Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Like I belonged.
But those were dangerous thoughts to be having.
So I pushed them down and asked Charlotte if she finished her most recent book or not.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alara
Three days passed of me clomping around in the apartment, going a little stir crazy.
Neither Christopher nor Liam would let me help out with chores. I wasn’t even allowed to feed my own dog. Though, to be fair, with each passing day, it became more and more clear that Tuna was more Liam’s dog than mine. Some part of me felt like, when this recovery period was over, it would almost be wrong to tear the two apart.
I read my books, watched Charlotte’s shows with her, and lounged in bed with my foot elevated, staring at the ceiling.
Worst of all? The guys still hadn’t found that flash drive. So there was no progress on the whole case. Which meant that the pawnshop was still closed. I was still losing money. And I had no idea how I was going to pay my bills with such a big gap in income.
“Still moping?” Christopher asked as he came into my room after finishing cleaning up breakfast. I’d tried to load the dishwasher, only to get told to sit my ass down. So I did. In my room.
“I’m not moping.”
“Babe, I live with two kids. I know moping when I see it.”
“I’m losing my mind here,” I admitted. “I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing. I’ve been working since I was in elementary school. I don’t know what to do without… something to do.”
“Sounds like you need to get outta here for a bit.”
“Can I?”
“You’re not in prison. We’re just taking care of you.”
They were, too.
Taking care of me.
Christopher was always cooking, cleaning, or bringing me coffee. Liam was taking care of Tuna. Charlotte was keeping me company, braiding my hair, or painting my nails.
It was more than I could have asked for.
But it wasn’t enough physical activity for me to feel worn out by the end of the day, leaving me tossing and turning half the night, trying not to think about why Christopher didn’t come back into my room again once it was late and the kids were out cold.
When I did finally pass out near sunrise, I dreamt of him. Only to wake up aching and disappointed.
My pride wouldn’t let me instigate again.
“And you’ve all done a really good job. I mean it. I’m just not used to all these hours with nothing to do.”
“I get that. I’m always doing something when I’m here. But we’re making you sit around.”
“Exactly.”
“How about we take a stop at your shop?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, see if you can give us some insight on where to look.”
Where to look because they still hadn’t found the damn flash drive. So there was essentially no progress on the case. Aside from learning Robin’s cause of death: strangulation. Each time I thought about it, my hand went to my own throat, unable to stop myself from thinking how awful it must have been in the final moments of her life. All the fear. All the slow understanding that it was over. Her future. Her life. Done.
According to someone Lorenzo knew at the medical examiner’s office, she’d been beaten before her death—a detail the cops were keeping from the public for… who knows what reason?
The police were stalled on her murder.
It seemed like they were essentially just waiting for someone to waltz in and confess.
It didn’t help her case that Robin appeared to be a former foster kid who had no real family of her own, so there was no one missing her and pressing the cops to figure out who took her from their lives.
She had me, though.
And through me, the Costas.
We weren’t going to let these bastards get away with what they did to her. They had to pay. Maybe at Brio’s hands to make them really understand fear. Like they’d made Robin feel.
“I can do that,” I agreed, already knifing up in the bed.
“We’ve got time,” Christopher said, holding up a hand as I nearly fell off the bed, reaching for the boot I’d taken off before I climbed in. “Whoa,” he said, reaching out to grab my arm when my boot caught the edge of a pillow I must have kicked off the bed without realizing.
There was a beat when my gaze lifted to his and his held mine, where I was sure this was the end of the drought, that he was finally going to lean down and seal his lips to mine.
But he broke the eye contact, then the touch.
“I’ll go grab Tuna,” he said, turning and walking out of the room.
Alone, I exhaled hard and tried to convince my system to relax.
I needed to get a grip.
Clearly, he was still hung up on my relation to Brio and my age. Sure, being around him day and night was only making me like him more on a personal level, which, in turn, made me want him more on a physical level.