Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Crap.
I hesitate on the sidewalk for a long moment, eyeing him and his companion warily. I don't recognize the guy with him. He doesn't live in my building. He's older, maybe mid-fifties. With salt and pepper hair and a kind face, he seems harmless enough, unlike his friend.
I'd have to be blind to ever think Tall, Dark, and Brooding is harmless. Authority hangs in the air around him, wrapping him in it. A sense of danger radiates from him, like he would be completely capable of defending himself in a dark alley. He doesn't seem like the violent type, though. Just…commanding. The way he plants his feet just so with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest is equal parts sexy and intimidating.
For a minute, I think about turning around and making a run for it.
Screw that. I've dealt with men like him before and I'm not going to be scared away from my own home.
I march forward, my eyes narrowed.
"First, you're at Mitch's, and then the Red Room, and now you're lurking outside of my building. Are you stalking me?" I demand when I reach the bottom step, hoping I look more confident than I feel.
He's even more breathtaking up close. Those gray eyes of his are nothing short of perfection, all deep and penetrating. With a day's worth of stubble on his cheeks and full, kissable lips, the man is seriously hot. He has to be a good six-four. He towers over me, making me feel small. At five-nine, that rarely happens.
Amusement flickers in his eyes, a little smirk tilting his lips up at the corners.
"Who are you and why the hell are you on my doorstep?" I ask, my gaze locked on him and my hands in fists on my hips. "You need to leave before I pepper spray you and call the cops."
His friend mutters something under his breath, causing Tall, Dark, and Brooding to grunt quietly. He pushes away from the railing and takes a step toward me. One hand goes into his back pocket.
I take a quick step backward, preparing to make a run for it if he pulls out a weapon.
He pulls out a wallet instead.
"Miss Kendall," he says, his velvety voice as sexy as the rest of him. It's familiar, too. Before I can place it, he flips open the wallet and then turns it so I can see what's inside.
My heart drops all the way into my feet.
"My name is Detective Cameron Lewis," he says. "This is my partner, Thomas Jacoby. We're here to escort you to the precinct to answer some questions about the disappearance of Rory Clark."
Well…crap.
I cannot believe the guy I've been lusting after for the last two days is the same detective who has been asking questions about me. I accused him of stalking me. And told him to grow a pair. Wrapping my arms around myself, I fight the urge to whimper like a little girl as I remember also calling him a whore and telling him that I was naked.
How humiliating.
I want to go home and hide under the covers. Except I can't. I'm stuck in an interview room in a tank top and compression leggings, waiting for the sexiest detective I've ever met to come and ask me questions about a kid I don't know.
How long am I going to be here?
It feels like hours have passed since Detective Lewis escorted me in here and told me to wait, but I know it hasn't been that long. Fifteen or twenty minutes, maybe.
And I'm already on the verge of climbing the walls in the tiny room. I've never been very patient, and there is nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company in here. The room is depressing, as if it was specifically designed to make anyone inside a little stir crazy.
The single fluorescent light overhead buzzes and flickers. Someone cries in the next room, loud wails slipping beneath the crack under the door. Phones ring in the distance. But the noise seems muted and far away.
Paint peels from the bottom corner of the dull gray walls. There are no clocks, no pictures. Nothing except the light flickering overhead, the small table I'm sitting at, and three chairs. There isn't even one of those two-way mirrors like in the movies. Though I doubt they need one since there's a camera hanging in the far corner.
Why am I here?
Detective Lewis and his partner haven't told me much of anything. They barely said two words to me the entire way here. Every time I glanced up from my lap, Detective Lewis' gaze was on me, though. But he wasn't smirking or laughing at me this time. He looked grim, his expression firm and unyielding as those gray eyes weighed and measured me as if he could see everything I've ever done wrong in my life.