Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“I missed you too,” I whispered, the truth of it surprising me. Two tears slipped from my eyes and I ducked my head. I had missed him. I’d been looking forward to seeing him again. Of seeing everyone I’d met in the compound. Because, despite everything Detective Reeves had told me, I still had trouble with the fact that every single person in Kiss of Death I’d met had treated me with kindness and respect. The kiss I’d shared with Rancor had been the highlight of my life up to this point.
His expression softened just slightly, the barest hint of warmth in those dark eyes. For a moment, we were just two people sharing coffee on a rainy afternoon, nothing more complicated than that. But the moment passed like a shadow, reality reasserting itself between us. He was still while I fidgeted. If he didn’t already know what I’d done, I couldn’t hold out telling him if I stayed with him very long.
“Something happened,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Between when you texted me and when you arrived at the compound yesterday. Something that changed you.”
The coffee turned to acid in my stomach. His perception was too sharp. And too accurate for my peace of mind. I stared down at my hands, unable to meet his gaze. “Marcus, I…” I began, but the words died in my throat. What could I say? That I was spying on him? That Detective Reeves had threatened to destroy the life I’d built for myself if I didn’t do what he’d told me? That I’d already betrayed him once and didn’t know if I could stop from doing it again because my cushy life was more important than his freedom? Yeah. Didn’t sound good to me either. He waited, patient as stone, for words I couldn’t find.
When he finally spoke, he measured his words carefully, like he tried to choose them so they’d have the desired effect. Or maybe my guilty conscience liked playing tricks. “Knight found something interesting yesterday,” Marcus said, his voice dropping lower, forcing me to lean forward to catch his words. “After you left.” The café noise receded as my focus narrowed to the man across from me, his words landing like stones in still water. “Surveillance equipment. Not ours.” He took another sip of coffee, his movements deliberate and unhurried despite the bomb he’d just dropped. He didn’t take his gaze from me, studying me hard. Which wasn’t unnerving in the least. “Police-grade, according to Knight. Very high-end. Very illegal without a warrant.”
My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath. The rim of my coffee cup clicked against my teeth as my hand shook. I set it down before I could spill, the ceramic making a hollow sound against the wooden table. “Where?” The question escaped before I could stop it, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
Marcus’s gaze never wavered. “Kitchen, under the fridge.” The exact spot where I’d dropped the device I’d tried to plant. “Strange place for something like that to appear, don’t you think? Especially right after your visit.” He wasn’t accusing, just stating a fact. If he was angry, his expression betrayed nothing. Ice still flooded my veins. He knew. Or at least suspected.
My gaze darted toward the door, measuring the distance, wondering if I could make it before he grabbed me. As if reading my thoughts, Marcus shifted slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed but his position now subtly blocking my easiest path to the exit.
“I need to know if you’re in trouble,” he said, his voice so low I had to lean even closer to hear him. “Whatever it is, I can help you. Protect you.” The offer hung between us, sincere and impossible. My hands trembled harder, coffee sloshing over the rim of my cup onto my fingers. I didn’t feel the heat.
“You can’t,” I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep and wounded.
“Try me.”
I stared at him, at the calm in his dark eyes, at the stillness of his large frame. The rain drummed against the windows, providing a soundtrack to my racing thoughts. How could I explain Reeves and the threats, the fabricated evidence? How could I admit what I’d already done? Marcus seemed to sense my struggle. He leaned back slightly, giving me space to breathe, and changed tactics.
“In Terre Haute,” he began, his voice still pitched for my ears alone, “I learned to read people. Had to. When you’re surrounded by men who’d kill you for looking at them wrong, you learn to spot trouble before it spots you.” He traced the rim of his cup in a slow, deliberate circle. “You watch for tells. The way someone’s pulse jumps in their throat when they’re lying. The micro-expressions that flash across their face before they can control them. The way fear shows in the eyes before the brain even processes the danger.” I swallowed hard, acutely aware of my own pulse hammering visibly at the base of my throat, of the cold sweat breaking out across my forehead, of every involuntary reaction my body was betraying me with.