Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Four months ago, my baby sister went on a girl’s trip to Lake Tahoe for Valentine’s Day, where she met, fell in love with, and married Cord Decker in a whirlwind romance. I don’t like it. Sure, he’s head over heels in love with her. Sure, I like him well enough. Sure, he treats her like a queen. But she’s my baby sister. I want her back in Washington, where I can keep an eye on her. God knows she needs it.
Trouble has a way of finding Cassia. Or rather, Cassia has a way of finding trouble. Case in point: today’s shitshow. She caught a field on fire, trying to teach herself how to build a bonfire for one of her books. Cord and his ranch hands were able to put it out before it did too much damage, but Christ Almighty. My sister is a menace. Cord should know better than to leave her to her own devices. She has terrible ideas.
“This is my home now,” she says with a huff. “I’m not coming back to Washington, Rhys.”
“Put Cord on the phone.”
“Why?” she asks, her tone rife with suspicion.
“I want to talk to him.”
“About what?”
“Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Just put him on the phone, Cassia,” I say, cracking a rare smile.
“Uh, no. It’s not his fault I’m good at setting things on fire,” she says.
“Good?” I quirk a brow, not sure how she reached that conclusion. “You set the field on fire, Cass.”
“Exactly. If I were bad at it, I wouldn’t have been able to start one at all, don’t you think?” she asks, completely serious.
“You…” Well, hell. She might have a point there. “Regardless of the semantics,” I say, moving away from the window as a clap of thunder strikes in the distance, rattling the pane of glass. “Tell your husband I’ll kill him if anything happens to you.”
Three months ago, I lost my best friend. I’ll be damned if I lose my baby sister too. Losing Brantley still has me fucked up in the worst way. The guilt is unbearable, but the burden is mine to carry anyway.
What I did…well, hell has a special place for people like me. But I can’t take it back. I’m not sure I even regret it. If he were here, I’m pretty damn confident he’d have made the same choice I did. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. I don’t know. Turns out, I didn’t know a lot of things.
Brantley Calloway had secrets. A lot of them. And I never had a clue.
I ate at his table, fished on his boat…drank his beer. He’s the reason I’m living on the island now. Without his support, I’d still be up to my ears in open homicide cases in Seattle. Instead, I’m one of two detectives in San Juan County. I spend the majority of my time investigating the bullshit that comes with tourism—assaults, robberies, theft. My job is golden compared to what it used to be.
Working homicide wears you down. It’s sixteen-hour shifts, six and seven days a week. There’s an endless parade of names and faces forever burned into my mind. None died easy. Most don’t rest easy either. Justice doesn’t bring back the dead or heal broken hearts. It never made much of a dent in the stack of open files on my desk, either.
I thought I had left all that behind. And then Marnie called me three months ago. She was hysterical, screaming that Brant was dead. My neatly ordered existence blew up in my face right then and there. I did what I had to do to protect the people who matter, but I damned myself in the process.
There are some things Raven never needs to know.
I’ll take those secrets to my grave to protect her. There isn’t a lot I won’t do for her.
When we met three years ago, she knocked me flat on my ass with those big blue eyes. When she isn’t singing, she’s the sweetest little lamb, so shy and quiet. But as soon as she opens that mouth, she turns into a siren, alluring and confident. The combination fascinates me. But she’s Brantley’s kid, so I’ve spent the last three years avoiding the hell out of her. I thought eventually I’d forget about her. That never happened. But I managed to keep from occupying the same space as her for three fucking years. I managed to keep my hands to myself.
Right up until Brant died.
As soon as I picked her up from the airport, I hugged her, and it was over for me. I didn’t leave her side the whole time she was here for the funeral. I couldn’t. The guilt tore me apart. Seeing her so fucking sad broke my heart. She deserves answers about what happened to her father, but I have none to give her. None that won’t tear her world apart, anyway. She idolized her dad. Knowing what I know won’t help her sleep easy. All it’ll do is destroy the image she has of the man who worshipped the ground she walked on.