Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
With a flick of his tail, the cat jumped down from the chair and made his way over toward his fancy cat tree Coach had made him.
“You coming?” Saint asked as bad-influence-Hail lined up four shots and demanded Syn do them with him.
“Yeah, I’ll catch up in a few,” I told him as the shot glasses clanked down on the table. “Save something pretty for me.”
“Making no promises,” Hail said as he went to the door.
I watched them make their way outside, walking past the door, then down the road.
Things had been pretty much nonstop since I got back to Shady Valley. I barely had a few minutes to myself to think. After so much time on my own with nothing to do but think, it had been a little jarring of a change.
And I really needed to do a little thinking.
About Lula.
And the way she bold-faced lied right to my face.
She was good at it, I’d give her that. But I’d spent way too much time watching the woman. I knew her micro-expressions. And she was full of them at the bar. Maybe because I caught her so off-guard. Clearly, she hadn’t planned on being seen in Florida.
But why?
What was she up to?
Why would she tell everyone she was at a spa? When her nails didn’t have color, let alone gel? And her lashes weren’t done anymore. She didn’t even have her hair done.
That was not a woman who spent several days being rubbed and scrubbed and slathered with creams and salves.
So.
Where was she? Aside from at the hotel?
Why was she keeping it secret?
What was she involved in?
Clearly, it had nothing to do with mafia business, or there would be no need to lie to me. We were allies with the Murphy crew. If she was there for them, she would just shrug and say Cillian needed something from her.
What then?
I couldn’t seem to shake the circling thoughts. They hung above me like a cloud as I forced myself to head upstairs for a quick shower. And they were right there, dizzying and undeniable, as I walked into the dark night, the moon missing, just a sky full of stars and the lights of our little town.
I’d just reached the main drag when I saw a flash of white as a car made its way down that little makeshift road frequented by teens looking for a way to sneak around behind the cops’ (and their parents’) backs.
This was a town of several very rich people. But I was only aware of one who drove a white BMW.
And the thing was, she was heading in the exact opposite direction of her luxury condo.
In fact, she was heading away from the town as a whole, over toward the gas station, prison, and—
Even as I thought it, I saw the headlights disappear.
And there was only one place they could have gone.
Curiosity piqued, I broke into a jog as I made my way toward the long, low brick building that served as the only accommodations in the town for outsiders visiting, people having affairs, johns and their sex workers, and the occasional ex-con needing temporary lodging while they figured out their next steps.
Not for wealthy women like Lula.
My memory flashed back to her leaving that other motel—much like this one—with her luggage in her hand.
Like she’d been staying there.
Still, staying at a motel in some backwoods town, that I could almost understand. Staying at a motel in your own town? That made no sense.
I guess maybe an argument could be made for them redoing her floors or painting her walls or something. But why wouldn’t she stay out of town in a nice hotel then? Or see if there were any short-term rentals around? Hell, demand that one of the Murphy brothers take her in for a few days.
Anything but staying at Jack’s place.
I mean, the place hadn’t seen an update since the seventies. The Lula I knew wouldn’t willingly stay there.
Which was why I came up on the side of the building and then crept around to the back lot where mostly only Jack parked. Or truckers.
There was one truck there. And Jack’s car.
And also a small amount of white poking out from behind the dumpster.
I glanced toward the back door, seeing if Lula was around before creeping forward to double-check.
It wasn’t like I knew Lula’s license plate. I wasn’t that big of a creep. But she’d sprung for a custom interior package that I’d never seen before.
I didn’t even need to get close to confirm it was her car.
Glancing back at the motel, I pursed my lips.
So.
She was there.
But for what?
Was she having an affair? But if so, why not just do it in the comfort of her own bed? Which I would imagine had much nicer (and cleaner) sheets? Did she maybe have a relative or friend staying there? But, again, why not host them if that was the case?