Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Then you know we’re not compatible.”
“Or we’re exactly what the other one needs. If no one challenges you to submit control, you’ll never know you had it.”
“Sounds like the ramblings of a psychology major.”
Archer lights up. He loves that I’ve researched him. “Perhaps.”
“You’ve made my visit … interesting.”
He cocks his head to the side. “So this is goodbye?”
“This is goodbye.”
“Have dinner with me one more time.”
I shake my head. “I think my luck is running out. I choose life over death by gunfire.”
A guilty grin steals his lips. “My wife and daughter are out of town. Come to my house for dinner. I promise you’ll be safe there.”
“I shouldn’t.” I take a few steps toward the door.
“You’re right. You probably shouldn’t. But I can tell you want to.”
He’s so sure of himself.
“I have plans tonight,” he says. “Come tomorrow. I’m sure you know where I live since you seem to know everything else about me.”
“Archer …” I play hard to get.
He steps around his desk and sits in his fancy chair. “I’ll let you pick the meal. I’ll give you all the control.” He leans back, fingers laced and resting on his chest.
I don’t say anything. Not even a nod or headshake acknowledging his invitation. When I exit, he lets me go without another plea. Either he doesn’t really care if I come to dinner, or he’s sure I won’t be able to stay away. I’m banking on the latter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JACKSON
“Where have you been?” Slade asks when Jackson opens the door to the motel room.
Jackson frowns. “She shouldn’t have let you in.”
“She didn’t. I let myself in. She’s not here.”
His gaze slides to the dark bathroom and the open door. “Where the hell is she?” Jackson checks the bathroom even though he knows she’s not there. “Did she leave a note?”
“She did not. Where have you been?”
“Doesn’t fucking matter. Where is she?” He again opens the motel room door, surveying the surroundings, and steps outside. “Goddammit.” He stomps toward his car.
“She’s at her brother’s house. Well, the neighbor’s house,” Slade says, standing in the doorway when Jackson stops and turns. “But she was in Rhodale visiting Sanford before that.”
Jackson doesn’t ask how he knows that. Slade’s doing what Jackson would have been doing in his shoes—keeping an eye on the target and the unknown. Frankie is a big unknown to Slade, even if Jackson’s dick is well-acquainted with her.
“She’s going to get herself killed,” Jackson grumbles.
“You’re going to get her killed by not ending this.”
Jackson steps into Slade’s personal space. He still remembers how slamming his fist into Slade’s smug face felt. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re getting laid while you shit your pants on this one. You’re thinking like a father who’s trying to protect his daughter. There’s a reason surgeons don’t operate on their family.”
“You don’t have a clue.” Jackson heads toward the car.
“Sanford should be dead. You’re afraid you missed something. You’re afraid he’s not the last one. You’re afraid Livy’s going to die like her mom. If you were protecting anyone but her, you would have more confidence. You’re scared. Why the fuck do you think I’m here?”
Jackson opens the car door. “I don’t know why you’re here. So go take care of my daughter before I deem you as expendable … more than I already do.”
His anger builds the closer he gets to Eloise’s place. There hasn’t been any activity on his cameras around the garage, but it’s only been forty-eight hours. Even if Archer doesn’t suspect Jackson, he will need to stalk Frankie. And she’s doing all she can to lead them to Eloise’s house, the truth, and the garage filled with Jackson’s belongings.
He waits down the street, using binoculars to look for anything unusual. Then he slides on a baseball cap and walks to her house instead of pulling into her driveway. As he reaches the front porch stairs, he hears laughter coming from the back of the house, so he walks around to the deck.
“Jack,” Eloise greets him first because Frankie’s sitting in a chair with her back to him.
“Eloise,” he greets her with a stiff smile.
“Francesca was just telling me about your romantic getaway.”
He climbs the stairs, and Frankie swallows hard, eyes wide, hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Was she?”
“Yes. She said you took her dancing.”
He hums. “Well, she begged me.”
“I did not beg you.” Frankie finally acknowledges him.
“You were on your knees. If that’s not begging, I don’t know what is.”
Frankie’s face turns deep crimson. “I had to bend down to tie his shoe. He’s getting up there in age.”
“Oh mercy … tell me about it.” Eloise flicks her wrist. “I only wear slip-ons.”
Jackson eyes Frankie, but she remains statuesque with a triumphant grin pinned to her face. “Someone has some attitude today.”
“Me?” Frankie’s jaw unhinges.