Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“You’re in intermission for at least ten minutes, Bob, and no, this can’t wait,” Emery snaps before returning to Erin, her tone shifting back in an instant. “We’re investigating Holly Monroe’s disappearance and looking for any possible leads. Earlier, on the ice, did you tell Isla that Holly Monroe is deceased?”
“I … I didn’t say that.” Erin’s lips wobble as she looks to her parents for help.
Anyone can see that she’s lying.
Erin’s mother folds her arms across her chest. “Tell the truth. This is serious.”
“I didn’t say that!” Tears roll down her cheeks.
Emery’s expression remains cool, unaffected. “I have a witness that confirmed you said something to Isla right before your altercation with her. So, what did you say, then?”
Erin falters. “I said that if they ever find Holly, she won’t be alive.”
My anger flares. No wonder Isla hit her.
“What do you know about Holly’s disappearance?” Emery is laser-focused on the girl.
“Nothing.” She emphasizes that with a vigorous headshake.
“Do you know who she was hanging out with? Who she was talking to?”
Erin keeps shaking her head as she’s peppered with questions.
“Did you see her that night?”
“No! We were away at a tournament that weekend. I’m not even friends with her!”
“Did you know that Isla is best friends with her?”
Erin’s eyes drop as she nods.
“Do you know anything about Holly’s disappearance that might suggest she’s no longer alive?” Emery asks slowly.
“No. I just said it because everyone’s saying it and—” Her words cut off.
“And?” Emery pushes.
“And I’m mad at Isla for leaving our team.” She’s sobbing now.
I almost feel sorry for the dumb kid.
Erin’s mother’s tough act crumbles as she pulls her crying daughter into her.
“Satisfied?” Her father stayed mute through questioning but now that Emery’s point has been made, he’s quickly souring to her tactics.
Emery offers a curt nod, and Erin’s parents lead her away. I doubt she’ll be much use for the rest of the game, if she even makes it back on the ice.
“Was that really necessary?” Dillon whispers.
“Making sure she is held accountable for her appalling behavior? Yes.” When Emery spins around to face him, her eyes are spewing fire and brimstone. “And don’t you ever accuse me of not exploring every lead when it comes to finding Holly.” She glares up at him, daring him to answer so she can chew him to pieces.
My blood rushes, watching her. God, she is beautiful, even when she’s raging. I want her in the worst way.
Will these feelings for her ever fade?
“Annie took Isla outside to wait in our truck,” my father offers, breaking their silent standoff.
“Perfect. We’re done here.” Emery charges out through the rink door.
“Guess the game’s over for us, eh?” My dad tucks his hands into his pockets with a shudder. “Time to go home.”
“I’m fine with that.” Because that’s where Emery will be.
I step back and admire the tack room wall that I spent two hours reorganizing. “I can’t believe they let it get like that.”
Copper and Biscuit neigh in unison as if answering. The third horse, a sable-colored quarter horse named Flapjack, ignores me. He’s a quiet one.
It wasn’t my plan to tidy up when I wandered into the barn after returning from Isla’s game. I was just looking to keep busy before I did something stupid—like walk across the field and land on Emery’s front porch.
Two of the saddle racks were loose, so I found the drill in the toolbox and re-hung them securely. Then I realigned the bridle hooks because whoever reset them at some point put them too close together. From there I spent almost an hour sorting the various buckets of brushes and polishes that had been thrown in together and spraying down the tools with a disinfectant that I spilled all over my clothes while mixing.
“Logan? You in here?”
My pulse spikes at her voice. “In the tack room.”
Slow, even footfalls approach and then Emery’s there, bundled in a black winter coat, a metal cup in her hand. Duke trails nearby, sniffing the ground. “It’s not bad enough that my daughter is punching out players, but then I walk over to check on the parolee and he’s not where he’s supposed to be.”
“I’m allowed anywhere on the property.”
Her smile is soft, the fury from the rink earlier nowhere in sight. “I know. I’m only teasing.”
“Coffee?” I nod toward her cup.
“Pinot noir. It’s that kind of night.” She holds it out. “Want some?”
“Hell no. This one time, a few inmates had this brilliant idea to horde grapes from mealtime and ferment them in their cell toilets to make wine.”
Emery’s face twists with horror. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. A bunch of them ended up in the infirmary, puking and shitting all over the place. I don’t think I’ll ever see red wine again without thinking about that story.”
“Yeah, me neither now,” she mumbles, setting her drink down on a nearby table. Her eyes flitter over the room. “What are you up to in here?”