Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
TWENTY-EIGHT
“SHE”
(HAYLEY KIYOKO)
Obviously, because I knew a ton of people would be worried after our abduction, on the Uber ride back, I texted Javi first, then our group text, to let them know we were good and returning to The Surf Club, and more importantly, to ascertain no one got shot.
Jessie assured me no one did.
I should have suspected what would happen when we arrived, but it still surprised me.
This being all the Angels, the entire Hottie Squad, the Rock Chicks, Tex and Tito in a massive huddle next to Lucia’s herb garden in the back parking lot.
The NI&S’s black Denalis were everywhere, each one of them pointed in a way it’d be easy to roll out.
Oh, and when Javi turned in our direction, I noted immediately he looked homicidal, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t share that Gabe wore the exact same expression.
I couldn’t jump out of the Uber because Javi’s big body was in my way. He was standing in the open door before I could even put my hand on the handle.
In fact, I didn’t jump out of the Uber at all.
I’d undone my seatbelt, so Javi just lifted me out even as the Uber guy shouted an alarmed, “Hey! What are you doing?”
I was deposited in the back of a Denali.
Willow, carried by a granite-faced Gabe, also like she’d lost the ability to ambulate, was set beside me.
Um.
What was going on?
Javi angled into the driver’s seat, Gabe in the passenger seat, it appeared like Mace was calming the Uber driver down (he was out of his car making a fuss), and Javi took off with us.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I belted up.
“Offices,” Javi grunted.
“Why—?” I started.
“Baby, please, I beg you, don’t talk right now,” Javi said in a low rumble.
I went silent because, okay, I’d give him that.
If he was kidnapped, and someone in the mess we were in got his throat slit (or punctured, whatever), and I didn’t know where he was for a couple of hours, I would also be struggling with controlling my emotions, even when he came back safe.
Willow and I exchanged a glance and stayed quiet all the way to the Nightingale Investigations and Security offices downtown.
We also stayed quiet after the guys let us out of the car in their underground parking and led us up to the offices.
The minute Javi escorted us through the door, we didn’t even get a chance to look around. We were set upon by two women.
One was Shirleen.
The other was a slight, petite, older woman with a helmet head of dyed russet-red hair and cat’s-eye eyeglasses on her nose that looked like they came from the actual fifties (as such, not to be the fashion police while still being the fashion police, they were not at all retro cool). She was wearing unflattering women’s business clothes, including a navy A-lined skirt that hit her just below her knee, a matching boxy blazer, an uninspired shell in the equally uninspired shade of cream and a string of pearls.
Alternatively, Shirleen was in an ivory sleeveless dress that had a wraparound skirt with interesting detailing at the side of her waist and a semi-flirty-but-still-appropriate-for-the-office slit. She’d paired this with a beautiful gold cuff at her wrist, and on her feet, four-inch patent leather pumps in a color reminiscent of the finest milk chocolate that had a kick-A, burnished gold snake on the toe.
In other words, two more polar opposites there never were.
“I got them,” the woman said.
Shirleen shouldered her out of the way. “No, I got ’em.”
The older woman planted her hands on her hips and stated snootily, “Witness relations in this branch are under my job description.”
Shirleen pointed at me. “Is she organizing your closet this weekend?”
“No,” the woman hmphed.
“So these are my girls,” Shirleen returned. “That means I got them.” She started herding us. “Come with me, ladies.”
With the forebodingly silent Javi and Gabe exuding very bad vibes following us, we were taken into what had to be the inner sanctuary.
This was behind a keypad locked door that was nearly invisible in the posh wood paneling. Once in the back hallway that had more posh wood paneling and a ton of doorways off it, many with their own keypads, we were escorted to a swish conference room. This room had lots of gleaming wood (walls and furniture), attractive wall art done up in Arizona desert style, and fancy, comfortable-looking swivel chairs sporting super attractive cognac leather.
“This is rad,” Willow whispered. “But I still like our Headquarters better.”
“Samesies,” I replied.
Shirleen set us both in chairs and asked, “You want coffee?”
“Or tea?” the other woman butted in, and it didn’t take a genius to deduce this woman was Marjorie.
I also knew from what Javi told me that the guys lived with this battle in some way or another every day in the office.