Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
How's that for an epiphany?
Not saying I'm a hero or a good dude or deserve to be a cop, but maybe shit isn't as black and white as I've always told myself it is. I've been thinking about that a lot the last few days, letting it percolate. I'm not sure what it leaves, but maybe one day, I will be worthy of January. Probably not, but shit, it's not like that's gonna stop me from trying to deserve her anyway.
I went without her for seven fucking years. If I don't go to prison, I'm not living without her anymore.
"Unless your fingerprints are on that weapon, you'll be cleared once forensics comes back," Ames says.
"Why would my fingerprints be on that gun?" I ask, peeling back the curtains in the living room to peek out. The front of January's house is dark. I guess she's in bed for the night.
Fuck.
I want to slide between the sheets with her and then slide between those sexy little legs of hers.
For a guy who went without for years with no problem, I'm hard up like a motherfucker these days. I'm rock hard all the time, desperate to sink back into the sweet spot between her legs until we're both too exhausted to move. Of course, she'd probably shiv me for even thinking it, but I can't help myself. I've had another taste of her, and now I can't stop thinking about it.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask Ames.
"Go for it," he drawls, amusement in his voice because I never fucking ask if I can ask questions. I just ask them until he gets annoyed and hangs up on me or kicks me out of his office.
"Hypothetically speaking, if you fucked up and got your girl's brother killed…how would you win her back?" I let the curtain fall and pace in a couple of circles before going back to the window to peek out again. Her house is still dark. Dammit.
"Hypothetically?" he asks.
"You're a shit listener, Ames," I huff and drop the curtain. Deciding I'm not going to have the good fortune of setting eyes on her tonight, I lock up and start turning off the lights before making my way back to the bedroom. It still smells like paint, but it's not like I'm going to sleep anyway.
"Hypothetically, I'd do whatever the fuck I had to do to get my girl back," Ames says with a little growl in his voice, as if the thought of losing Zoë Ames pisses him off. "But what happened to Titan James isn't your fault, Kincaid."
I paused mid-step. "How much do you know about what happened?"
"Enough to believe what I just said," he says without hesitation. "Enough to know you've been punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault. I'm thirty-six and about to go gray because of you." He sounds annoyed about that. "I can't wait until you quit so I can stop day drinking."
I snort laughter. "You day drink?"
"Like a motherfucker," he growls. "Every fucking time I have to deal with you, I drink."
I laugh again because I'm pretty sure he's not lying. He told me once that he keeps a bottle of vodka in his desk because of me and Tristan. I thought he was just fucking with me, but I guess not.
"You really think I'm going to quit?" I ask.
"I know you are," he says. "Knew the day I flew home that you weren't coming back to Seattle. And since you refuse to deal with anyone at the DEA there, I know you aren't going to request a transfer."
He's not wrong about that. Luke Santiago is the only one here who doesn't piss me off. Besides, I think they're a little afraid of me. They made Ames deliver the news that I was on administrative leave instead of sending someone from here to do it themselves. Pussies.
"I'll be coming back to Seattle," I mutter to Ames, though I think we both know the only reason I'll be going back will be to pack up my shit. I told January I'd never make her wait for me again. I can't keep that promise from Seattle.
"Right," he snorts. "I'll let you know how this latest development plays out."
"Can you do me another favor?" I ask and then rake a hand through my hair and blow out a breath. "Can you find me a shrink or some shit? Someone who won't just piss me off or blow smoke up my ass."
He's quiet for so long I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure he didn't hang up on my ass. And then, "Yeah," he says softly. "I'll find someone, Kincaid."
"Thanks."
He hesitates. "I'm proud of you. It's about time you decided to fight for something."
"I've been fighting for a long time."
"No, you've been surviving for a long time," he says and then hangs up on me.