Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
…kid’s gotta be dead. A sick fuck like that? I can’t see him dropping the baby off on some nice old lady’s doorstep… Nah, he threw that kid in some garbage dump, treated him about as well as he treated his mother.
“It looks valiant.” He looked back to the photo she’d drawn from her own memory of the baby she’d held for such a short time. “Did you name him?” he asked.
Josie came up beside him, folding her arms under her breasts. She studied him curiously, her cheeks still slightly flushed. “No one, in all these years, has ever asked me that,” she said quietly. She turned her head, gazing at the hand-drawn picture. “Caleb.”
“Good name.”
He glanced at her, and she gave him a shy smile. “Thank you.” Their eyes held, and he felt the weight of those words. She gestured toward the bathroom. “I’ll be real quick. Meet you downstairs in ten?”
“Yeah.” He moved toward the door, glancing back at the proof of Josie Stratton’s never-ending hope, despite the overwhelming likelihood that she’d never see her son again. The likelihood that he’d died at his father’s hand many, many years ago. Caleb. “I’ll be waiting.”
Zach did another check of the downstairs windows, though he’d done one only a few hours before. It was mostly to keep himself busy as he waited for her. His nerves felt strung tight for some reason he couldn’t exactly articulate to himself, but he knew it was as much personal as it was about his job of keeping Josie Stratton safe. He stood at her kitchen window, linking his hands on top of his head. Fuck. He was developing feelings for her. And there was nothing he could do about it. It’d probably be best—the most professional move—if he turned the job of protecting her over to another detective or officer, but the thought of doing so made him grit his teeth. No.
No, he would not abandon Josie right now. He knew she was beginning to trust him. And he wasn’t blind. He felt the simmering tension vibrating between them, the tension that always made her look slightly curious and slightly terrified. Goddamn, this situation was all kinds of sticky.
“Ready if you are.” He turned, dropping his arms, annoyed that he’d been so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard her coming downstairs. Gotta be more on your game than that if you’re going to be a guardian worth his salt, Copeland.
“Yeah, ready.”
Josie’s mother lived in a run-down house in Addyston. Zach pulled up to the curb, eyeing the small home with peeling paint, one shutter hanging loose and the other one missing entirely. The yard was overgrown with weeds and basically, whoever lived here was either real down on their luck or just didn’t give a shit. He turned the key, shutting off the ignition.
“I won’t be long,” Josie said. “You’ll wait here?”
“Nope. I’ll come in with you.”
She reached across and put her hand on his arm. Her skin was cool and smooth and fuck, even that small contact sent a jolt to his system. “You really don’t have to. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be quick.”
“Josie, it’s my job. I’m sorry, but I have to keep you in my line of sight.” That wasn’t necessarily completely accurate. No one would have blamed him if he’d waited outside, eyes on the front of the house as Josie visited her mother, but there were some guys milling around outside the house next door, someone sitting in a beat-up sedan across the street staring at them, and his protective mode was notched up to its highest level.
Her shoulders lowered. “All right, but my mother…she’s…well, she can be very…abrasive.”
“I’ll stand aside. You won’t even know I’m there.”
That got a small smile from her. But as she got out, he heard her mutter, “Trust me, this is not a place where you’ll blend.”
“Mom?” Josie called when they’d climbed the three rickety steps to the front door, and Josie had turned the knob, opening it a crack.
“Well, come in,” came one of the raspiest female voices Zach had ever heard. Josie glanced at him and then opened the door wider so they could both enter.
The living room they walked into was dank and drab. A fog of smoke hung in the air, and it reeked of cigarettes, though the older woman sitting in the recliner in front of a TV set was not currently smoking. She looked up, her expression pinching when she saw Zach. “Who are you?”
Zach stepped around Josie and held out his hand. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Zach Copeland with the Cincinnati Police Department.”
She shook, her grip weak, skin soft and papery, eyes assessing. “Diana,” she muttered, looking at him suspiciously. “Police, eh? I don’t like the police.”
“Mom, there have been a couple of crimes committed recently that are similar to mine.” Josie ran her hands over her hips as though she was nervous about mentioning the topic to her mother. “Someone broke into my house a couple of days ago, and Detective Copeland and some of his co-workers are making sure I’m not in danger.”