Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“They’re pretty easy to get,” I admitted. “But yeah, giving everybody a new number is a pain. Hopefully, the police will return your phone. Do you mind telling me about the robbery here? I know I’m not involved with the case, but I’m really curious.” I took a seat on a barstool.
“Sure. They came in, and the tall guy in black, the one with the nice body, kept the arrows pointed at everybody while the other two ran around with bags and collected jewelry, cell phones, and then hit the cash register. They took money and wallets off everybody, too.”
It sounded like they’d improved their strategy after hitting Duke’s. “Wallets, huh?”
“Yeah, but it’s my understanding that most of those were found intact at the women’s center with credit cards but not cash.”
I let one of my eyebrows rise.
She grinned. “I have a friend who works there, so I got the scoop.”
“Ah, nice,” I said. “Do you have any idea who the guys were?”
“No, do you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Absolutely no clue, but I’ve heard they’re being called the Robin Hood Cupids.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. They could take a charitable name if they gave everything back, but they’re keeping plenty for themselves.” She tossed the bar rag into the sink. “I was surprised they hit us. But now that I think about it, if they got everybody’s jewelry and cash and then the bar’s, it probably wasn’t a bad haul.” She dropped her voice.
I nodded, thinking the same thing.
“So,”—she leaned toward me—“Nick Basanelli is obviously taken. He doesn’t have brothers, does he?”
“He has two brothers, and to the best of my knowledge, neither is dating anybody.”
After leaving the Clumsy Penguin, I hopped into Aiden’s truck and headed to his cabin, unsurprised to see the home dark. I didn’t think he’d be back this quickly, but still, I had hoped. I parked in the drive and hustled inside to grab a shovel out of the hall closet.
Even though it was cold and dark, I hurriedly shoveled the walkway, feeling like it was a decent enough workout for the day. I hadn’t been running in quite a while, and I really needed to find my tennis shoes.
Returning inside, I did some laundry, my mind on the cases. I wanted to call and speak with Violet, but I had to trust that Aunt Yara knew what she was doing. Heck, she knew a lot more about how to raise teenagers than I ever would.
Finally, my eyelids grew so heavy I had to go to bed. The pillows smelled like Aiden, wild and foresty, and I sank right into the mattress. Even so, I slept fitfully, dreaming about Cupid chasing me around the lake. Early in the morning, the nightmare hit—the one where I was ten years old again, skipping rocks by the river with my cousin Lacey before being kidnapped. I snapped awake.
What in the world? Glancing at the clock, I noted it was five a.m. Was Aiden awake? I fumbled for my phone and took a chance.
“Hi, Angel,” he answered, sounding wide awake.
“Hi,” I breathed. “What are you doing?”
“I just finished a run. Did you have a nightmare?”
I settled back into bed. “I did, and I’m surprised. I figured with Jareth dead, I wouldn’t have nightmares anymore.”
“That’s not how it works.”
I swallowed. “I know. Still, it was a nice hope. How are things in California?”
“Busy,” he replied. “We’ve reopened a case I thought was long closed.”
I curled my toes, happily warm. “Interesting, tell me about it.”
“No, I don’t want to talk about the case. It wasn’t mine to start with anyway, so I’m getting caught up. What’s going on there?”
Snuggling down even more, I told him about Violet and the judge’s idea about her coming to watch him play basketball and then a little bit about Nick’s case. I couldn’t tell him everything because of privilege, but the facts would hit the news soon anyway.
Aiden remained silent for several moments.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just hate seeing you get caught up in a potential murder investigation.”
Hopefully Pierce would solve it quickly. “Nick didn’t kill anybody,” I said.
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t think we know what we’d do when pushed,” Aiden said somberly. “You have to remember that Richard hit Nick’s mom. I can’t imagine what I would do if anybody had hit my grams or you.”
I slowly stretched awake, my mind reeling. “Aiden, you know Nick Basanelli. There’s no way he killed his dad when he was just fifteen years old.”
“You don’t know that. I don’t think he did, but again, sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think we do.”
Aiden’s wisdom was hard-earned from his childhood, his time in the Marines, and then as an ATF agent. More importantly, he’d been undercover more than once in very dangerous situations and once as the leader of a motorcycle club. He had a point, based on that experience alone.