Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“If we’re putting emphasis on might, yeah,” I admitted. “It’s possible. I’ll talk to Em after the weekend. He should be able to confirm things for me. Then I’ll bring it up with Leighton.”
“Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Fuck confidentiality—I can confirm shit right now. Darius and Ryan have two sisters too. I can say that much.”
Fucking hell. I automatically took a step forward, and my pulse started drumming faster. “Do you know if one of them runs a pastry shop? There’s apparently a seafood restaurant involved somewhere too.”
Reese cursed under his breath and put his hands loosely on his hips. “Darius runs a fucking fish camp, buddy. And—” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah. One of the sisters—she made the dessert at Darius’s wedding a couple years ago. She was definitely a pro.”
A breath gusted out of me, and I looked at Leighton in the middle of his fight with Miguel, where Leighton was suddenly the underdog. But damn, he could still hold his own.
Logically, I knew I’d had no reason to connect the dots sooner; Quinn wasn’t the most unusual name, and I hadn’t reacted until I’d had Darius and Leighton mentioned in practically the same sentence. But fuck if it didn’t bother me.
Then again, it wasn’t like I’d sat on a big revelation that would lead Leighton to his family. He already knew who they were. Meanwhile, maybe this new information would convince him to reach out to the Quinns…? He suddenly had way more in common with both Darius and Ryan—
“This is incredible,” Reese said. He returned to stand next to me, presumably so he could observe Leighton too. He chuckled. “So, that’s not a Watts you have on your hands here. It’s a fucking Quinn. And if he’s anything like his uncles… Oh, man. Good luck.”
Uh, yeah. Well, the kid wasn’t outgoing, boisterous, and reckless like Ryan. Darius, though. That quiet, calculating, old-soul, hermit motherfucker…
Doc would have a field day with this.
September 6th, 2024
Leighton Watts
“Fridays are the best!” Alex exclaimed. “Hi, Mr. Donovan! May I have a small piece of the lasagna and a slice of cheese pizza, please?”
“Anything for you, kiddo.”
She was popular in the cafeteria.
We filled our trays, and she even accepted a bowl of vegetables without fussing. I’d taught her it was important to balance the good with the bad that was so delicious.
Then we found a table in the back because we both liked a semblance of peace and quiet.
“Why are you limping, Nugget?”
“Ask Miguel. He’s mean.” I sat down and moved her glass of milk from my tray to hers. Carrying liquids across the cafeteria wasn’t her strong suit. “Or he’s just better at martial arts than me.”
Alex looked at me seriously. “You can take him. Next time.”
I grinned and dumped my salad over my lasagna. “I might need a while longer before I can defeat him.”
“Next time,” she repeated.
Yikes.
“Do your homework,” I told her. “Beckett’s gonna check it at three.”
She huffed and retrieved a wrinkled piece of paper from her little backpack. It’d been folded four times for some reason. “I thought we were gonna call him Mr. Crankypants.”
Either that or raging fucking asshole, but I was trying to limit my swearing around Alex. In addition, that was just my wounded ego talking. Beckett was perfectly professional and courteous. What I happened to want was merely…fewer polite smiles and more fuck my throat raw, rail me like there’s no tomorrow, and kiss me breathless.
“We should probably cut him some slack,” I said begrudgingly. “He’s working hard. Besides, I hear he’s taking you fishing soon. That’ll be fun.”
They could go off on another day trip, and I’d be…here.
“There you are.” Speak of the devil. It was embarrassing how quickly my brain reacted to the sound of his voice.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw him heading over. He hadn’t taken any warm food, just an apple.
“Will you accept a secret mission, Alex?” he asked.
Alex perked up immediately.
Beckett sat down at the head of the table and leaned in, all conspiratorially, much to Alex’s amusement.
He detached his ID card from the clip on his belt. “I want you to take a pudding cup to Danny’s office.” He slid her the ID card. “Leave it outside the door, knock three times, and then run back here. Take the stairs so you don’t have to wait for the elevator—you’ll blow your cover. And remember, you gotta swipe the card in the stairwell on his floor.”
My mouth twitched. Little Alex Beckett couldn’t care less about playgrounds and ponies. She was here for the secret missions. For chrissakes, her doll was an operator.
“I accept.” Alex grabbed the ID card and slid off her chair. “What flavor? There’s chocolate and tapioca.”
“Tapioca. He hates that.” Beckett nodded firmly. “You’ve got this, operator. The future of Hillcroft depends on this. Do not get caught.”