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)
"You don't believe that any more than I do," Shadow says.
"How many other men have you helped hurt women?" Hound asks.
"None!" the man lies. "He threatened me. He said he'd kill me if I didn't help him. I acted under duress. I swear!"
"The lies are really making my trigger finger itch," I say, moving my hand into the holster hidden behind my shirt.
"No," he yells, holding his hands out in front of him as if they would stop a bullet.
"How much information does Whitmore have on Clara Bennet?" Kincaid growls.
"All of it," he says. "He knows everything."
"Where she has been all these years?" Shadow demands.
"Yes," Kessler says.
"He knows where she's at now?" I snap.
He dips his head, my blood running cold.
I lower my hand further, my palm brushing the grip of my gun.
Sirens fade into my head, making me pull my hand away from my gun. Killing this man would be different if police officers witnessed it, and I just can't risk it.
"You called the fucking cops on me?" he snaps, some of his fear transitioning into disbelief.
"Max coming through as always," Shadow says.
"That sound," Kincaid begins, pointing a finger in the air. "That means the police have many, many instances of you helping men like Graham Whitmore."
"They can't charge me with anything," the man snaps. "I didn't hurt anyone."
"Aiding and abetting, conspiracy," Shadow says, counting each item off on his fingers. "Involvement in stalking and harassment. Violations of protective orders. Not to mention the civil liabilities. Negligence, invasion of privacy, unethical conduct."
"I won't sit for a day," he says.
"Think that you can afford a top-notch attorney when they seize your bank accounts because it's all part of your criminal case?" Hound asks.
The man snaps his eyes in Hound's direction as the cops pull up and exit their vehicles, cuffs dangling from the fingertips of one smiling cop.
"You motherfucker," Kessler snaps at the sight of him.
"Having a bad day, Derek?" the cop asks. "Looks like we might just get to the bottom of what happened to Angelina."
Kessler is cuffed and dragged to the cop car.
"We'll coordinate however we need to," Kincaid tells the detective in charge, shaking hands.
"Heading back right now? Or do you have time for dinner?"
"Gotta get back," Kincaid tells him.
"Josie is gonna be sad she didn't get to see you," the detective says.
"Send her my love. I'll get with Em, and we'll see if we can work out a time to visit."
"Sounds good. Always good to see you."
They share a quick hug, heavy on the backslaps.
"Stay safe, cuz," the detective says before walking back to his SUV.
"Cuz?" I mutter as we head back to our SUV.
"That's Caleb Perez," Shadow explains. "Their moms were sisters."
"His parents raised—" Kincaid begins but pauses when his phone rings. "Hello?"
His eyes narrow, and there's something in me that just knows that whatever this conversation is, it has to do with Juliet.
"Fuck. No. We're headed back now," Kincaid says before hanging up.
His eyes meet mine.
"Just tell me," I demand, thinking the worst.
"Graham Whitmore went in for his parole meeting and never came back out," Kincaid explains. "They cut him loose early because of good behavior and the heavy workload of the parole officers. He left his car sitting in the parking lot. Must've used another exit."
"He's in the wind?" I growl.
"Looks that way," Kincaid says.
We pile into the SUV, Shadow driving like a bat out of hell toward the airport while Kincaid coordinates extra security on Juniper House.
Chapter 24
Juliet
The registry planning went better than I expected.
By the time Traci left the office, she was grinning and excited. I feel like it will help her feel a little more prepared for the arrival of the twins, knowing she has a lot of people in her corner.
Feeling alone all the time is one of the things I've struggled with the most.
I think the need to be safe and to be around like-minded people was what drove me to seek a job at a women's shelter after leaving the one I had stayed in as a resident right after Graham was sentenced to prison.
I didn't have the best experience, and I know that my struggle to adjust to a completely different way of life was part of it, but the shelter I stayed at made me feel like a cog in the machine, and I wanted to be part of a program that did its best to not make women feel that way.
It's not hard to end up feeling a little jaded as a victim. The opinions always swirl around you. People ask questions so brazenly as if sharing your experiences is just the price you pay to continue receiving services. It always made me feel like a science fair display, something to be picked apart with no consideration for the actual person experiencing these tragedies.
I leave my office, wondering when I'll feel like leaving this evening. Dinner was over half an hour ago.