Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“No, I’m meeting him later at the church,” Kohnex said, his words quick, jumbled, as if he’d been rehearsing them. “But I wanted to talk to you. I need to warn you.”
It took effort not to roll her eyes, but the urge still flared. She’d picked up that unfortunate habit from Kate’s girls, sassy teenagers who weren’t shy about expressing their disdain. Not that they aimed it at her, but it was impossible not to absorb some of that attitude when she spent time with them.
“I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want to speak with you.”
He threw up his hands. “I am psychic, you know. Whether you believe me or not.”
“I do not,” Laurel said flatly. She’d dealt with enough con artists and self-proclaimed prophets to know the signs. Kohnex wore his madness with pride, like some kind of badge that excused his lack of boundaries.
He continued undeterred, his words tumbling out faster. “I had a dream about you the other night.” His eyes were wide, too bright. “It’s imperative that I speak with you.”
Laurel pivoted fully, planting her feet and putting her body between him and the door. No way was she allowing him up into her office. “Mr. Kohnex, I’ve asked you not to contact me.”
“I haven’t.” He spread his hands like a preacher delivering a sermon. “I’m running into you. That’s all.”
She glanced at her watch. “You have thirty seconds.”
He took a breath, relief flooding his expression. “The shooting the other day at the courthouse. I think that bullet was meant for you. Not Abigail.”
Laurel’s spine stiffened, her body instantly on alert. “That was a trained sniper.”
“Yes, but you look so much alike. Don’t you understand?” Kohnex’s voice rose, his hands gesturing wildly like he could somehow shape the air between them into something coherent. “From a distance, someone who didn’t know could mistake her for you. I can feel the danger coming. Somebody wants you dead. It’s a dark, oily, desperate anger that’s coiled and coming for you.”
A thread of unease curled in her stomach, tight and unwelcome. Not because she believed him, but because there was a logic buried somewhere in the manic pitch of his words. From a distance, the resemblance between her and Abigail could be striking, especially to someone who hadn’t spent time around either of them.
“Your thirty seconds are up,” she said. She wasn’t about to let him see the doubt working its way through her mind.
“Just . . . be careful.” His shoulders slumped. “Please.”
Laurel glanced at her watch. “Don’t bother me again.”
Kohnex hesitated, a flicker of hesitation passing across his face before his features settled into something she almost wanted to label as pity. The sudden shift made her stomach clench, not with fear but with irritation.
“I also had a dream about the two of you,” Kohnex said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He wants something from you that you can’t give.”
“Excuse me?”
“He needs more.” Kohnex’s gaze bore into her, all fervor and sincerity. “He’ll always be unfulfilled with you. I’m so sorry to say that, but the wind never lies to me. Please, listen to me.”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. The gall of the man, to presume he knew anything about her relationship with Huck. About what either of them needed. And yet, his words needled her, probing old insecurities she’d kept buried under layers of professionalism and cool detachment.
Laurel had read about con artists who specialized in cold reading—spotting micro expressions, seizing on the smallest hint of hesitation, and spinning it into something that felt like truth. It was an art form, really. A twisted, manipulative art form. But it worked. Maybe Kohnex was better at it than she’d given him credit for.
The thing was, he’d hit on something real. Huck had asked her to move in with him. Asked her to build something with him beyond a night here and there or the tangled mess of cases that too often dictated their lives. She didn’t know if she could give him what he wanted.
But there was no way Kohnex could’ve known that.
“I just want what’s best for you,” Kohnex insisted, his voice lilting into something that might have sounded poetic to the right audience. “When the wind talks, one must listen.”
She gave him a short, curt nod. “Let me know if the wind says anything about the upcoming game between the Mariners and the Dodgers. I’d like to wager a bet on that.” Before he could retort, she turned on her heel and shut the door behind her. The heavy click of the latch was more satisfying than it should’ve been.
The stairs up to her office creaked underfoot, their groan a familiar sound that did little to chase away the unease prickling at the back of her neck. Kohnex’s words were ridiculous. Complete nonsense. Yet they itched at her skin like a rash she couldn’t quite ignore.