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)
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Jackson exhales. “He’s untouchable at the moment.”
“What does that mean?” Frankie rolls to face him. She’s the epitome of an island in the storm.
“I think I’d have better luck taking out the president.”
Frankie frowns. “Because of me.”
He closes his eyes since she’s all about the eyes, reading into them too often. “Because he just is.”
“I can get close to him.”
Jackson opens his eyes.
Frankie chews on her bottom lip with palpable nervousness and indecision. “He doesn’t know about us. He abandoned me last night. I bet he’s been blowing up my phone, wherever it is.”
“Yes, that’s a great idea. I’ll give you the gun, and you can kill him. Then you can go to prison. Nice knowing you.”
Her gaze drops to his chest. “I’m in this too. I want to help. I have nothing to lose.”
“Your life.”
“What life?”
“A long one with possibilities you can’t even imagine yet.”
She rests her hand over his heart. “It’s my fault he’s untouchable. You just don’t want to say it.” Her eyes shift to meet his gaze. “So I’m saying it. And you can’t deny it. I won’t kill him. But I can expose him. I can get you access to him. I can find out where he’s going to be. I can lure him wherever you want.”
“You’re not bait.”
She fists his shirt and tugs it with frustration. “But I could be.”
He inspects her, looking deep into her eyes like she does to him. Not because he’s giving it serious consideration; he’s trying to figure out how someone so brilliant can let their mind go into such a dark place.
“I know his weakness.”
Jackson doesn’t ask because it doesn’t matter. He’s not letting her see Archer Sanford ever again.
“It’s me,” she whispers. “He knows I know his game. And he hates that I play it better than him. It makes him desperate and reckless.”
“It makes him dangerous and unpredictable.”
“So—”
“No,” Jackson snaps.
“Then give me a gun.”
Jackson sits up, resting his elbows on his bent knees and his head in his hands. “We’re done talking about this.”
“I don’t think we are.”
His wife wasn’t like this. Ryn got upset with Jackson, but she also knew when he needed space, when he needed her to stop talking and stop pushing. Frankie doesn’t back down.
“I’m the only card you have to play.”
“It’s not a game.” He digs his fingers into his scalp, fighting a headache.
She crawls in front of him, constantly invading his space. “I am not living in this disgusting motel room for the rest of my life. Maybe you have the patience of a saint, but I don’t. So if you don’t have a plan, we go with mine.”
“There is no we!” He lifts his head and grabs her wrists. “So just give me some goddamn space to figure this out.”
After the initial shock wears off, she jerks her arms from his grip. “Have at it.” She climbs off the bed, slips on her sandals, and leaves the motel with a hard door slam in her wake.
“Shit,” he grumbles, shoving his feet into his boots and chasing her. “Frankie.”
“Go think, Jack.” Frankie stomps toward the road as if she has somewhere to go and the means to get there.
He blows out a long breath filled with mumbled expletives.
“I can hear you.” She keeps marching.
“Then you know I’m not in the mood to chase your ass down the road.”
“Go back to the motel. Fight your war. Don’t let me and my stupid ideas get in the way.”
“I just needed space because you were all up in my face.”
“I’m trying to give you all the space in the world, but you’re following me. Jack!” she screams when he grabs her arm, turns her around, and tosses her over his shoulder to haul her back to the motel room.
“I knew … I just knew, from the day we met, that you were going to be a royal pain in my ass,” he says.
“I’m not in your face!” She pounds her fists into his back. “And I’m not up your ass.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Her unrelenting blows don’t phase him. He kicks the motel room door shut behind them and tosses her onto the bed. Frankie’s eyes narrow, and steam billows from her flared nostrils.
Jack rests a hand on his hip and sighs. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Let me go.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t.”
“Because you think Archer is going to hurt me?”
Again, he shakes his head.
“Because you think I’m going to blow your cover?” She crosses her arms, flipping him attitude with every word.
Another headshake.
“Then what? What is your problem?”
“You. You’re my problem.”
She scowls. “It’s not your job to protect me. You’re not my savior. You said it yourself; there is no we.”
“I lied,” he whispers.
Frankie’s sheer stubbornness sends the start of another word out of her mouth, but she swallows it back just as quickly.