Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Archer’s office.
His house.
Private jet.
A feed that looks like a body cam.
The inside of an SUV.
I stiffen. “Did you see me? The day you shot his tires outside of the cafe, did you see me? Did you see Archer …”
“Trying to fuck you? Yes.”
A hard knot forms in my stomach and another swells in my throat. I roll to the side and sit on the edge of the bed with my back to him. “I wasn’t thinking about you,” I whisper. “When I decided to get revenge, I wasn’t—”
“I’m aware.” Sometimes, Jack can be so blunt, so detached. He’s mastered what I’ve tried and failed to do with the Sanfords.
His practiced indifference does little to lessen the shame I feel. Was I going to let Archer have sex with me? My shaky hand covers my mouth because I know the answer. “Did you set off the car alarm at the school?”
“Yes.” Jack’s continued forthrightness sends a shiver along my spine.
All I’ve wanted is for Molly Sanford to feel a fraction of the pain, embarrassment, and regret I feel right now. “I wanted revenge more than … anything,” I murmur.
“I get that. But you wanted it on your own terms. You were willing to fuck him, but were you willing to let him fuck you? Rape you?”
I cringe.
“Because I wasn’t willing to let either scenario happen.”
“Because we kissed?” I turn my head, resting my chin on my shoulder.
I can’t kiss you if you’re going to fuck him.
“Because you touched my piano.”
Sliding the ugly brown dress over my head and down my body, I stand. I don’t need further explanation. Jack has an intimate relationship with his piano. It’s a window to his soul. Eighty-eight keys and an infinity of emotion. He plays those keys to remember his wife. He plays them to find closure. But he won’t let the song end because that kind of love never dies.
And he let me touch his piano; he let me into his world from the first note.
“When are you ending Archer’s life?”
“Soon.”
I pad to the bathroom, stopping just inside the door. “Then what?”
“Then it’s over.”
Then it’s over.
Those three words will haunt me—maybe forever.
I don’t ask a single follow-up question. I shower, and Jackson orders food. We eat on the bed with his computer and the live feeds in front of us, including the surveillance cameras around Eloise’s garage. If they were pointed a little farther to the south, he would have footage of Molly Fucking Sanford burning down my brother’s house.
I start to say something about that, but it doesn’t matter now. So I step over every invisible line between us. They no longer matter. And I ask about what does matter.
“Where’s your daughter?”
“In an undisclosed location.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and then types a few lines into a notes app.
“How old is she?”
“Younger than you.”
I shake my head before sipping my drink. “That’s a relief. Forty is younger than me. Is she forty?”
“Nope.” He stays focused on the cameras.
“Is she Livy or Ryn?”
Confusion clouds his eyes when he looks at me.
I shrug a shoulder. “I’ve thoroughly inspected your body. I could sketch your tattoos. All of them.”
He casts his gaze on the mattress between us. “Livy.”
“Livy,” I echo him, stabbing my fork into my salad. “Ryn was your wife. And Gunner?”
A reluctant smile steals his lips before his eyes alight with something I know is a great memory. “Ryn’s German Shepherd. He wasn’t a fan of mine for a long time. Eventually, she convinced me to make a ‘permanent’ commitment to him. And in return, he would be loyal to me forever.”
“And?”
Jack chuckles. “Hell no. He hated me ’til the day he died.”
I giggle. “I almost had a dog.” I shovel wilted lettuce into my mouth.
“Sounds like a close call.”
“It was. Right after I got my master’s degree, my roommate decided to move to Greece. She had a golden retriever. Goldilocks. ‘Goldie.’ And she couldn’t take her to Greece, so she begged me to keep her.”
“What happened?” He takes another bite of his sandwich.
“After Natalie left for Greece, Goldie ran away.”
“You lost her dog?”
“No.” I scrunch my nose. “She ran away. Broke through the screen door. She had on one of those ‘have-your-people-call-my-people’ tags with my phone number and Natalie’s. But no one called.”
“Did you post flyers?”
“I had her photo printed on milk cartons.”
Jack rolls his eyes.
“Par for the course. Everyone leaves me.” I sigh. “When I decided to get my doctorate instead of finding a mate and popping out babies, the universe knew I was giving conventionalism the middle finger. And it’s not for a lack of trying. I’ve put forth a capital E for effort. I have never broken up with a guy. I’ve always been the one getting dumped. Then my brother left me. Lynn … Steven.”
Jack drops the rest of his sandwich in the sack. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s a depressing story.”