Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Mama says you’re not leaving again,” the little girl said as she grabbed my cheeks and held me still as if needing to look me in the eye to determine if I was telling the truth when I answered.
“Your mama is right, Izzy,” I said. Her ear-splitting shriek had me biting back another smile as the eight-year-old threw her spindly arms around my neck. Hearing Isabel Prescott refer to my best friend as her mother was still an oddity for me. Not because I doubted the relationship Casey had with the little girl who was actually her niece, but because Izzy ironically still called Devlin Prescott, Casey’s husband, her uncle even though he wasn’t related to her by blood, but had been in her life longer than even the mother who had died shortly before Isabel’s fourth birthday. But I’d seen enough to know that Devlin and Izzy’s relationship was that of a father and daughter and the lack of using a certain title or shared DNA wouldn’t ever change that.
As I crossed the tarmac with Izzy rattling off questions in my ear, I hugged twelve-year-old Ryan Prescott who looked more and more like his father with each passing year. “You staying out of trouble?” I asked, as I ruffled Ryan’s hair.
“No!” Izzy answered for him and Ryan actually blushed. “He likes a girl,” Izzy announced and poor Ryan looked mortified.
I chuckled and bumped his fist with mine. “Nice,” I said.
“We’re just friends,” Ryan said sheepishly.
“Nuh-uh,” Izzy said, to which Ryan’s blush grew considerably.
“That’s my cue,” Devlin Prescott said as he reached out and took Izzy in his arms. Then his big arm was wrapping around me and even though we were nearly the same height, I couldn’t help but feel the warmth spread through me at the contact. Not only had this man changed Casey’s life for the better, he’d done the same for me and he’d gone a step further and become a surrogate father. “Welcome home, Jonas,” Devlin said softly in my ear.
I found myself overcome with emotion, so instead of answering, I just hugged him tighter. But as soon as I turned my attention to Casey, I lost it and began crying as I tugged her into my embrace. The fact that her slim arms wrapped around my neck like a vise had me closing my eyes, because it was something I would never get used to. In the three years that Casey and I had spent on the run together, she’d rarely hugged me and on the few occasions I’d touched her in an effort to provide comfort, she’d always flinched and pulled away. But Devlin had somehow fixed that too.
By the time Casey finally released me, we were both a mess and she laughed and reached up to wipe at my face with the edge of her sleeve before doing the same to her own. I, in the meantime, let my eyes drop to her very prominent baby bump. I lifted them back up to meet hers as I let one of my hands rest on her belly, but neither of us spoke. We didn’t have to. We both knew that we’d been incredibly lucky to end up here in this place. The scar that I could feel through the thin fabric of her shirt was a reminder of how close I’d come to losing her and the slight flutter of motion against my palm was proof that she’d found the life she was meant to have.
Now if I could only figure out how to do the same.
Chapter One
Mace
For what was probably the thousandth time, I looked through the scope of my rifle and rested my finger on the trigger as I drew in a breath and held it. The dank smell of mold permeated my nostrils as I focused on the scene before me, and I cursed the fact that the only window that had a good view of the building across the street was in the cramped bathroom. I supposed I could have gotten used to the mold if that had been the only issue with the confined space but it was the stench of rotting eggs wafting out of the broken toilet that really did me in. I’d made the mistake of lifting the plastic lid on the very first day as I’d scoped out the place to figure out the different views the two-bedroom apartment offered, and now every time I jammed my body into the narrow space between the toilet and the leaky shower, I had to bite back the revulsion of knowing the nastiness that was just inches from me.
The prudent thing to do would have been to call the maintenance guy to come fix the shitter but since I’d already made an impression with paying three months of rent up front in cash, I wasn’t exactly looking to become memorable in any other way. And since there was a second bathroom in the place that didn’t actually rival the portable toilets you only used when you absolutely had to, I’d figured I could live with the noxious smell and God-awful image that was burned into my brain long enough to do my job and get out. That had been my thought three weeks ago when I’d first spied my target through the scope on my M23 semi-automatic sniper rifle. Yet here I was, twenty-one long days later, my burning muscles protesting the same unnatural position I had forced them into and my tortured nose sending a reminder to my tired brain to get some fucking nose plugs or grow a pair and finally pull the goddamn trigger.