Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I gave a sharp nod of my head, my throat still tight. I barely knew Sylvie Calloway. I’d started out annoyed with the idea of a civilian tagging along, or, God forbid, getting out her microphone and trying to turn my investigation into an episode of her podcast.
But I’d already learned that wasn’t Sylvie. She cared. Too much. The idea that she’d almost gotten herself killed dug at me. And that itself was out of the norm.
I worked in a dangerous business. These days, more of it was spent sitting in front of a computer than people might think. Tracking, gathering evidence—so much of it was digital. But generally, when a case came to a point, things got hazardous. It had never bothered me. It was part of why I liked the job—the adrenaline, the rush, the life-or-death stakes, narrowing things down until they were simple. I enjoyed the challenge.
But this was different. I’d been in tight spots, plenty of them. And it wasn’t that Sylvie was a woman, because I’d seen Wren, Shade, and Miranda almost bite it more than once. But yeah, it shook me up, as much as any of my team members, who were as good as my family, would leave me shaken if they almost got killed. It was part of the business. We knew what we were doing; we knew the risks we were taking.
Sylvie didn’t know. She wasn’t trained, which made all of this fucking reckless and irresponsible. But it was more than that. Something about seeing her perched on the edge of those shelves, doggedly trying to get to the contents of the evidence box while that timer ticked down… I hated everything about how close we’d come.
“Don’t fucking do that again,” I said, flicking my gaze over to her.
“It’s okay, Eli.” Her tone was soft, almost like she was placating me. Trying to make me feel better.
She didn’t get it. “It’s not. It was a big fucking bomb. The building is gone.”
“I know it is,” she said.
“There’s no point going to all this trouble to try to get your life back if you’re just going to get yourself blown up,” I said.
Sylvie sighed. “Yeah, I know. I just—”
I needed her to understand. “If I tell you to run,” I said, “you run. Got it?” In my peripheral vision, she gave a sharp nod. “Otherwise, I’ll talk to Cooper about making different arrangements.”
“You can’t do that,” Sylvie said, and this time her tone had an edge.
I’d finally gotten through, so I pushed. “The hell I can’t. I’m not going to watch you get yourself killed. Emily Shaw is dead, Sylvie. None of those answers are going to bring her back to life, and they won’t save you if you get yourself killed while we’re trying to find out what happened to her.”
She huffed out a breath. “I know. I know. Look, I’m not used to this. Investigating murder in my own non-law enforcement way, sure. Talking to people, asking questions. Maybe I’ve met a few who gave me a bad feeling, but I’ve never actually been in danger before. Sorry if my meter for serious shit is a little off.”
Huh. She got it more than I thought she did. That was exactly what I needed her to admit.
I let out my own huff of breath. “Yeah, well, you need to recalibrate. Set it to extremely fucking hazardous. Because so far, everything about this case fits that description.”
She stayed quiet for a beat, and I glanced over. She was staring out the passenger window, her eyebrows drawn together, her mouth in a slight downturn. It wasn’t an unhappy expression exactly. More like she was processing. The only noise was the sound of our tires on the road.
“You never said why Sinclair Security is interested in Emily Shaw,” she finally said, breaking the silence.
I’d known this was coming. “No, I didn’t,” I agreed.
She let out that harrumphing sound I found cute and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning into the corner of her seat so she could face me a little across the dark vehicle.
“What if I tell you it’s confidential?”
She rolled her eyes. “I signed an NDA.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you everything.”
“Is it for a client,” she pushed, “or is it personal?”
I wasn’t answering that one. Not yet. Maybe never. The truth was, there were moments when it felt like I’d known Sylvie for years. But she’d blown into my life less than twenty-four hours ago. I didn’t have a good enough read on her to know whether I could trust her. And our search for Silas was none of her business.
“I’m asking,” she said, “because I can’t help but notice that you almost got yourself blown up too.”
She had a point. “True,” I agreed, “but of the two of us, I was prepared to run. You were the one who wouldn’t leave the evidence behind.”