Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
“I really thought you’d be the one taking it,” he says, not looking up from his contract, expense report, or whatever he’s looking at. “It’s not so bad, I guess.”
Tipping his eyes up at me, he flashes me a small grin. I’m not embarrassed my father came up the stairs and saw me riding a man in my bed. I just wish he’d caught me when I was taking it.
“What are you doing home?” I ask.
If he’s going to be here, I need to figure things out a little faster. I don’t want Sophia to see him.
“Heard I missed a hell of a party,” he tells me.
I think he waits for me to offer information, but I stay silent. What does he think is going to happen?
“You’ve done well.” He says it as if I needed to hear it. “Where is the loot?”
“Police station.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. There’s a little in lockup at the police station. To put on a good show.
But the majority of the treasure is still in the bread truck I borrowed from Clayton’s, and only I know where the truck is hidden.
Not even the town’s cameras go out that far.
“You should be nicer,” I inform him.
“I can be meaner.”
Fortunately, I never had to find out personally, but I am aware of what he’s capable of.
Coming around the desk, he shuts off the light and grabs his keys. “A lesser man might have you tortured,” he points out. “But I wouldn’t do that to my son.”
I have my doubts. He’d do it to anyone else.
“But I can take Sophia from you,” he tells me.
I go still, my amusement fading completely.
“I can take Marymount from you,” he goes on.
My work, my plans, my stepsister…
He almost whispers. “I can take Dallas from you.”
I remain rooted to the floor, frozen, quiet, and unresponsive even though my heart beats like a thirty-car train racing over the tracks.
He softens his eyes, relaxing again. “Callum, I’m proud of you. You’ve amazed me,” he assures me. “And everything I have is yours when I die. There’s no reason at all to be enemies.”
There’s one reason.
“I know I’m a lousy father,” he continues. “But I’m a great business partner.” Starting to move past me, he calls out over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning. I expect to hear you have the treasure for me.”
And I wait to hear the front door close and the smooth purr of his engine as he speeds off to one of his women before I exhale.
* * *
—
An hour later, I’m still in his office, sitting at his desk with my chair turned away from the window. The rain has quieted, just a dart hitting the glass once in a while as I swallow another gulp of the Glenfiddich he keeps on the table in here.
I’m not a murderer, but I’ve spent several minutes now pondering how much of the treasure I’d give back to the Jaegers if they got rid of my father for me.
And then I’d feel worse, being a coward who needs others to solve my problems.
The world wouldn’t suffer without Garrett Ames. He’s good at making money. He’s savvy, detail oriented, and a good negotiator, but he’s of no value as a husband, father, or friend. He makes the ones who are supposed to love him fear him and dread him, and he spreads ugliness. He’s at the heart of why I want St. Carmen kids out of their houses and in dorms most of the year.
My phone buzzes before an alarm blares. Picking it up, I click the notification as the palm fronds outside whip against the window.
***Tropical Storm Warning in Effect***
Tropical storm–force winds are expected in this area in the next 36 hours.
*Locations affected:
St. Carmen
Blue Head
Tanner Springs
Sanoa Bay
*Winds expected 25-35 mph…
Spinning in my chair, I watch the bushes outside blow in the dark night. We’re generally safe here, farther away from the sea with emergency services at our fingertips. Sanoa Bay, though…
It’s just a tropical storm. Nothing Dallas hasn’t been through fifty times.
The school gymnasium opens for refuge if anyone needs it, too. He knows that.
I start to call Grady—make sure they’re preparing accordingly—but a reflection moves across the framed picture on the wall in the hallway.
“Sophia?” I call out.
Setting my phone down, I peer around the doorframe, watching her come into view.
Her hair spills around her shoulders—out of her regular ponytails and braids—and she wears a white shirt buttoned to the neck. Her head is bowed, keeping her eyes out of view.
“Sophia?” I say again, trying to catch her gaze. “Are you okay?”
Unease curls its way through me. She was asleep when my father got home. He didn’t go into her room, did he?
The office is dark, but I don’t think she has on anything under the shirt. Maybe just underwear, but I can’t see any sleep shorts. Her shoulders are hunched, her hair in her face, and her fists clenched.