Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
My phone rang and I moved out front to stand on the steps, answering Quin.
"Updates."
"Good morning to you too, Quinn," I rumbled, shaking my head. "She seemed to pull it off. Waiting to see what today brings."
"Finn handled what you needed him to," Quin said, leaving out specifics like we always did. We needed to be discreet. You never really knew if anyone could be listening. "And Lincoln is on call for today. I know you're going to need sleep, but you'll have to pop into the office to update the file at least. I have Gunner, Kai, and Miller trying to sort through the paperwork, so don't worry about that. This is your main priority now. I wish I could..."
"Take your vacation and enjoy your time with your wife," I filled in for him. "I've been right by your side since you opened, Quin. I can handle this."
"I trust you. I just know that you would like some backup."
"Got the whole team," I reminded him.
"Yeah. This one with the political twist is just..."
"Speaking of, I think the senator is coming," I said, watching a sleek sedan moving down the street.
"Do you think he's suspicious?"
"I think he is the type to micromanage. Coming here to make sure the client is being respectable."
"Real prince."
"Yeah. Text me when he leaves," he said, voice going low as Aven called his name.
"Will do," I agreed, ending the call, reaching for another card, making a mental note to pick up more when I hit the office to do paperwork.
The senator climbed out of his car, eyeing me through his sunglasses before tossing them onto his dash, and making his way toward me.
"This is private property," he hissed. No puffy eyes. His only son was murdered and he hadn't even cried? That was a whole new level of cold.
"Yes, sir," I agreed, nodding. "My name is Smith. I work for a private security firm," I informed him, handing him my card that he briefly glanced at before tucking it into his jacket pocket and doing a painfully slow once-over. I knew he found me lacking before he even opened his mouth.
"This is a nice neighborhood. I would appreciate it if you dressed as such."
This should have pissed me off, hurt my pride, made my fists curl up. But bootcamp did a lot of things to a man, making them used to getting screamed at, condescended to. You learned to check your pride.
"Of course, sir. I came right from home. It sounded emergent. I will make sure the team and I all dress appropriately from here on out."
"Good. Would you move out of the way?" he asked, brow raising.
He's a real douche. I knew that for absolute certain as I stepped to the side then followed him in.
"Mrs. Ericsson is still sleeping."
He stopped mid-stride at that, clearly disliking it. A pesky little murder was certainly no reason to put appearances on hold, right? He pivoted on his heel, inspecting me for a long moment before giving me a nod, seeming to remember he was supposed to appear human, not an automaton.
"Right. Of course. She needs her rest. I am just going to speak with the staff. We don't need gossip leaking from the inside."
Speaking of gossip, there were no news vans out front, no newscasters on the lawn ready to put this on the next news cycle.
Reaching for my phone, I texted Gunner.
- Why is there no news on this?
It was only a minute or two before he got back to me.
- The senator hired a rent-a-cop to prevent non-residents or non-staff from coming in. Had news conference on the steps of his house late last night and just about half an hour ago though.
He wanted the press on him, focusing their telescopic gaze where he could control the story, not on the unpredictable widow who couldn't bother to get out of bed at an hour he deemed appropriate.
I felt another wave of sympathy for Jenny, wondering how the hell she found herself in this kind of situation. She clearly wasn't happy. The woman didn't even know if there were snacks in her own house. What kind of life was that?
But I guess, technically, it wasn't her house. It wasn't even her late husband's house.
It was the senator's.
And everything they said, did, everything they wore, what they ate or drank, everywhere they went, who they rubbed shoulders with, it all reflected back on Senator Ericsson.
I bet he wasn't just in the kitchen threatening the staff. He was grilling them as well.
As if on cue, I heard footsteps above. It was only a few moments before Jenny's figure appeared at the front of the staircase, bleary-eyed, her hair half out of its braid, her face still a bit swollen.
I knew it was crazy to think it, but I could have sworn I saw relief in her eyes as her gaze landed on me.