Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I pull back and am caught in her eyes. So beautiful. She’s so fucking complex, and I know I could peel layers from this woman for years and never learn all the interesting things about her.
Not wanting her to feel helpless, I rise from the bed and give Bubba a last look as I point my finger. “You’re in trouble, buddy.”
“No, you’re not,” Abby tells him as she ruffles his fur. “I think you were made to sleep in a bed.”
I roll my eyes and head out of Abby’s apartment.
Once in my car, I don’t turn in the direction of the grocery store but instead drive the same way I did last night while following Abby.
To Levi Hellman’s house.
On the way, I call Dozer. He answers with a cheerful greeting—he’s been in a constant upbeat mood since moving to Miami to be with the love of his life three months ago. “What’s up, my man?”
“Lots. Can you patch Bebe in?”
“Regular or encrypted?” he asks, picking up on the serious tenor in my voice.
“Regular.” He knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t know how private this call should be. I don’t care if anyone at Jameson knows, and Levi’s not sophisticated enough to intercept nor does he even know who I am.
In less than a minute, Bebe’s on the line, and I fill them in on the Levi situation. This includes catching Dozer up on Abby (Bebe heard plenty over the comms when we were in Guatemala), as well as her feud with the puppy mill industry and Levi Hellman. I end with the barn fire—Bebe gasps and curses up a storm—and then I ask for direct help.
“I need to take this asshole down. We can’t depend on laws as they’re not tough enough, nor are they being enforced. But I’ve met this guy… he’s sleazy to the core. My gut says he’s crooked, or he’s got skeletons. I’d bet a million bucks he’s got something illegal going on and probably has cops and politicians in his pocket. He acts like he’s untouchable.”
“If there’s dirt, we’ll find it,” Dozer says. “Or rather, Bebe will find it. I’m the programmer, but she’s the hacker.”
This I already knew. Bebe was the one I needed to ask the favor from, but I was unsure of her willingness to help since I’m new to Jameson and she doesn’t know me all that well. But Dozer owes me a favor. When I started here three months ago, I went on an immediate mission to protect his future mother-in-law and goddaughter. I took them out to California and kept watch while a maniacal Russian mobster was on the loose, trying to kill Dozer and Jessica.
So now I’m calling in the favor, and since Dozer and Bebe both run the Research and Development division of Jameson, I knew asking something of Dozer would ensure Bebe’s help.
A little cunning and manipulative on my part, but I’m not holding anything back when it comes to protecting Abby.
“If he’s dirty,” Bebe says, keyboard clacking in the background, “I’ll find it. Give me twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight.”
“Thank you, Bebe,” I say, relieved to have her on the case.
“Sure thing,” she replies, then sweetens her voice. “And next time, call me directly. You didn’t need to reach me through Dozer, and now you wasted the favor he owes you.”
Bebe laughs and disconnects, but Dozer’s still on the line. “You didn’t waste your favor,” he says.
“I don’t need anything back from you,” I assure him. “I was happy to watch over Claire and Thea. Things good with you?”
“A lot of work setting up the new Jameson office, but yeah… things are perfect.”
I hear it in his voice… nothing to do with the job and everything to do with Jessica and Thea. “I’m glad for you, buddy.”
“Sounds like things are serious with this girl,” he pokes.
I see Levi Hellman’s property up ahead and consider what I’m about to do. “Yeah… it’s getting serious. Listen, man, I got to go, but I’ll touch base with you soon.”
“Later,” he says.
I don’t cruise past the driveway but rather turn into it and head straight for the main house. It’s a two-story red brick that looks about twenty years old. No garage but a carport protecting a Mercedes and a Lexus.
Exiting my car, I pocket the keys and stride up to the large front porch. It’s filled with nice planters and blooming flowers. I’m guessing there’s a Mrs. Levi Hellman somewhere as I don’t see this asshole being into gardening.
I press the doorbell and step back, looking out over the property. The house sits at enough of an angle I can see the first building that houses dogs. One of the things that struck me last night—as well as today—is how quiet it is. You’d think that with so many dogs, there’d be a lot of barking, but maybe those poor creatures are just so beat down by circumstance, they don’t have it in them to protest or show interest in anything.