Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
She looks up at the ceiling as if she's having to talk herself into looking at them, and I pray she changes her mind.
But then her eyes drop, her hand automatically coming up to cover her mouth.
A sob escapes her throat, and I know her pain is only beginning. The image facing her is a full-body picture of Sadie Preston lying face down. She was shot in the head from the back. I've seen enough bullet wounds to know what the front of her head is going to look like.
Instead of flipping to the second picture, she shoves them away.
"She's in the same clothes," she manages through her sobs. "The same ones she was wearing when she came to the house that last time."
I squeeze her hand, fighting the urge to pull her to my chest and promise that I'll hunt this motherfucker down and kill him myself. But I know that I'm not a super agent. I don't have a greater skill set than the other men who have been trying to catch this man for the last ten years.
Hell, if anything, the betrayal is in the person who hired the hit. The Full Deck Killer is only the vehicle used to get it done. He's a hired killer. He's in this for the money and nothing else.
"I want her body exhumed," she says after she blows her nose.
I hate that when she's done, she drops her hands into her lap instead of reaching for mine again.
'That's—" Mike begins, but she lifts her hand to silence him.
"I need her home, not buried in a shallow grave as if no one loved her." She hiccups another sob. "She was loved."
"I can work on arrangements for that," Mike tells her. "I just want to let you know that the level of care for a person buried in a pauper's grave isn't the same as one that has a paid-for funeral."
"What exactly does that mean?" she asks, sounding horrified.
"She wasn't embalmed," he explains. "Once she's exhumed, your funeral home can do that, but a lot of deterioration happens in nearly a month."
Her cheeks puff as she blows out a long stream of air as if she's trying not to get sick.
"I'd suggest making plans for a closed casket, especially with the damage to her—"
"She gets it," I snap, wondering how Mike has made it so long as an agent and hasn't mastered his skills of speaking to a victim's family.
"Sorry," he mutters, as he puts the pictures back into the manilla folder.
I want nothing more than to curl my body around hers and protect her, and I know the danger in that. I know the danger of me just being in her life, and what it could mean. But for the first time in my life, I want to fight to protect her. I want to shield her from all the bad and be her hero. I can't go back in time and prevent these bad things from happening to her, but there's a voice in my head saying I can keep her safe, sheltered from grief and sadness, going forward.
The reasonable side of my head knows better. It knows that hits will keep coming, and there will come a point when she'll get hurt simply because of her connection to me. My job takes me away and puts me right in line with dangerous people who will stop at nothing to keep their deviant businesses operational, even if that means cutting me off at the knees by hurting people I care about.
"I don't know how to tell my brothers," she says. I know Mike was waiting for this opening, but I wish he'd take a moment longer before introducing it to her.
He doesn't.
"I wanted to talk to you about this," he begins, wishing he wasn't about to sound like some skeezy used-car salesman. "We think it's best if you don't tell them."
"I can't bury my sister and grieve alone," she says, immediately rejecting his suggestion.
"I'm not asking you to do anything alone. Just that you postpone it. We were hoping that you could go home, invite them to your house, and then we'll give the call or have someone come to the house to make the announcement. We want professionals to go over how people in her life respond to the news."
Her head shakes, but she doesn't speak as new tears track down her face.
"I know what I'm asking of you," Mike says.
"Do you?" she snaps. "I can hardly function knowing she's gone, but I'm supposed to go home and act like it hasn't happened while planning some damn dinner party?"
"We're not asking for a dinner party. I can leave it up to you how you want to get your brothers to the house."
"My brothers," she whispers. "I'm telling you, they didn't do this."