Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
My lips quirk with amusement. That describes my friend well.
Dad nods once, thoughtful. “Thank you for all the behind-the-scenes stuff you did today, Paul. It was a complicated event and everything ran smoothly.”
Paul casts a sideways glance my way. “Of course.”
We run over a few more details for tomorrow’s much smaller and quieter service. “Mrs. Beckett’s family plans to be here early and no trip to the cemetery to coordinate so it should be an easier day,” Dad says.
“Why would you jinx us like that?” Paul jokes.
Dad responds with a tight smile.
“Is Jigsaw coming back later?” Paul asks me.
Even though I know they’re both aware of the nights Jigsaw spends here, heat still travels over my cheeks. “I’m not sure. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him before we left the cemetery.”
“The big one, Wrath?” Paul spreads his arms far apart like he’s trying to hug a mountain. “He said his club set up a reception at their clubhouse for Ulfric and his guys.”
Probably the one in close proximity to their strip club. Is that what Jigsaw’s doing now? Hanging out with his friends in a place that smells like sweat, dollar bills, and desperation?
“All right,” Dad says. “You two get some rest. I have Ken and Bruce on call in case we receive any calls tonight.”
I didn’t realize Dad trusted those guys so much. But I’m so thankful I’m not on call tonight that I’m not going to question it.
I murmur a goodnight to Paul and my father, then slip out of the office. In my apartment, I toe off my shoes and set them neatly by the door. Gretel comes running and twines herself around my ankles.
“Mraow.”
I crouch down to pet her, running my hand over her silky fur until she’s purring like a little motorboat and rubbing her chin against my fingers.
“Are you hungry, girl?”
She lets out an irritated, “Nrrrow,” and scampers into the kitchen like I’ve failed her at every level by working all day.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait until I change.”
“Mraow.”
She follows me into my bedroom, expressing her annoyance with a chorus of tiny “Mrrrp” noises.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I strip off my suit, unbutton my blouse and pull on my thickest, softest sweatpants and hoodie. Funeral armor off. Comfort armor on.
“All right. Dinnertime.”
Gretel leaps into the air and bolts into the hallway.
She lets out a few impatient “Mrrrows” as I pop the lid off the can. She vibrates with excitement, practically dancing in place. Her purrs are so loud, it takes a second to register the low, distant rumble outside the window.
My heart jumps.
The sound grows—closer now. Deeper. Familiar.
I set the dish down and Gretel attacks the food with savage get in my belly energy, purring and making wet smacking noises with every bite.
Am I nuts, or is that Jigsaw’s bike?
I straighten and tilt my head toward the window.
I’ve heard dozens of Harleys today but this one sounds familiar.
The noise draws closer, then abruptly cuts off.
Normally, I’d be halfway down the stairs by now.
But tonight, I don’t feel that same magnetic pull.
Is he coming to see me? Spend the night? What explanation can he possibly have for his silence the last few days? I’ve been dying to know.
But now I’m afraid to find out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jigsaw
I never had the chance to talk to Margot at the cemetery. Right after the service, Wrath pulled me aside—insisting we roll over to Remy’s bar with Ulfric and the remaining Wolf Knights.
I stayed long enough to choke down a burger and shoot the shit. When Dex announced they were moving the party to Crystal Ball, I ordered a bag of cookies and a buffalo chicken sandwich to go and said my goodbyes.
I’ve waited long enough.
Margot needs to hear this from me—tonight.
The Cedarwood home looks completely different now. Parking lot empty. No one lingering outside on the porch or on the sidewalk. Only one light on downstairs and one glowing faintly on the third floor.
I roll into my usual spot and cut the engine. The silence descends over me. After a few seconds, the faint night noises return—wind skimming across the pavement and rattling crumpled leaves on brittle branches, the crackling tick, tick, tick of my bike cooling.
When I make it to the back porch, it’s empty and dark. She usually meets me by now. Maybe she’s asleep? Or hasn’t come home yet? I glance at the garage, but the bay doors are all shut—no way to tell if her car’s there or not. No warm porch light on tonight, either.
She’s given me the code for the back door before, but it feels wrong to use it tonight—like I’d be breaking in.
I pull out my phone and send her a text.
I’m out back.
A second later, the lock gives a low, mechanical hum. I hurry up the steps and slip inside before it re-engages.