Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Negative connotations?”
She glanced over. “Oh – I forgot – you were too young. Sheila Anderson. The little girl who was murdered all those years ago. It was the summer Brant started working all the time. They never found her killer – or her body for that matter. Just…” Her voice faltered. “Just her clothes. Bloody. Not far from here. A few girls disappeared that summer, but she was the first. And … Brant had always had a crush on her. He took it hard. That was around the time … well.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Hi Brant."
He moved up behind me, his hand wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his body. “Mom putting you to work?” He planted a kiss on my head.
“Barely. She was just telling me about –"
“Old memories,” she interrupted. “Thanks for bringing her by, Brant.” Grabbing a hand towel, she wiped at her palms. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Layana.”
I smiled. “Thank you. It was wonderful to meet you both.”
“You leaving?” The large body of Brant’s father closed off the doorway, and the small kitchen was suddenly claustrophobic with the four of us inside.
“Yes. Thanks.” Brant clapped his father on the shoulder, and we squeezed our way out of the kitchen and escaped.
I was quiet during the ride home, my mind walking me back through the evening. I wondered at the reasons behind Jillian and Mr. Sharp’s aversion to our relationship. Wondered whether Mrs. Sharp had agreed with her husband, despite her apologies for his statement. Wondered about Sheila Anderson and why Brant didn’t mention that she had died. I could have asked questions. But I didn't. I looked out the window and thought.
My upbringing had taught me to be cautious, especially in matters dealing with family. But I couldn't. I was hooked on this man, and love had a strange way of bucking restraint.
Chapter 13
“Bonjour.” I stuck my head in Brant's office.
His head lifted, his fingers continuing to move across the keyboard as he smiled in greeting. "This is a nice surprise."
"Don't get too excited yet," I teased, walking around the desk as he continued typing at a rate faster than humanly possible, his gaze glued to me, his mind capable of more simultaneous action than mine. "I'm kidnapping you."
"Sounds..." He finished his typing, then swiveled in his chair to face my approach. Reaching out, he pulled me onto his lap. "Interesting. Where are we going for this kidnapping?"
I shook my head. "I'm not telling you that. It would ruin the fun. How much time do you need before we can go?" I glanced at the three side-by-side monitors on his desk, two that displayed file downloads in progress.
"I'm yours. Steal me away before Jillian reminds me about the budget meeting that starts in fourteen minutes."
“Hot damn." I hopped off his lap and snagged my purse off the floor. "Then let me get you out of here."
“You're turning me into a rebel.” He clicked his tongue.
"Oh yeah," I giggled. "Skipping budget meetings. You can get fitted for your leather vest now. Stick with me, and soon you'll be going to bed without flossing. Getting really crazy."
I waited for him to join me at the door, then peeked out into the hall with an exaggerated gesture before turning back and putting a finger to my lips. "Run on three," I whispered. "One...two..." I opened the door and we sprinted.
"Here?" Brant looked out the window at the homes as my car rolled to a stop in a front parking spot. "I've been here before."
"At the ribbon cutting. I know. This will be a little different. Come on." I opened my door and stepped out. Stepping onto the grass, I scooped up an empty gum packet and looked back at Brant.
His posture was awkward as he stood beside my convertible, his gaze sweeping over the compound. It held five brick homes, each nicely spaced out on the large, fenced-in estate. Three kids were clustered in the shade of an oak, and an overweight mutt sniffed the edge of the fence and eyed us as if wondering whether to attack. He recognized me and wagged his tail. Squeezing through the gate, I knelt, running my hands over the dark grey dog. "Hey Buster." I ran him through his three tricks: sit, shake, and down, glancing over when Brant entered the yard and crouched beside me.
"Buster, huh?" He reached out a hand and scratched him behind the ears.
"Yep. Meet the most loved dog in the Greater Bay area."
A patter of steps came from behind me, and I turned in time to see a small body fly through the air, knocking me into the soft grass.
"Miz Lana!" Hannah, my six-year-old bundle of trouble, squealed and squeezed my neck tightly enough to restrict airflow.
"Hey sweetie," I gasped. "Let me up a minute so I can introduce you to someone." I put a hand on the grass and hoisted us both to standing, flashing a smile at the two other kids, ones I'd never seen but would guess to be a few years older than Hannah, the close press of their bodies indicating a sibling familiarity verified by the twin shocks of red hair both possessed. I readjusted Hannah's weight until she rested on my hip. "Hannah, this is my friend Mr. Brant."