Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I squeeze my eyes shut to expel the mental image, dragging air through my mouth not to throw up again. I’m shaking all over. I want to slow down until I’ve pulled myself together, but it will look strange if I’m late. I always arrive at work on time.
Pushing myself on, I put one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. One thought at a time. Survival. I focus on nothing but breathing and walking until I reach the familiar red-brick building. At the sight of it, I almost lose my composure and burst into tears, but the officer who stands next to Zack at the door sobers me.
My stomach drops. The guilt that sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins is foreign and unpleasant, but my will to live is stronger. The child I carry fuels my determination not to become Saverio’s next victim.
Forcing a smile, I greet Zack and the officer before posing my question in a tremulous voice. “What’s going on?”
“You better come inside,” Zack says, holding the door for me.
The sympathy and silent support in his gaze only make me feel worse. I don’t deserve his compassion and kindness.
The officer leads me aside and shares the news of Mr. Lewis’s violent passing in cryptic terms. As he carries on about the protocol of questioning the staff, I register the movement of his lips, but I hardly hear a word he says. I’m too frantic. I’m too worried that the truth will pour out if I open my mouth. I must appear upset, because Zack rushes over and asks if I’d like a glass of water.
Not trusting my voice to speak, I shake my head.
I’m going straight to hell.
The officer takes me upstairs to the staff room where a few employees are already gathered, all looking bewildered. He explains that we’ll be questioned individually. I flop down in one of the boardroom chairs that’s pushed against the wall, trying not to make eye contact with the others who are conversing in hushed voices. I’m too scared they’ll see the guilt on my face.
Time ticks by slowly. I peruse the room in an effort to keep busy and not to go out of my mind. Numbers are scribbled in long columns on the whiteboard in the corner.
Seventy-five thousand one hundred and sixteen plus three thousand five hundred and ten plus eighty-six thousand plus fifty-five thousand six hundred and sixteen equals two hundred and twenty thousand two hundred and forty-two.
Seventy-five thousand one hundred and sixteen times three thousand five hundred and ten equals two hundred and sixty-three million, six hundred and fifty-seven thousand, one hundred and sixty.
I carry on until I’ve multiplied all the numbers and then do subtractions in my head.
When it’s finally my turn, an officer escorts me down the hallway past the open plan offices to the corner office at the end. The HR manager, Ms. Price, stands next to a female officer. Their heads are bent over a clipboard.
“That’s the full staff count,” Ms. Price says, glancing up as we pass. “There’s no one absent except for Mr. Fisher who’s been on leave since last week.”
Her voice fades away as the officer opens the door of the big office and shows me inside. Another officer sits behind Mr. Lewis’s desk. The couple of times I’ve been inside this office were enough to familiarize me with the huge mahogany desk, the collection of South American tribal dolls locked in a glass showcase, and the thick wool rug in the center of the floor. What gets to me are the framed photographs on the walls. Graduation ceremonies. Family vacations. Birthdays. Mr. Lewis’s wedding photo.
A husband and father is gone, and I know who’s responsible. Only, his murderer will never be brought to justice. The thought leaves me lightheaded. Guilty. Despicable. Raging. It makes me feel helpless and trapped. Suffocating.
The officer behind the desk stands, his expression concerned, while the one at my side takes my elbow.
The one behind the desk speaks. “Are you all right, Ms. Brennan?”
“She’s not,” someone says in a deep, suave voice from the door.
I freeze, not having the courage to turn around and confirm what my mind already knows.
“It’s obvious,” Saverio adds in a dark tone as he appears like an apparition in front of me, tall and formidable in a gray three-piece suit.
The small gold hoop in his ear contradicts the formal style, adding a touch of daring rebelliousness, but instead of clashing with the power his designer clothes evoke, it enforces the image by adding a semblance of danger. He’s an unconventional man who doesn’t follow rules, and his choice of style shows it.
Something so chilling flashes in his startling blue eyes as he looks at where the officer grips my elbow that my breathing stutters. Locking his fingers around the officer’s wrist, he squeezes hard enough to make the officer flinch as he forcefully removes his hand from my arm.