Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"The info Max gathered proves that," Hound argues.
"You'll stay in the vehicle until you're needed," Kincaid says, and I don't miss the way his eyes dart in my direction, as if the command is for me alone.
"Yes, sir," I say, able to follow the rule, especially since he didn't specify what would trigger the need for us to step out.
"Two minutes out," Shadow says.
"The location is remote since we're not sure what the outcome is going to be," Kincaid says.
Having no witnesses isn't ever a bad thing as far as I'm concerned.
We arrive at the designated meeting area, and being the first ones to arrive, which I know is by design, we have to wait fifteen minutes for the guy to pull up. This part of Colorado is a beautiful area, but it's vastly different from the rolling hills and mountains of Tennessee. Colorado seems sharper, the trees less green and compact.
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Shadow mutters as a Bentley SUV pulls up in front of us.
"He's not hurting for money," Hound mutters. "What does one of those motherfuckers run? Like a quarter of a million?"
"On the low end," Griffin answers.
The guy steps out of his vehicle, smiling like a politician aiming for Kincaid's vote in an upcoming election.
Kincaid climbs out of our SUV and walks toward the man. Kessler doesn't seem alarmed at all as our president approaches him, telling us that he's accustomed to working with men who, just based on their looks, would probably be stopped at the front door of his country club.
"Derek Kessler. You picked a fantastic day to meet," the man says, holding his hand out for Kincaid to shake. "The weather is great today."
His voice is coming through our radio, and I'm grateful we have audio rather than just relying on Kincaid's bodily clues.
Kincaid looks down at the man's hand, refusing to shake it, but the smile doesn't fall from Kessler's face.
"I didn't come here to talk about the fucking weather," Kincaid snarls. "I need to find my bitch of an ex-wife."
"I can definitely help with that," Kessler assures him. "When was the last time you saw her?"
"The day she watched me head off to fucking prison. Bitch had me do fifteen years. Told the police all sorts of shit."
"They never can do what they're supposed to," Kessler says, an edge to his voice that makes me think there's more to his willingness to help these types of men than just the money he makes.
It wouldn't surprise me if this man didn't hate all women, and the revenge his clients seek is his means of hurting women without getting his hands too dirty.
"What's the end goal?" Kessler asks.
"Does it matter?" Kincaid snaps.
His tone carries more than just the character he's playing. He's more disgusted by this man now than he was before he stepped out of the vehicle.
Kessler shakes his head. "I don't give a shit what happens to her. My fee is two grand an hour for work put in on the case and a half-million-dollar finder's fee once I have confirmation of her location. Cash."
"That all?" Kincaid asks as if the high-dollar price tag is nothing compared to his need for vengeance.
"There's a retainer for a minimum of fifty hours," Kessler adds. "All of this, of course, is in addition to the fees you've paid for today's consultation."
"Quarter of a million for today," Shadow mutters. "Max will back that payment right out if he hasn't already."
"How long do you think it will take?"
"Depends on how deep underground she is. I could have her located tomorrow, or it could take weeks."
Kincaid raises his hand, the palm scraping over the top of his clean-shaven head.
"That's our cue," Shadow says. "Ready?"
I open my door before he can even get the last word out.
Kessler looks up at the SUV, and I can tell he's trying to be brave and stand his ground, but he freezes, fear locked on his face when Kincaid speaks again.
"How long did it take to track down Clara Bennet?" Kincaid asks.
"I-I umm, don't know who that is," he lies, his entire demeanor changing as the five of us walk closer.
"Do you really think we're here asking questions we don't know the answers to?" Kincaid asks.
"That we don't know you're working with Graham Whitmore to locate his ex-wife?" Shadow adds.
"Who he stabbed twice while she was pregnant and left her for dead to get drunk at the bar?" I snap, fists clenched at my sides, because it's the only thing keeping me from pulling out my gun and stopping this conversation in its tracks.
"How do you think this ends if you don't give us the information we want?" Kincaid asks.
The man shakes his head, terror in every feature of his face.
"He's not going to hurt her," he vows. "He just wants closure."