Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Brock widens his eyes. “Of course you were. You…” He clears his throat. “You know more about our family history than I do, Ennis.”
I stay quiet. This is a moment for Brock and for Ennis, and I’m out of the loop. Talon was taken? So much I still don’t know.
Putting it all together… It’s like…
I don’t even know what it’s like. Because I don’t even know the full story.
Ennis takes a bite of veal, chews, swallows.
“I look forward to seeing the photos,” he says. “And I look forward to hearing what you find out about Patty. Perhaps then… Perhaps then I can finally say goodbye.”
Brock does his best to show me a good time the next day. We spend the day sight-seeing around London, and part of me loves it. Seeing Buckingham Palace, the changing of the guard, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey… All the sights. Even riding on the tube.
We stop and have a meat pie on Fleet Street. Brock knew I’d enjoy the nod to Sweeney Todd.
The part of me who’s never been to England—heck, who’s never been out of the United States—adores it and wishes we could spend more time here.
But the other part of me—the part that’s consumed with what’s going on in both of our families—just wants to go home.
We’re both exhausted after traipsing around London all day, and our flight leaves early in the morning. Still, I want to try a traditional English meal, so Brock indulges me at a fine restaurant.
The result? After roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and plain white rolls, I’m convinced English food is exactly what everyone says it is—starchy and carb-centric and filling.
And a bit plain.
Brock and I both enjoy the meal, though. He orders a pint of the restaurant’s finest, served from draft, and I relent and take one sip. It’s so good I can almost forget about the plainness of the meal.
We’re both too full for dessert, so we head back to the hotel.
“You’re quiet,” Brock says to me back in our suite.
“I know. Thank you for a wonderful day. I loved every minute of it.”
“Did you?”
“I did. Truly. It’s just hard to keep my mind on what we’re doing.”
“I know.” He sighs. “I swear to God, sweetheart, once all this mess is in the past, I’m going to take you on a trip all over the world. We’ll come back here to London, and we’ll enjoy it. Then we’ll go to Paris. We’ll go to Dubai. Barcelona. Athens. Prague. Every wonderful place. And we’ll do it in style, and we’ll do it worry-free.”
I touch his cheek, loving how his stubble scrapes my fingertips. “I don’t think anyone is ever truly worry-free, Brock.”
“Maybe not, but this will end, Rory. I promise you. It will end. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll help my family get through whoever or whatever is trying to take us down, and I’ll help you and Callie through the mess with my so-called half second cousin. It will end. I promise you that.”
I fall into his arms then. Our lips meet. Our lips meet in a kiss that takes us away from the horrors we’re both going through.
A kiss that promises a new dawn.
We stand there, fully clothed, kissing.
For a long, long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BROCK
A few days later, I head to Grand Junction, Ennis Ainsley’s shoebox in tow. I asked Rory to come with me, but she said she had to make up some of the lessons she missed while we were gone.
She doesn’t have to work. I’ll take care of her, but I know better than to suggest that to her. She’ll go straight for my balls. Neither of us are ready for any kind of commitment. Not while so much is still up in the air regarding both our families.
I’m going to see Aunt Ruby’s old colleague—the same one who checked out the bones for us.
He works out of his home, and I drive up to the tiny brick ranch house on the outskirts of the city. I take the shoebox, exit the car, walk up the pathway, and knock.
The door opens, and a gray-haired man stands before me. “Brock Steel, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Gordon Jackson. Come on in.”
Gordon Jackson is wearing joggers and a T-shirt, no shoes or socks. I enter, and a miniature schnauzer barks at my heels.
“Go on, Theo,” Jackson says.
I bend down and give Theo a few scratches behind his ears. “He doesn’t bother me. I love dogs.”
“Well, you’ve done it now,” Jackson says. “Now that you’ve shown him you’ll pet him, he won’t leave you alone.”
I chuckle. “That’s okay.”
He glances at the box. “That’s the stuff?”
“It is.”
“Follow me. We’ll take it down to my lab.”
We head through a short hallway to a door. Jackson opens it. His lab is apparently in his basement. We walk down twelve steps, and he flips the light switch.