Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“Stay in Shelburne Falls,” he warns. “River’s going to surge tonight.”
I nod, not turning back. I don’t want to lose my train of thought.
Leaving him behind, I jump into the car and speed away, kicking up gravel as I drive out of the parking lot.
Drew got to me by threatening those close to me. Maybe Hugo isn’t the way in. He’s only powerful by the grace of those around him. His family is the way in.
I’m going about this the wrong way. Quinn was right.
My cell lights up on the seat next to me. Swiping it up, I answer, but Isobel speaks before I have a chance. “When the call goes to voicemail that fast, then I know you’re ‘ignoring’ it.”
“Sorry.” I shift into high gear. “I can’t talk about work right now.”
“It’s not about work,” she replies. “You told me to do some research.”
I go still. Right.
“Did you find something?” Equal parts excitement and dread course through me. “Something on Hugo Navarre or Drew Reeves?” I ask, hopeful.
I’d asked her to look up Madoc, Jared, and Jax, as well. I didn’t want her to find anything, though.
“Actually,” she tells me. “I found something on you.”
Oh, what the fuck… What now?
I’m too exhausted with worry at this point to muster much of a reaction. What could she have possibly found?
“Do you have a Ruger?” she asks.
The muscles leave my arms, and the car swerves. I quickly jerk it back into place. “The rifle?” I blurt out. “No.”
Guns? Is she saying my name is being mentioned with firearms somewhere?
“Do you have an AR-15?” she presses.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I don’t mean to shout at her, but now I’m worried.
“Yeah, I’ve never known you to be an enthusiast,” she goes on, “so that’s what caught my eye. There are six firearms registered in your name at the address 8 Green Street.”
“What?!” I shout.
Weapons? Are they just registered, or are they the subject of police investigations?
That son of a bitch! Drew either registered them under me to frame me for something else, or he wanted weapons that wouldn’t be confiscated if he was arrested. I knew he had some. I remember the gun cabinet upstairs where he stored them. I just had no idea he put anything in my name. Did he do it before I left?
“I’ll get in touch with a lawyer there,” she tells me. “They’ll want to have you file a police report.”
But that black gun cabinet at Green Street lurks in my head, my memory stirring.
The ammo boxes…
“Wait,” I say.
There was one green bullet case. It had a black handle. He didn’t store bullets in it, though.
And then it all comes back to me.
Shit. It might still be there. In that cabinet. He would believe it was safe there while he was on the run.
I blink, shaking my head. “Yes,” I tell her, changing my mind. “Go ahead. Tell them to call me tomorrow.”
I need tonight.
“Is there anything else I can do?”
I’m almost at Frosted, but I need to make sure. “They haven’t been used in any crimes, right?”
“Not that I know of.”
Thank God.
I swallow. “I’ll talk to you later.”
We hang up, and I coast into the center of town in less than two minutes.
Your family is your strength. Good job, Isobel. Who knows what I could’ve accomplished if I’d asked for help eight years ago.
Quinn is going to love hearing I was wrong.
Leaves spin in little cyclones in the empty street, and a couple of businesses glow with light. But most are still quiet. My tires screech as I halt in front of her place, and I charge out of the car, across the sidewalk, and grab the door handle. I jiggle it, seeing her moving in the kitchen, unaware of me.
Rounding the building, I walk into the alleyway behind her business and find the back door locked as well.
I pound on the steel. “Quinn!”
“Fuck off!”
I cock my brow. At least she’s not ignoring me.
Glancing to my right, I spot a small pile of cinderblocks. Hauling one up, I bring it down like a hammer on her door handle, the small piece loosening from its bolts.
Her frustrated scream carries through the door because she knows what I’m doing.
Slamming down the block again, I watch as the handle nearly pops off, dangling. I’ll get someone to fix it in the morning. I won’t be leaving her till then anyway.
Dropping the block, I pull off my T-shirt, thread it around the handle, and pull as hard as I can until the damn thing snaps off. Sticking my fingers in the hole, I open the door and barge inside.
“Get out!” she bellows, her whole body rigid.
I walk right up to her, breathing hard. “No,” I gasp.
She moves to shove me in the chest, but I circle her waist and pull her in, just holding her to me. Just letting her feel me and my heart beat.