Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
It feels divine to just enjoy the afterglow.
Almost as good as the orgasm itself, this weird intimacy that still lingers between us when I roll off him and start cleaning up.
“Come here first,” he says, holding out his arm. Tucking into his embrace feels a little too normal, a little too easy. Like walking back into a familiar room or smelling the specific muted scent of his laundry.
I close my eyes, listening to the thud of his heart.
“When will Colt be home?”
“Not before noon at the earliest.”
“That’s a long math class.”
“It’s a whole college course crammed into a couple months. He’s meeting his mom for brunch, too.” He sighs against my head. “I said he could go.”
Dang.
This is opening him to so many questions, but I don’t dare ask.
Not like this.
Not now.
After the nightmare yesterday, it feels good to just be, with no big expectations or fears or anything.
I don’t want to ruin the moment with thoughts of Rina.
His phone buzzes beside him, though, and he frowns, reaching to look at it and accept the call.
“Hello?”
The voice buzzes on the other end of the line.
Then his face settles into hard edges and grim lines. I know whatever he’s hearing must be bad news. Nothing good ever makes someone’s face age in an instant.
“Okay, yes. We’ll be there,” he clips. Brisk, professional, emotionless.
He hangs up abruptly and I slide out of his arms.
“What is it?”
“That was my maintenance boss. He was called out to Solitude this morning by one of his crew,” Archer says slowly, holding my gaze. “He says there’s been some damage.”
“Damage? What kind?” My heart catapults and lands in my throat.
“He said we should see it for ourselves, Winnie. Let’s get cleaned up and go.”
18
SWARM BEFORE A STORM (ARCHER)
Well, fuck.
I’m staring at a disaster that has me stunned. It’s like a whole pack of ferocious Pooh bears hit the bee boxes in search of honey, tearing apart every last one of them.
There’s wood scattered everywhere, bits of purple honey splattering the ground, pieces of honeycomb littering the flower beds.
Before I have time to process the massacre properly, Winnie throws herself at me, burying her face in my chest.
“Who… who would do this? Who?” she demands between sobs. Her whole body shakes.
Only Winnie Emberly could get this emotional over a few destroyed beehives, but honestly, she has good reason this time.
The police officers who showed up just before us are still poking through the debris, but I already know the verdict.
Nothing.
No clear evidence.
Whoever did this knew the property was empty. They knew there was no one else around to worry about.
They were also savvy enough to use gloves and not leave any obvious prints or DNA around, even in the unlikely event this went up the forensics’ chain.
Still, there’s no denying it’s a targeted attack.
I just don’t fucking get it.
There’s plenty on this property that’s far more valuable to destroy, if someone came here with an axe to swing against me.
Hell, the whole damn cottage, for starters.
Yet, it looks like it’s been left untouched. The doors are securely shut; there’s not even a smudge on any windows.
The bee boxes, on the other hand—some hyperactive little perp sledgehammered them to pieces.
How they avoided getting stung unconscious, that’s another mystery, but I have an idea when I see the door to the shed hanging open.
The lock’s been broken.
They took the goddamned beekeeping equipment.
They used a bee suit to destroy the bees.
The nasty discovery kicks hot rage through my gut. I grit my teeth to keep it from my voice.
What kind of fucking animal does this?
“They… they were just bees. Oh my God!” Winnie bawls into my shirt.
I can’t find the right words to soothe her. Not when I’m bristling with murder like this.
Sighing, I stroke her hair, hold her closer, squeeze her so hard her chest strains to breathe. But she just clings to me more, fisting her hands in my shirt.
How did we get here from mind-blowing sex in the blink of an eye? In the space of an hour, life just unraveled, and I don’t have a clue how to fix it.
“We’ll find who did it,” I promise, resting my chin on the top of her head, staring at the carnage.
The mess, the financial damage, that’s not what I give a fuck about.
No, the way this feels like a pointed attack on Winnie personally, that’s what makes me see blood.
Who else cares enough about her fix on bees to invade my property and smash them this violently?
I have one very good guess.
And I already regret not punching his ass out cold when I had the chance, consequences be damned.
I hear rustling and turn to see the lead officer picking his way through the debris field to us. His name is Paul Higgins, but he told us to call him Paul when he arrived. His deputy heads back to the car, a bulky tablet tucked under his arm.