Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Can you just stick that in there for me, please?” I ask.
His eyes—so like my eyes—narrow slightly, but he doesn’t question me. He stuffs the file inside my bag. “Thank you,” I say, popping to my feet.
He’s already standing, towering over me, and I decide he’s at least six-three, his body lean and powerful in jeans and a T-shirt that hugs his impressively broad chest. I decide right then suits and ties are overrated.
“Can I walk you somewhere?” he surprises me by offering.
Yes, I think, but there is too much in my life for this kind of distraction. There is Jeremy, and for all I know, no one around me is safe. It’s a horrible thought. Really, really horrible.
My hot stranger bends at the knees and captures my attention. “What just happened?”
“Sorry. I have a rough case right now. It’s on my mind.”
“I’m a good listener.”
“I think I believe you, but I need to go deal with this work thing.” And then, because I just can’t help myself, I ask, “Can I ask about your eyes?”
“You can ask anything you want to ask me.”
There’s an intimate quality to that statement that does funny things to my belly, and I wish I could explore where that leads. I do. But I can’t, and I laugh a bit awkwardly. “I’m an attorney. I’m really good at asking probing questions, so be careful what you invite. I’ve never seen anyone else with the same eyes as me.”
“I consider it a sign we were supposed to meet. Let me walk you to your meeting or car or wherever you’re going.”
“I’m close. Thank you for the help.”
He studies me for several beats and then reaches inside his pocket and offers me a card. Nerves flutter in my belly at the idea of touching him, but before I can react, he reaches for my hand and presses the card into my palm. And all I feel is tingling warmth climbing up my arm and sliding across my chest. My eyes lift and meet his, his hand still holding mine, and the punch of awareness I feel steals my breath.
Never have I felt as overwhelmingly present in a moment as I do now.
“Now you know how to reach me if you want to,” he says softly, and, reluctantly it seems, he releases me. “I’m going to get a coffee. Good luck with your work thing.” He inclines his chin at me and then saunters toward the counter, all loose-legged swagger and hot man.
I can’t seem to move. I can’t seem to want to walk away from him, and I can’t explain why. With an internal shake to my senses, I rotate and rush forward, heat blasting me in the face, right along with the uneasy sensation of being watched. I’ve made it a few feet, and I regret declining the escort as much as I’m praising myself for knowing this is not a safe time to invite someone into my life. With a double step, I push forward. I don’t look back at him. I don’t go to Jeremy’s apartment or to that of his landlord. There is a strong warning in my head to leave, to get out of town before Oliver can stop me. I’m in trouble—deep trouble—the kind of trouble I have to deal with myself. And Lord, help me, that old woman fortune teller flashes in my mind. Maybe I’m the trouble.
I reach my car and climb inside, immediately locking the doors and cranking the engine. I’m a mile away at a stoplight when I finally look at the card in my hand to find only a phone number. There is no name.
The Sacred Book of Nephilim
You weren’t born to run. You were born to fight.
Chapter six
An hour later, I’ve piled myself and my luggage into my car, not even sure where I’m going. I just know I have to get out of Austin, away from everyone I know, away from… something. I start driving and call my assistant, bidding Emily to please cancel all meetings for two weeks, citing medical reasons. A few blocks from my apartment, and I can already breathe just a little better. With air in my lungs for the first time in miles, I pull over to get gas, and while I wait for the tank to fill up, I text Oliver: Need to get out of town. I’ll call you after the holidays. I hesitate and then add, I’m going silent, but I’m okay. I promise. I don’t allow him a chance to reply. I turn off my phone for fear I’ll be weak and let him talk me out of this.
Once I’m back on the road, with no conscious decision, I’ve somehow managed to turn my vehicle toward my parents’ rarely visited Colorado cabin. I don’t even want to think about my single, haphazardly packed bag I brought with me being all I have to live off of for who knows how long, but I’ll get by. Besides, the hours before me on the road will clear my head. Seclusion will offer me the bittersweet gift of solitude and hopefully the ability to reclaim my composure and figure out what’s happening to me.