Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“You saw the whole thing, didn’t you?” I ask.
“I did. The cameras also recorded it from the angle, I’m pretty sure. I’m going to save that one. I should post it online. Man Stands Off with Well-Endowed Raccoon. Or Ball Measuring Contest Ensues. Or Raccoon Animal Laughs at Man and Promises He’ll be Back to Fuck Up His Garbage. I’m pretty sure it would go viral.”
“You’re not allowed to go viral,” I grumble.
“Aiden already knows where I am. If you weren’t here, I have no doubt he would have tried to come back to cause all sorts of chaos. Maybe what we need is to lure him out. Maybe I should try and contact him and go into town and—”
At those words, I could barely stop myself from lurching forward, grasping her arms, and pulling her against me. I’d never shake sense into her, but I could bury my fingers in her hair and try and kiss it into her. Try to chase away my fears that something bad would ever or could ever happen to her and promise her silently that I’d put my body between her and whatever threat it was, even if it were a bullet. In a professional capacity. Obviously.
Minus all the other stuff. Also obviously.
That’s what I need to tell her. She needs an update on the job. She’s hanging in limbo, and she’s worried. Afraid even. She wants her old life back. She wants all of this over. The anxiety is probably eating away at her, festering like a nasty wound, and like a thoughtless imbecile, I’ve let it. I thought no news would be good news, but she needs more than me telling her I don’t have anything yet, and neither does my team.
“For all Aiden knows, I’m a hired thug. He’s so confident in throwing you under the bus to declare his own innocence that he hasn’t even gone into hiding yet. My team is monitoring his every movement. You know that. I would have told you if he disappeared.”
She doesn’t get away from the window. I know there’s no danger out there, but I still want to get between her and whatever might be out there. I do. Professionally. Because I’m a professional with zero feelings of any sort.
“It takes time to build an airtight case against someone, and we won’t move until we are certain you are one hundred percent off the hook,” I add.
“Then why are you standing there like he’s waiting outside with a sniper rifle?” she questions.
“I’m—I don’t know what you mean.”
She gives me the yeah, I two hundred percent believe you face. Then, the maddening woman sweeps the curtains aside and opens the window. Leaning forward, she punches the screen outward. It clatters onto the roof, and all I can do is stand there, frozen in bewilderment.
Oh, fuck no. She’s not…
Yes, she is. She’s doing it. She’s bending down and going through the window.
She rushes fast in the granny nightgown that is far too long and trip-worthy. Then, after she’s made enough room on the roof that is a straight drop to the bottom, and a good fifteen-footer at that, she turns her face to look at me, sweeps her hair to the side, and grins at me like a total badass.
“Get out here, Beau. It’s a lovely night, nice and warm. Look.” She points to the moon in the sky. It’s half full, and even I have to admit that, out here, surrounded by stars a person can actually see, it’s beautiful.
No, not just beautiful.
It’s breathtaking.
Both the moon and the woman bathed in silver light on her damn roof.
“Turn off the lights before you come out. The stars are so much better that way.”
I stick myself halfway out the window and plant my hands on the peeling shingles. “Are you kidding me? You’ve done this before?”
She wriggles her bare toes from beneath the hem of the nightgown. “Obviously. Who wouldn’t take advantage of this view? Also? It’s not like there’s a whole lot going on out here. I kind of have to take my amusement and entertainment wherever I can find it.” She turns her face to the moon, then slowly looks back at me. Her eyes are shining, dancing in the moonlight, and lovely. She’s ethereal, and my whole being freezes. She might not be asking me to jump off a bridge, just potentially fall off a roof, and the answer is yes.
I’ve already made so many bad decisions where Ignacia is concerned. I should pull her back in, fit the screen back into place, slam the window, pull the curtains, and insist she go back to bed.
Instead, I’m going to shut off the light, calculate how many hours it will be until sunrise—two hours and probably forty minutes—and then jam my huge body through a window that is far smaller than it looks.