Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Lance made the turn. “Not to be a buzzkill, but has anyone considered the possibility that Dario hired someone to kill Bell? Or that he killed Gwen, then showed up again a little bit later, after B arrived, and acted surprised?”
Lance’s words were poison, the sort that tasted bland, then soured into a horrible aftertaste. I wanted to claw at my throat and spit out his words. Instead, I focused on taking a deep breath. Then another.
It was a stupid idea.
Wasn’t it? I mean, Dario didn’t want to kill me, but he did have access. He’d begged me to come to the suite. And from behind, he could tell the differences between us—there was no way he’d mistake Gwen for me. Unless he wanted to kill her. Kill her, put on a show for me, and we could be together and live happily ever after.
Only, I had seen him.
Heard him.
Felt him.
His grief had been real and painful. His reaction, the playful smirk he gave me when he walked in, the one that twisted into horror when he saw her—no one was that good of an actor. NO ONE. I had to believe it. I had to believe it, or I couldn’t get on this plane.
“No.” I swallowed, the word too faint, and tried again. “NO. There’s no way.”
They exchanged looks, and I saw the doubt between them.
I grabbed Lance’s arm, forcing him to look away from the road and at me. “NO. I trust him. I’m not an idiot. He’s innocent.”
If I was wrong, if this whole thing had been a lie and he’d played me and was planning on killing me… then I was stupid enough to deserve death. I’d die in some Louisiana swamp and know that I’d brought it on myself. But then, why involve Lance and Rick?
I wasn’t wrong. I was in a horrible mess with a man I couldn’t seem to connect with, but I loved him. And he, somewhere among that cold indifference, loved me.
I had to believe that.
Two
My first hours as a dead woman didn’t go well. The plane looked like a crop duster and stopped twice to refuel between Nevada and Louisiana. By the time it landed, it was daylight outside and I was sore, hungry, and exhausted.
I stumbled out of the plane, lifted a tired hand to the pilot, and almost ran into the broadest chest I’d ever seen.
“Easy there.” The man held out his arms and stopped me. “You Bell?”
“Yeah.” I stepped back and tilted up my head to see him. In the glare of the sun, he was only a large outline, one topped by a baseball cap, with the sort of build that indicated a life built from labor.
“It’s a pleasure to meet ya. I’m Laurent.” He reached down and grabbed my bag. “This all you got?”
It took me a minute to understand the question, his thick voice rolling the syllables together. I nodded. “Yeah.”
“For a dead girl, you sure chatter on.” He smiled, his attempt at a joke falling flat. I looked away, and he deflated a bit. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I turned and watched a fueling tank pull up to the plane. “Is he staying here?”
“Nah. He going to go further on, so any bad guys think you’re still on board.” He opened the gate to a chain-link fence and held it open for me. “That’s why we put you on such a little plane. Just in case someone is watching the skies.”
I felt a little comfort at we, the word an indicator there was a team effort involved in protecting me. But that reassurance was quickly trumped by the bigger threat in his statement, the reference that someone might be watching aircraft traffic in an attempt to hunt me down and finish the botched job. I looked nervously over the exposed parking lot.
He caught my apprehension and laughed. “Don’t worry about anything in Lafayette, girl. I know every mouse that farts in these parts.”
Well, that settled everything. Any farting mice come my way, I’d have nothing to worry about.
He nodded at my bag. “Dario said you were carrying?”
“Yeah.” I rested a hand on the outside of the canvas, reassuring myself of the gun’s weight.
“You won’t need it with me. Just keep hold of it for now.” He walked over to a battered truck, opened his door and tilted his head to the opposite side, indicating for me to get in.
The truck smelled like the woods, and I fastened my seatbelt and reached for my phone, then realized I didn’t have it. “Do you have a phone for me?”
“Yeah. Check da glove box.”
I opened the box to find an overflowing mess of receipts, manuals, fuses, and wires. I dug through the contents and finally saw a black plastic flip phone. I pulled it out. “Is this it?”
“Yep.” He reached his arm back, rooting around in the pocket behind my seat, then produced a car charger that had to be a decade old. “Battery is probably dead. Best to charge it.”