Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“Like I said. Do I need to get rid of the fucking coffee cup?”
“And like I said. No, you don’t need to get rid of the fucking coffee cup. He started choking in ten seconds.”
He frowns, clearly seeing that as a timeline that doesn’t connect.
“What you need to do,” I add, “is to think beyond the obvious.”
His eyes narrow on me and he seems to get the message. He reaches for his weapon and stands up as I do the same, reaching to draw my Glock from the back of my jeans where I put it. I motion Savage to the right, down a hallway to what I believe is the bedroom. I go around the couch to the office, where I find a pot of coffee on the desk, as well as condiments and a half-eaten pastry. I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot photos to prove these items exist.
I don’t linger to search the office. Instead, I exit the doorway and cross the living room, traveling down another hallway. There’s a bathroom to the right that’s clear and untouched. A few feet down, there’s a dining room with a conference table as the centerpiece. I walk past it into a small kitchen and check for evidence. I open the refrigerator, but it’s empty. I rotate and retrace my steps, returning to the living room as Savage returns from his portion of the search as well, and gives me an “all clear” motion.
The doorbell to the suite rings. Savage and I both put away our weapons and Savage, standing just beside the door, doesn’t wait for approval he wouldn’t need. He opens the door.
The EMT crew—two men in uniform—rushes in, asking for details even as they kneel beside my father and start administering rescue services. Blake walks in moments after I finish delivering the update. “Join me in the hallway,” he orders softly.
I nod but I look at Savage and make sure that Blake can hear. “Office. Pastry. Coffee. Recent. I need to make sure that doesn’t disappear.”
Savage nods and Blake and I walk to the hallway, stepping to the side of the doorway. “We have about sixty seconds until law enforcement gets here,” Blake says, “Talk to me.”
“He was poisoned and the only reason he’s alive is because I decided to show up to talk. He’s alive because I called the EMTs.”
“Did you poison him?”
“If I decided to kill my father, I wouldn’t have second thoughts and call the EMTs. I also wouldn’t make myself the prime fucking suspect.”
His lips thin. “That’s not a fucking answer. Give me a direct fucking answer.”
“I didn’t kill my father.”
“Did you try?”
“Had I tried, he’d be dead, Blake. I brought coffee. He drank his own before I got here, along with eating a portion of a pastry, but I can promise you he’s not going to test positive for poison. I only know what I witnessed.”
He narrows his eyes on me, and it’s clear that he thinks I just confessed to setting this up. I open my mouth to respond to the assumption, but it’s right then that a rush of activity erupts at the end of the hallway, shouts lifting in the air. Blake and I both eye the force of three officers rushing our way and Blake lowers his voice. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“The one you’re having with yourself or the one you’re having with me?”
He glowers and we both turn to greet the officers. It’s chaos from there, and I answer a few questions before the EMTs exit with my father on a stretcher. “I’ll be at the hospital,” I tell the lead officer. “You can ask me anything you want there.” I don’t wait for his approval. I follow the EMT and confirm that my father is indeed stable. Had he been alone at the time of his incident, he’d be dead.
I follow the emergency team into the elevator, standing next to my father, but I don’t look at him. I text Davis, not because he’s an attorney but because I want to head off bad press for the company and Grayson: Need you. Meet me at the St. Francis Hospital ASAP. More soon. Can’t talk.
Oh fuck, is his reply. Need you? What the hell is happening? On my way. Call me if you can before I get there.
I inhale and stuff my phone back into my pocket, my gaze falling on my father’s pale face and I once again wait to feel anything but hate for this man, but I don’t. I hate him. If he dies, I won’t grieve, but he won’t die. Because I, the bastard son that I am, saved his fucking life, by calling for help. But if I find out that he’s the one behind the attempt on Harper’s life, he’ll wake up and wish he’d died today.