Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
I check every crevice, every pile of leaves, every rock heap.
Nothing.
I even look up into the trees, just in case the camera’s dangling from a branch by its strap, waiting to spill its secrets.
No such luck.
Which tells me the victim definitely caught something on film that someone else didn’t want him seeing.
By the time I hike through the woods with Rolf to where the cook site had been during my stakeout with Talia, I’m fairly certain who those someones are.
The site’s been completely cleared out, well before the Jacobins usually pack up and move on.
I can piece together a scenario in my head.
Brian Newcomb wanders out into the woods, looking for a little wildlife to shoot. While he’s camped out for the night, a noise alerts him that he’s not alone.
He slips out and starts taking photos of the Jacobins at work, thinking he’s found some hillbilly moonshine operation or a backwooded cult, something worth documenting.
He doesn’t realize he’s been spotted by Eustace Jacobin, this tall shadow sailing up to him in the dark of night, her footsteps silent.
Not until it’s too late.
Not until she’s already pushed him and stolen his camera and left him for dead, right before screeching at her little brood of minions to pack it up and relocate.
They’ll be more careful now.
Craftier. Harder to track down.
One more problem Redhaven doesn’t need.
Fuck.
Thunder cracks overhead, underscoring my thoughts. The rain smells sharp on the cool ground. I crouch down in the clearing, running my fingers through the loose earth where a post was pulled up. Rolf sets his nose to the ground—then lets out a yip, his ears pricking.
He knows what they’ve been doing here.
He can smell it, and so can I.
“If dogs could talk, eh, old man?” I drape an arm over him. “What would you tell me, Rolf? What the hell should I do?”
13
DARK SHADOWS (TALIA)
Ithink I might be pissing Xavier Arrendell off.
In his office, I lean over his desk, flipping through the Post-its I put in the sample books I brought along for our meeting today.
He listens quietly as I talk about all things material, pointing out which colors would complement each other and asking his opinion on anything he doesn’t like or would like to switch with something else.
He's noncommittal, occasionally letting out a half-interested grunt, though he doesn’t argue back at anything I propose.
Weird. It’s almost like he’s losing interest in the project.
Whatever. Honestly, as long as he’s still willing to sign the contract, make the payment, and go through with it, I don’t care how he feels.
I’d actually prefer if he was more hands-off, considering how he’s tried to be too hands-on with me.
This would be a lot easier if he’d just stand back and let us do our thing.
Maybe it’s the possibility of exercising a little creative freedom that actually has me excited today. Even if he’s not enthused, I still enjoy explaining color palettes, texture contrasts between wood and upholstery, all the little things that go into making a finished piece.
If I’m being honest, it’s not just work-related excitement.
Because right before I headed out to meet Xavier this morning, there was a little buzz in my pocket.
Micah: When can I see you again?
With one little text, he lit my whole world.
Tonight? I answered. Your place? I don’t want to wake Grandpa.
I felt so dangerous saying that, knowing what it implied. And I half expected Micah to laugh and tell me he only wanted to hang out and talk about the case he was working, and how it might be connected to the Jacobins.
Micah: My place. I’ll cook. Don’t wear anything too nice. It won’t be on long.
Ahhhh!
But I’ve been on cloud nine since that text.
Especially when I can still feel that sore, wonderful imprint of him. I can’t help remembering his shape, his size, the slow, deep glide as he claimed me in ways I had no idea I could ever be taken. I’m still in disbelief a man like him could—
Rude, rough fingers grasp my chin.
So cold it feels like being touched by the dead.
That kills my sexy thoughts, throwing me back into reality.
I’ve been talking this entire time, but I was so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed Xavier’s attention shifting, moving from the sample book to me.
Maybe if I was more focused, I could’ve moved away before he caught me.
But now, as my vision steadies, he’s—he’s too close, right in front of me, leaning across the desk until our noses almost touch.
His hand grips my chin too hard.
This is where I should scream bloody murder.
Instead, I’m turned to stone, completely caught off guard.
Why the hell is he touching me?
He smiles, slow and dark and baring too many teeth, staring right into my eyes. I think I see why he’s been so deflated today.
He’s sober, his eyes no longer dilated and jittering.