Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“You look terrible,” I said dryly.
“I’ve been with Celia Hughes.”
“Why?” I asked him, concerned.
“Who’s Celia Hughes?” Evan asked, but I shushed him.
“The cops guarding her found a car bomb rigged to her Lexus.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed, leaning forward to put my hand on his knee. “Is she okay?”
He let out a deep sigh and covered my hand with his. “She’s no longer giving me shit about protective custody, I can tell you that.”
“Cord,” I pressed him, staring at him hard.
“She’s fine, just scared.”
“Is the guy who just tried to break in—”
Cord cut me off. “No, he’s not the car-bomb guy. I don’t know who the hell this guy is outside, but he’s definitely small-time. No professional hitman fucks around for ten or fifteen minutes with a goddamn Home Depot chain lock. He comes in, shoots the dog, kills you, and he’s in and out without even waking up Alex. This was like having one of the Three Stooges come to kill you.”
“I was still scared,” I told him, my jaw clenching tight.
“I know you were scared, but between your dad’s fuckin’ monster dog and your scary-ass brother, I don’t really think you were in any danger.”
“Is the guy dead?”
“No,” he said, his face scrunching up. “Why would he be dead?”
“Because Alex shot at him, didn’t he?”
“You think your brother shoots to kill and not wound?”
I yanked my hand from his and flopped back against the couch. “So who is he, and what was he doing here?”
“All we know so far is that someone hired him to deliver a dead rabbit.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Evan chimed in.
Cord rubbed his eyes hard, scrubbing them with the heels of his palms before raking both hands hard through his short, thick dark-brown hair. “He was paid a grand to come over here, break in, and put a dead rabbit in a box on your living-room table.”
“Why?”
“How Fatal Attraction is that?” Evan pointed out.
I really wanted to know what was going on, but with Evan there, I couldn’t help smiling.
“It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Cord barked at me.
“No,” I said quickly, soothing him. “It’s really not.”
“But why a rabbit?” Evan pressed him.
“’Cause in the old days,” Cord explained, “a dead rabbit meant you were pregnant. That’s how they checked. It was called the rabbit test.”
It took Evan a moment, and I pressed my lips together so tight.
“Tracy,” Cord growled at me.
I cleared my throat.
Evan said, “Wait, so that actually meant something in Fatal Attraction?” He appeared absolutely gobsmacked. “I thought it was just about the kid’s pet gettin’ iced.”
“Can you let this go?” I was trying really hard not to laugh, for Cord’s sake.
“Did the rabbits only die if a woman was pregnant?” Evan was like a dog with a bone; he had to know the why of things.
“No,” I clarified. “All the rabbits died because to check to see if a woman was pregnant, the rabbit had to be opened up so the doctor could examine its ovaries after they injected it with a pregnant woman’s urine.”
“You’re saying they only used female bunnies?”
I was going to say, Why would they use male bunnies, but I knew better. “Yes,” I answered him.
“Gross that you know that,” Evan told me frankly. “But why couldn’t they put the bunny back together when they were done?”
“That’s a lot of expense for a rabbit, right?” I told him.
“Are you kidding?” Evan was clearly revolted.
“I didn’t say I thought it was,” I defended myself, and then I coughed to cover the chuckling. “You know I would have saved every single one of them. I love bunnies. I’m just telling you, that’s how it was done back in the day.”
“That’s horrible.”
“You don’t hear me arguing with you, do you?”
“Poor bunnies.”
“I agree, which is why stick tests are so—”
“Are you two done?” Cord snarled at us, clearly annoyed that we’d been ignoring him. “Because a dead rabbit in a box just got collected as evidence, and neither of you is concerned about the big picture!”
“So who sent the guy?” I asked, back on task.
“He doesn’t know. He got a text, which led him to a locker in a bus station with the box and a thousand dollars in cash.”
“And the phone the text came from?”
“No doubt a burner.”
“What about the cameras in the bus station?”
“Not all bus stations have them, and even if this one did, it’s doubtful they’re angled toward the lockers. But we’ll check, of course. You never know.”
“Okay.” I took a breath. “So some psycho paid this guy to bring a dead rabbit over here, and since he doesn’t even know who it was, it’s a dead end.”
“Correct.”
“So really, he wasn’t here to kill me or Alex.”
“No. He’s just a delivery boy.”
His answer made me feel better despite the lingering fear. “You really do look like crap. You should go home and sleep,” I told him seriously.