Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
She grins, loops her arm through mine, and starts toward the private back entrance of the country club hosting the fundraiser. A group of red-jacketed valets scramble to get the cars pulled up. Bob takes the keys from the tallest of the young men and holds open the door of Millie’s SUV.
“Thanks, Bob,” Millie says and climbs in.
I settle into the back seat, facing her. “And since when are you Maxim’s spy?”
“You mean the pic I sent him?” She grins and reaches into the little cooler between us, pulling out a Peroni and offering one to me. “That wine tonight may as well have been dishwater. Who organized that menu? Lucky for us, Owen stocks these for me.”
I never would have pegged Millie as a beer girl, but that’s where we usually mess up, thinking we have people pegged. I shake my head to refuse as the car pulls away from the curb.
“It was just a little fun,” she says mischievously. “You two have heated up a lot, huh?”
“Look, I know you guys are close, but I need to keep this discreet and separate from the campaign. I don’t want people thinking I got this job because I’m sleeping with the candidate’s little brother.”
“I think the only time anyone thinks of Maxim as the ‘little brother’ is when Owen reminds them.” She laughs and takes a swig of her beer.
“Maxim’s not anyone’s little anything.”
“Hung, is he?” Millie asks wickedly.
“Not going there with you, Mrs. Cade.” I pull an imaginary zip over twitching lips.
“I’ll just say,” Millie persists, giving me a wink, “it runs in the family.”
Our bawdy laughter is so loud I check to make sure the privacy partition is up all the way.
“Would you lookie there,” Millie says, glancing through the SUV’s back window. “Senator Cade managed to extract himself from a conversation in record time. I should’ve waited a little longer. I really wanted to ride home together.”
I look, too, and see that Owen’s SUV is already behind us.
“At the next light,” I say, feeling lighthearted and happy for how genuinely they love each other, “you could hop out and go ride with him. I’ll be fine here by myself.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
I’m already thinking about calling Maxim as soon as Millie hits the pavement. We both peer again through the back window. They got caught at a light and are a little farther back but still within easy sprinting distance if Millie wants to make it happen.
She gives me a conspiratorial glance when we stop at the next light. “I think I’m gonna go for it.”
“We should probably let Bob know first.”
I roll the privacy partition down to tell him Millie’s plan, of which he’ll probably disapprove. “Hey, Bob. Millie’s gonna—”
But the words, the sound of my voice, and every thought are absorbed by a bone-rattling boom that shakes the car. A sonic nightmare of sound rings a gong in my head and fills my ears, blocks all other noise until Millie’s tortured scream pierces the wall holding sound at bay. I lift my head dazedly and through the rear window see bright, angry flames devouring the car behind us.
“O!” Millie scrambles across the seat, lunging for the door. “No! Oh, my God, Owen!”
“Millie!” I reach for her arm, but she evades my grasp and jerks the door open. She trips out of the car and takes off running toward the burning vehicle. I run after her, only catching her when her stiletto turns over and she stumbles. I grab her from behind, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“Millie, you can’t,” I say, tears burning wet tracks down my face.
She wiggles free again and limps toward the burning vehicle, but Bob streaks past me and grabs her again. Her arms windmill, fighting with an invisible foe. Even with his strong arms around her waist, she still strains toward the destruction, toward her husband, her hands outstretched and trembling.
“O,” she moans, her voice jagged and falling apart. “No. Oh, God, no. Owen.”
The vibrant, beautiful woman who laughed with me only minutes ago is already gone. This is a sobbing, broken shell, and my heart aches knowing that other woman is being consumed in those flames. Owen is gone, and so is she. We’re standing in one of life’s awful moments where your breath is a comma, marking the space before and after tragedy, punctuating that nothing will ever be the same.
CHAPTER 25
MAXIM
My father and I haven’t spoken since Christmas when I warned him to leave Lennix the hell alone, so I’m surprised when his name pops up on my phone. Right away, I think of the compliment he “planted” in the media and wonder what this is about. I’m reclining, resting on the flight home, but sit up to take his call.
“Dad.” I’m not asking a question or offering much of a greeting. Just literally letting him know I’ve answered.