the island police, but I refused to report it as a crime so there wasn’t much they could do. Quinn was as good as his word and Forde had taken care of my SUV and checked every inch of it over. I could deal more with people’s wary glances and passive-aggressive comments than the McQuarries’ genuine concern. Cammie was like a dog with a bone and was determined to find out what was going on with me.