Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Then the pub door bursts open.
A flurry of platinum-blonde hair follows. Hailey barrels to the bar, landing between me and her brother.
“Whoa,” Trent laughs.
“I’d like a golden goose,” Hailey says to the bartender, half out of breath, like she’s ordering a drink and not a cheap paperweight. Her angelic goth spirit lifts my morale, and I instantly smile.
We side-squeeze hug in greeting.
“Hey, Rocky,” she says quickly to her brother.
He up-nods, acting indifferent to Hailey. He has to in front of Trent.
“No time to talk,” she says in a rush to me. “I have a trophy to win.” She takes the goose from Beckham. Chains jingle on the belt loops of her black cargo pants.
Spinning around, she runs smack into Jake Waterford’s chest. “Umph,” she grunts, and he places his hands on her shoulders, steadying her.
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
It’s no surprise Jake was tailing her, seeing as how he bid for and won Hailey in the auction. She must be outrunning him from clue stop to clue stop.
“I’ll hold that for you.” He’s already football gripping a golden goose, and Hailey is quick to hand him the second one.
“There’s my little brother.” Trent rises with wide-open arms.
Jake freezes in the middle of the pub, fisting the paperweights. The gray-haired woman at the bar deserts the Victoria Weekly for the new drama rolling in.
Hailey is piecing together the puzzle since I keep her freshly up to date on all things Koning boys. Her brown eyebrows lift to me, and she mouths, Backup?
I shake my head. “Go win that trophy, Hails.” This is the brightest, bubbliest I’ve seen her in so very long.
Jake even tells her, “I’ll be a minute. Text me if you need help solving the clues.”
“You sure?” She hesitates.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He’s staking his brother with a deeper glare. “Really, go.” He sounds serious, almost pleading—like he’s a half second from picking her up and carrying her outside because the bar is on fire.
If we’re all going up in flames, Jake is okay with me being singed, but I think he classifies me as someone who is meant to light the bomb and withstand the fire. We’re all a little more protective of Hailey.
I remember, though, how she orchestrated our move here…just to protect me.
She tries to unglue her feet. “Okay…okay, thanks.” At this, she walks backward to the door, ensuring this spaghetti Western won’t end with a shootout.
Then she leaves.
Jake refuses to step into Trent’s arms. “I told you not to talk to Phoebe.” His voice is cold and ice-chipped.
Time to leave. I guzzle the rest of my beer.
Rocky is taking cool, casual sips of whiskey.
Trent lets out a sharp laugh and drops his arms. “That’s what you’re pissed about?”
“Stay away from her,” Jake warns.
I rush to his side and feel the strain of leaving Rocky’s. I wish beyond anything he could just…follow me.
But he stays close to his new friend. His narrowed gaze shoots daggers every which way, but the real target is the one he can’t hit. Not yet, anyway.
Every job has a setup. Because when we pull the rope, we want to ensure the mark will be drawn so close they won’t realize they’re in a vise they can’t get out of. There’s no room for failure.
I won’t screw up.
Trent raises his whiskey glass. “There my baby brother goes again. Jake Koning Waterford. Creating drama out of nothing. His only real talent.”
At least he has one. I bottle the retort and start to leave the pub, forcing Jake to follow me.
Trent waves a couple fingers at me. “See you later, Phoebe.” He says it just to dig under Jake’s skin.
It’s working on him.
And on Rocky.
TWENTY-THREE
Phoebe
My spine is stiff and my body pale, find me where I tell my tales.
It’s not a graveyard like I thought. It’s a bookstore.
Jake solves my next clue in under two seconds, and once we’re inside Baubles & Bookends, we seclude ourselves in the least visited section. Bird-watching. I don’t dust off a guide to spotting warblers, not when Jake is forcing himself from pacing by death gripping a shelf.
The top of the shelf to be exact.
He is the tallest Koning boy.
By now, I’m used to craning my neck to meet his eyes, especially when we’re standing only inches apart. He said he’s just shy of six-three. I think it’s more likely he’s six-four. An inch taller than my brother Oliver. If anything smells like a boast or success, Jake undercuts it. He’s not even a humblebragger.
He’s just plain humble.
I’ve never met someone with his affluence who would actively downplay all their accolades—everything they’ve done and everything they can do. Like how they were recruited for a top-three US polo club but declined, or how they were Mr. Victoria’s Sweetheart five years—five freaking years!—in a row.
It makes what Trent said even more infuriating.