Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Which is exactly why I need to do this. My imagination may not stretch that far, but I need to solve my own problems. Maybe then I’ll be able to move past this completely inappropriate and unrequited crush. Then I can move on to a quiet, boring life of endless practice, alone, alone, alone, playing the violin until my fingers fall off.
Chapter Eleven
Baritone Leonard Warren died onstage at the Met in 1960 just as he had finished singing Verdi's “Morir, Tremenda Cosi,” which means “To Die, a Momentous Thing.”
LIAM
Once I hit the ground, it takes twenty minutes to get to the drop point.
A row of luxury cars stands at attention—an orange McLaren, a red Ferrari, a yellow Lamborghini. Hassan is already there, holding up a dollar bill and grinning at me. His smile slips when he sees my expression.
“Something happen, boss?”
He means did something happen with the Red Team or one of the other men. Something life or death. Samantha sneaking out at night doesn’t qualify, even if it feels that way in the heavy beat in my chest. “No, but I’m going to head out before the rest of the guys make it. I’ll catch up with you tonight.”
He still looks concerned. “You sure?”
“Positive.” I don’t want to disrupt the bachelor party any more than I will by leaving early. More than that, I don’t want any witnesses for what’s going to happen next.
Mostly because I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I’m a man who makes a plan and sticks to it. There are contingencies built in at every step. No surprises.
And somehow, somehow I’m fucking surprised.
I decide to take a rebuilt silver Rolls-Royce Phantom because it’s the least ostentatious of the group, which isn’t saying much. The keys are hidden under the back wheel in a little case I know to be fireproof and highly secure. Luckily I already know the combination—I study the shape of the back; 1956, the year this car was manufactured, though not the year it was sold.
That’s what Josh would pick.
Sure enough, the case opens to a plain silver key.
I’m driving down the dirt road when Josh and another man make it over the crest, their silhouettes in my rearview mirror. Hassan will let them know that I’ve tapped out, and I have no doubt that they’ll enjoy the evening on North Security’s corporate credit card.
Cody answers the phone in two rings. There’s a pause. Then, “Yes, sir?”
He’s not officially under my command, not the way the ex-military men and women are on payroll. He does work for the company after school. Mostly he purchases supplies for the house and helps me build the training courses.
So there’s no reason he needs to call me sir, but he does anyway.
I’ve always found it endearing.
Now I have to grit my teeth against the urge to swear at him.
“Where are you?” I ask instead.
A pause. “Sir?”
“I assume you’re still with them. I know that even if you were stupid enough to sneak the girls off the compound, you would never leave them alone where anything could happen. Right, Cody?”
A longer pause this time, one I imagine he’s going to break by blaming the girls for making him help them or try to play it off like it’s no big deal. Stronger men than him have cried when I use this tone. Give me the right answer or they’ll never find the body, that’s what this tone means.
“No, sir,” he says slowly, and I have to give him credit. He sounds resigned to his fate, but he isn’t buckling. “I’m right here waiting for them, outside Club Melody.”
“Don’t move,” I tell him before hanging up. “Not an inch.”
He can follow an order, at the very least. He’s parked on the other side of the street from the club. Laney’s sitting on the back of his truck, legs dangling over. Both of them have a worried expression, which kicks my latent panic into high gear. I’ve been trying to reassure myself that teenagers go out at night all the damn time.
But the solemn expressions of Cody and Laney make me want to radio in every single team under my command and declare a fucking war.
“Where is she?”
Cody swallows. “Inside the club. At least I’m pretty sure.”
“It’s my fault,” Laney says, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m the one who wanted to go out, who convinced Samantha to come with me. And she was right there. We were dancing in the back, the VIP section. She took a break. I thought she was going to get a drink or something.”
“She’s not old enough.”
“I know.” Laney wrings her hands together. “Cody called and told me you were coming, and I looked for her so we could meet you outside. But she wasn’t by the bar or in the bathroom. I tried asking around, but people could barely hear me, and I don’t know where she went.”