Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I swallowed my fear, not wanting anything I felt to show through.
He threw the vehicle into gear and sped away from the wreck, going too fast for me to jump out without risking major injury or death. I wouldn’t get the seatbelt off in time, anyway.
“I have a friend at the DOJ,” he bragged. “They tracked the vehicle to the airport.”
The pressure from the tip of his gun relaxed a degree, but he didn’t remove it from my leg as he drove. Every mile, he seemed to grow more comfortable and confident.
It made me scan my surroundings for a weapon.
“Once I had the flight manifest,” he continued, “I made sure the German authorities knew an American woman was inbound on Shawn Dunn’s plane with fake papers.” He glanced over and flashed an evil smile. “I had to make sure you couldn’t leave the airport before I landed.”
I thought of the car with the two dead immigration officials in it. And all of the people in Chicago. How many had he murdered to get what he wanted?
My primary goal shifted abruptly. It was no longer about escape—what I wanted most now was to return some of the damage he’d done to my life. Not just that, but for the slew of other people’s too.
I studied his lethal hand that was curled casually on the steering wheel, and my heart crawled into my throat as the terrible plan formed in my mind. I had to act quickly, while his guard was down and before I lost my nerve.
I launched toward him, and the steering wheel was cold in my hands as I yanked it violently.
My father had died in a car crash. We’d been told it was an instant death, and he probably felt no pain.
As the SUV tipped on its side and began its violent roll, I could only pray for the same thing.
39
NOW
LAUREL
The wound buried in my scalp ached throughout my shower, and the pain grew even more intense when I tried to remember what had caused it. Everything was just . . . empty. Like a huge part of me had been carved out.
When I finished showering, I reached for a towel to dry myself off and discovered a dark strand of my hair from previous use. I should have found that comforting but didn’t, and I padded into the walk-in closet, looking for something to wear. There was a large hanging bag that caught my attention, and when I unzipped it, I wished I hadn’t.
It was a mountain of satin and lace—my wedding dress. I zipped it up before it overwhelmed me, then grabbed a pair of pants and a lightweight sweater.
While drying my hair, I leaned over and delicately finger-combed the strands until my engagement ring tangled. I righted myself slowly to avoid getting dizzy and examined it. The ring was simple but elegant.
I pulled it off, set it on the counter, and resumed drying my hair.
A few minutes later, Ryan appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in slacks, and a patterned button-down collar peeked out of the top of his sweater. He hadn’t knocked, which I disliked.
Was this habit?
“Hi. I’m Ryan,” he joked.
He was handsome, especially when he smiled, so why wasn’t there a single pang of attraction for him?
“I’m Laurel,” I said. “Or so you tell me.”
“Are you ready? It’s a bit of a drive to the doctor’s office.”
I nodded and followed him out, except he turned suddenly to face me, causing us to collide.
“You always forget to put it on after you dry your hair.” He pointed to the engagement ring that sat on the counter. It was a weird feeling, him watching me put it on like it was some sort of test. I must have passed, because he smiled.
Again, I felt nothing.
Maybe the woman he loved was inside me, but right now I simply struggled to go through the motions. Like I had some dance to perform but hadn’t been shown the steps.
We took the stairs off the kitchen down to the garage. He gestured to a sleek, black SUV and uttered, “We’ll take the Mercedes.”
It was a hairpin-turn, winding road down the cliff.
With every curve and tap of the brakes he made, my nausea grew until it was barely tolerable. He glanced over and looked stricken.
“Motion sick? Shit, I forgot this happened last time. Lie back. It’s the meds.” He rolled down my window to let in fresh air, and I eased the seat back as far as it would go. “The road gets better soon.”
The curves did cease a few miles later, but it didn’t do anything to help. I threw a hand over my forehead, utterly miserable. The words were in my throat to tell him to pull over when the car eased to a stop and he shifted into park.