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)
"It looks like he missed the flight," Wren mutters. "Motherfucker."
"Are you sure?" I growl, wishing I was behind the wheel because this vehicle would be fucking flying.
"I'm checking other means," Wren says. "It's possible he missed one flight but got on another."
"Check private, also," I urge, knowing that the family sometimes travels with other people that way.
I recall reading that and thinking how uppity it was to take private planes, although I know Cerberus has their own they use often.
"Can you get into the Preston Estate security system?"
"Sure," Wren says. "Give me a minute."
"I thought they had a closed system," Hemlock says, never taking his eyes off the road. "Did I read that in the file?"
I tilt my head, wondering how much he knows about this case. I know Kincaid wouldn't keep information from him, but I find it a little weird that he might be reading up on a case I'm working on because he feels the need to check up on me.
I shove that down. Hemlock has never treated me like he was better than me, not even after being named president of the Gatlinburg chapter of Cerberus. He has welcomed me at the cabin and treated me like an equal, and I need to get over the bias I have against him for falling in love with Zara because look where I am now.
"They do have a system," I say, "And we were told before it was closed, that it was impenetrable, but I figured if anyone could get in, it would be Wren."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, man," Wren says and I can hear the smile in his voice. "No system is really closed these days. If the system was installed ten or fifteen years ago and ran to an in-house server and recording device, then it would be, but modern technology means it goes to an app somewhere, and that means it can be hacked. I doubt they have a system that you have to go get video off a recorder. The access is clunky, and doesn't really help."
"Hurry," I urge, having changed my stance on Wren and the way he goes about finding information the second it occurred to me that Cora could possibly be in danger. "Can you drive faster?"
"I can," Hemlock says. "But I figured you'd want to make it alive."
"I'm in," Wren says, a sense of relief washing over me with the news, but my blood is still heated, an urgency rushing through my veins making me helpless having to just sit here and do nothing.
"That's it! Give Daddy the sloppy toppy!"
"That fucking bird," Jericho mutters.
"Sorry," Wren mutters.
"What have you found?" I ask, unwilling to give the fucking parrot any more attention.
"They have cameras on the front and back of the house," Wren says. "I'll have to go through the video to see what I can find, but I do have a live feed running also so I'll know if anyone shows up at the house."
"How long will it take?"
"Longer than I like," he mutters. "They have motion-activated cameras, but they also have fucking bushes in the camera's view, so it looks like it is recording continuously. Motherfucker, what's that?"
"What's what?" I growl my level of inadequacy growing by the second.
"It looks like blood on the front porch."
"What the fuck did you just say?"
I lean in closer to the audio system in the SUV as if it'll help me understand better.
"Blood," Wren says. "Give me a second. Shit."
"Shit, what?"
"Calm down," Jericho says. "Hockley is no longer an issue. She's safe."
"Why is there blood, Wren?" I ask, ignoring the man in the backseat.
"William Preston caught another flight an hour after his original one. He's in DC," Wren says.
"Why is there blood on the fucking front porch!" I scream, wanting to punch Jericho when I feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder.
I shrug it off, incapable of staying calm the way he's urging me to.
"She left with Christopher Preston. She was covered in blood."
"What happened?" I prod.
"I can't tell if she's hurt. She seems to be walking stiffly. She's terrified," Wren says, making my gut clench with worry.
"Hemlock," I say, my throat threatening to seize.
"I'm on it," the man says, the SUV growling as he presses down harder on the accelerator.
"I've already contacted local police and they're sending units to the house," Wren says. "They left in her car. There are no reports of them going to the police. It's been an hour since they left the house."
"That doesn't make sense," Jericho says, always fucking helpful.
"It does if you've been involved in something terrible and you have to worry about the media as much as you do the police," Wren says. "I can't count the number of times we get a call for Quinten's help before they ever think to call the police."