Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“But he’ll kill her.”
“You’re thinking of your mom, Emma,” Jacob snaps with a fiery passion that I can’t believe. I’m staring, stunned. “You’re thinking of Vanessa, who, for any faults she might have, is a loving, devoted mother, but it’s not the same. My mother used to turn the music up so she wouldn’t hear the goddamn boxing lessons next door.”
Jacob suddenly springs to his feet, turning like he’s ready to hit something. Then he lowers his hands, his chest heaving. Emma lifts her hand like she wants to place it on him, then realizes what she’s doing, drops it, and glances at me. She tries to mask her feelings, but she’s never been good at lying to me. She nods at me as if to say, Dad, he’s hurting. Help him, but it’s not my help he wants.
I stand and join him at the window. “She doesn’t deserve whatever he’d do to her,” I murmur. “You said you wanted to catch Rafael if he was stupid enough to come Stateside.”
“But he’ll try to make me put you and Emma at risk,” he growls.
His voice trembles when he says, Emma. A weird feeling triggers in me. If I’m not going nuts, when he says her name like that, there’s some odd, unexpected thing happening here. For a second, I wonder how good it would be to have a man like Jacob looking out for my daughter. But no, it’s too damn bizarre. Isn’t it?
“All I know is, I can tell looking at you right now, Jacob, that it’d eat you up every day of your life if you didn’t try to save her.”
Jacob leans against the counter, staring out the window at the sun bouncing off the snow. “He doesn’t know exactly where we are,” Jacob says. “We’ll set up defenses and wait for his next call.” He glances at me. “And this time, no unannounced trips.”
“If it’s any consolation, I brought some real food.” I nod to my backpack near the entrance. “Some bacon and bread. Should probably unpack it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EMMA
Ispend the afternoon sitting on the couch reading my Kindle, trying not to think about what happened or what will happen. Dad sits opposite me, reading his book, Rusty lying between us. Every so often, Dad will look up with a searching quality in his eyes. Or maybe that’s just paranoia.
It was so difficult when I felt the emotion burning off my man. He was smoldering with it, so much pain. Every instinct in me wanted to go to him, pull him into my arms, and do whatever I could to make him feel better. I had to act normal in front of Dad. Did I give myself away? If Dad’s thoughts went there, even for a second, he’d throw a fit. Whatever his secret is, it can’t be as big as this.
Jacob is on the roof, lying under some camouflaged tarp, watching the forest. He has cameras, apparently, but I think he needs to be out there. If he’s in here, he’ll feel the pull as badly as I do. My man’s going through a hard time, and I can do nothing to help him. Sickeningly, I resent Dad for getting in the way of us. It’s so messed up, but it’s true. I just want some alone time with my Jacob.
Dad sighs and leans forward. “I don’t want you to think any less of me.”
“Why would I think less of you?” I ask.
He hesitates, then says, “Maybe you’ve got a certain image of me in your head. I don’t want to change that.”
Is he going to come out to me? That’s how it sounds. “Nothing could make me love you any less, Dad,” I say.
“Hmm,” he mutters, turning back to his book.
“Hmm? Okay, Grumpelstiltskin.”
He laughs. It comes out loudly, with force, that classic “Dad laugh” when he’s been caught off guard by a joke and can’t help but let out the maximum amount of happiness. “I haven’t heard you say that in years.”
“Seriously,” I say. “Whatever you were in Little Hope for… whoever you were seeing… It’s okay.”
Dad leans forward again. “Who said I was seeing anybody?”
There’s something about the way he says it, tinged with suspicion. He thinks Jacob might’ve told me something, but why would he have any reason to believe Jacob would tell me anything?
“Nobody,” I say, “but now I think you might have, and that’s okay, Dad. Whoever it is…”
“How can you say that?” he grumbles. “You don’t know anything about her.”
“So there is a her?” I say.
“It’s complicated.”
“You sound like a kid.”
“Yeah, right,” he sighs darkly. “I sound like a nineteen-year-old.”
“Now you’re being really grumpy.”
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just…”
He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He looks boyish and lost. Dad has always had a boyish quality. Once, when Mom thought I couldn’t hear, she told Xavier, “He was always such a calm little boy. I hated that.” I think that’s what’s made the divorce workable. I have the emotion and chaos of Mom and the steadiness of Dad, but now, Dad doesn’t look stable.