Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
"I haven't been here the whole time," Madison hurries to say. "I, um, I've only been back in town a few days."
"How many days?" Dillon pins her with a hard stare.
"Nine days."
"And how long have you been here?"
"Nine days."
Dillon shoots me a look that would make lesser men shrivel. Lucky for me, I'm not lesser men. And he's been looking at me the same damn way for years.
"In my defense, I didn't know she was here until four days ago."
"Jesus Christ. She's your rat infestation?"
"Rat infestation?" Madison's brows furrow in confusion. "Wait. Are you telling me there aren't rats in the pool house?"
I shrug.
"Jack!" she cries, glaring at me.
"I did what I had to do to get you in the house."
"Uh, you lied to me too, asshole," Dillon says.
"Yeah, you lied to him too," Madison says.
Jesus Christ. How did this turn into them ganging up on me?
"I called him about someone in the pool house," I explain. "Once I realized it was you, I might have told him it was a rat infestation to keep him from sending anyone out to investigate. You didn't want him to know you were back."
"Oh." Madison looks slightly mollified. "Well, I guess I've been called worse."
"I wasn't calling you a rat infestation, baby," I murmur. "And who the fuck is calling you names? Tell me so I can handle it."
"Ah, son of a bitch!"
Madison and I both turn to look at Dillon, only to find him staring at us like we're the ones shouting in the middle of the living room. "You two are sleeping together."
"How do you possibly know…?"
"I'm the sheriff, motherfucker," he growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course I know. I get paid to put shit together."
Madison blushes, avoiding his gaze.
"Our business is our business, Dillon."
"Does her father know?" He paces around like we're stressing him out. How us fucking is giving him stress, I don't know. Maybe he needs some business of his own.
"Fuck no," I snap. "And you aren't telling him."
"Then I suggest one of you tell me what the fuck is going on here. Because seven years is a long goddamn time for someone to disappear." His gaze shifts to Madison before softening slightly. "What happened, sweetheart? Where have you been?"
She glances at me, anxiety written all over her face.
"Gerald Laurent was planning to have her killed to seize ownership of her company and to gain control of her trust fund," I answer for her, reaching for her hand. She clings to my fingers like I'm a lifeline. "She heard him hiring someone to run her off the road, so she packed her shit, cleaned out the safe, and disappeared. Her birthday is on the 3rd, at which point she gains control of the company and her inheritance. He's trying to have her declared dead on that date so both fall into his control. She came back to stop him."
He rocks back on his heels, staring at Madison. "Is this true?"
"Yes." She licks her lips. "And before you ask if I'm sure I heard what I heard, the answer is yes. I very plainly heard him telling whoever he was talking to that he needed me dead, and he needed it to look like an accident. He wanted him to run me off the road by the cliffs so my car would flip over the edge and I'd…" She swallows, her throat working convulsively. "Well, you know what happens to people who crash there."
"Jesus," Dillon mutters, yanking his hat off his head to scrub his hand through his dark hair. "Did you confront him about what you heard?"
"Absolutely not. It was the week before my birthday. As soon as I turned eighteen, I ran. I've been living in Los Angeles." She glances down at her feet. "Under an assumed name so he couldn't find me."
"Do you have any proof, sweetheart?"
"That he wanted to kill me? No. But I have evidence that he's been embezzling from the company. I also have proof that he's been involved in a few other unsavory financial practices."
"Do I want to know how you got your evidence?"
"I struck up a friendship with Lydia in finance." She shrugs. "She thinks I'm a grad student doing my thesis on the marketability of perfume. Bellange uses ethically sourced materials in every step of production, so I gushed over how they were a natural choice for a paper like mine. She sent me all kinds of records she probably shouldn't have sent."
Dillon closes his eyes, muttering to himself.
"She didn't technically break any laws," I point out. "The company is hers, so any records from the company are legally hers as well."
"Yeah, I know," he mutters. "I'm just trying to figure out how I'm going to explain this shit to a judge."
"You aren't."
He cracks an eye open, looking at me.