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)
I open my mouth to apologize for putting him in an awkward position with the kiss a half dozen times, but I can never manage to get the words out.
The gate slowly opens, preventing us from having to come to a complete stop, and I watch it close in the side mirror, my heart somehow calming when I see it's back in place.
"I had heard about Cerberus before coming here the first time," I say, the first words spoken since leaving my apartment. "I wonder if I subconsciously ended up here because of that."
"Subconsciously?" he asks, a genuine hint of curiosity in his tone.
"I didn't even remember they existed until I pulled up at the gate and the guy there told me who he was associated with," I assure him. "How long have you worked for them?"
"Months, but I came from Tennessee recently. I've only been here a couple of weeks."
"I didn't know they had different groups," I say absently.
"There's a need for a lot more groups than what Cerberus can handle right now," he says.
I look in his direction, but he doesn't seem willing to offer any extra information. He has said a lot to me, it seems, but on further reflection, he mostly responds to questions or situations rather than holding actual conversations.
I don't grill him for information, and within a few minutes, we're in front of the clubhouse.
I wait once again when he pulls into the parking area, watching as he climbs out and walks around to open the door.
I avoid the hand he offers to help me out, not knowing what skin-on-skin contact with him would do to my head.
He doesn't seem agitated or annoyed. There's no sharp intake of breath or angry look on his face. I don't get the feeling that he's trying to form retaliation for the disrespect at all, and honestly, that raises more questions than it should.
My worry increases, and I know that it's trauma processing and has more to do with me and my history than with him.
He holds the front door open, allowing me to step inside. The big room is empty, but instead of being asked to wait, he ushers me right into the room where I had my interview.
"I'm so glad you're here," Diego says when we step inside.
I'm so distracted I don't realize Nyx has left the room until the door is closed.
I don't know how to feel about that, but I'm here for a reason.
"Mr... Anderson... Kincaid?" I say, shaking my head.
"You can call me Kincaid or Diego, whichever you prefer. The only time it would worry me is if you called me by my full government name." His smile is wide, and as much as I want to lean into that, I'm more than a little curious about why I've been summoned and why this conversation has to be held with him rather than letting Nyx relay the information.
"Please, have a seat," Misty's husband says. "Shadow," he reminds me with a smile just as quick as Kincaid's.
"Thank you, Shadow," I say as I sit down.
"You remember Max," Kincaid offers, waving his hand toward the man sitting at the computer in the corner.
"Yes," I say. "Good evening."
"We have news about Graham Whitmore," Kincaid begins. "I felt it best to have this conversation here because some decisions need to be made."
I shift in my chair, just the sound of his name triggering unwelcome reactions in my body.
"What news?"
"I don't know how much you followed his incarceration—"
"I didn't," I say, interrupting Kincaid. "Not at all."
"I figured that might be the case," Kincaid says. "Whitmore was released from prison eighteen months ago."
The news hits me square in the chest, making it hard to breathe.
"He was released on parole, and we have kept our eyes on him since the day we found out," Kincaid says, but there's no assurance I can read in his voice.
"He went for a parole meeting this morning. We found out he was discharged from parole," Shadow continues. "He walked out a different door than he had gone in and left his car in the parking lot."
"So you don't know where he is?" I ask, my voice trembling as much as my hands do.
"No," Kincaid says. "We don't."
"He hasn't purchased a plane, bus, or train ticket. He hasn't chartered a private jet or rented a car. He hasn't used a credit or debit card since early this morning before his meeting," Max says.
"We'd recommend you stay here until we can track him down," Kincaid says.
"No," I say immediately.
Losing him when they were paying so much attention to his every move just proves how successful Graham can be at getting exactly what he wants.
I know what I have to do, and that can't happen if I'm locked inside their property.
Graham will always win. He will always find me, but not running feels like giving up.