Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
I see a raging fire. Heat. Damage.
I flinch, shaking those thoughts away. Or I try to.
Beau hits the bottom of the stairs and looks up, finding me by the kitchen. “Okay?” I ask, a stupid question I know, but what else can I say? In the space of a day, her murdered mother’s remains have been stolen and her father shot dead.
“Have you spoken to Lawrence yet?”
“No, I’m building myself up to that.”
“Did you hear from Ollie?”
She reaches behind her and pulls her cell from the back of her gym pants, looking at the screen. I’m taking that as a no. “I’m going for a workout.”
“Do you want a tea?”
She shakes her head, swallowing, so obviously holding back her emotions. “My period came.”
Oh God. “Beau—”
Her hand comes up. “Please, Rose, do not give me sympathy.”
“I’m your friend. What do you expect me to do?”
“I don’t expect anything, but I hope you’ll hear me when I say I can’t. I just . . . can’t.” She backs away from me, sadness a veil all over her, and there are endless reasons for it.
Oh, Lord, have mercy on this woman and give her a fucking break.
“Beau,” I blurt, sounding urgent, stopping her halfway to turning. “I’m going back to St. Lucia.” This makes her blink in surprise. “I think it’s for the best.” My hand falls to my stomach, and so do her eyes. It’s not the first time my heart breaks for her, and it won’t be the last. “Danny and I are at each other’s throats constantly, the pressure to be fine is just way too much, and in my condition—” I wince at my own stupid words. “I mean—”
“I understand.” She comes to me and hugs me, and still, even with her heartfelt embrace, I’m injured. I hoped she’d beg me not to go, because I’m certain I would if she declared she was leaving. I couldn’t be without her. I deflate in her arms, my eyes stinging. She’s too focused on her loss. Or her newfound mission. Jesus, trying to find her mother’s killer nearly broke her. If she does this, she might not come out the other side. And starting her period will only make her more determined to distract herself. “Come with me,” I blurt, feeling panic setting in. I push out of her hold and take the tops of her arms, and she looks at me with a heavy forehead.
“Me and you, back to St. Lucia. I know you and James are struggling too.”
“You mean since my ex sent me a picture of him all over another woman?”
Okay, it didn’t look good, I admit that, but . . . “Haven’t you wondered why Ollie was there?” She looks away, telling me she has. But she’s choosing to ignore that logic. “And that Beth woman. How did she know James would be at Hiatus, because I’m sure as shit she doesn’t look like the kind of woman who pops into a strip club for a drink?”
She won’t ask herself those questions because she’s too busy thinking about how her ex can help her rather than how he can ruin her relationship.
Beau looks at the screen of her phone again. “I don’t have the bandwidth, the capacity, or the energy to fix this right now, Rose.”
“Because you’re too focused on finding your father’s killer?” I ask quietly. “But what if he wasn’t shot? What if . . . what if there’s an explanation? A heart attack? A stroke? What if there’s no killer to find?”
She smiles softly and rubs my arm. “I’ll be in the gym,” she says, walking away, taking her phone to her ear as she does. Calling her ex. How many times has she done that since last night? And why isn’t he answering? The asshole. He better hope he doesn’t find himself in a room alone with me. I look down at my tummy. Roll my eyes.
I go back to the kitchen and jump out of my skin when I find someone in there. James. He’s making himself a coffee, shirtless, fiddling with the machine. I frown. How did he get in here without me seeing? “Morning,” I say to his scared back as I go to the stool.
“Morning,” he replies, not looking at me. “I saw you talking to Beau and took an alternative route.” He obviously read my mind. I look at the French doors onto the garden. They’re ajar. They also would have been locked, but that wouldn’t be a problem for The Enigma, and clearly it wasn’t. “Coffee?” he asks, giving me his attention as the machine spits one out.
“No, thanks.” I hold up my mug. “Tea.”
He nods and takes his cup, joining me at the island, and I find myself sitting back, withdrawing. Damn it, he’s going to pick my brain. “How are you feeling?” he asks, nodding at my tummy that’s concealed beneath the countertop.