Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He had his laptop out and was focused on the screen. “What for?”
“I get it now.”
He looked up and crooked a half smile. “I heard the lovebug hit you.”
“I don’t know if the word is love, but I see how different my feelings are for Tayla than they ever were for Bailey.”
“You’re in love,” he said.
“How would you know? And I’m not even sure it’s at that level.”
“Have you been able to stop thinking about her since you left?”
I didn’t have to think long on that answer. “Maybe it’s an obsession,” I jokingly said.
Kalen took me seriously. “If you were obsessed, you would be thinking about only you. Not her. And I dare say you are putting yourself in the line of fire for her. Connor and I did the same.”
He was right about that. He closed his laptop and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I know it may seem like a cliché, but sometimes you just know. When I first met Bailey, I knew she was the one, even though I didn’t want to acknowledge it. But I’ll tell you, it’s a feeling like no other.”
Similar story to the one Connor told.
I nodded, taking in his words. “Should I tell her?”
Kalen chuckled. “Trust me, I’m not one for giving relationship advice. But I do know that life is too short to hold back how you feel. You never know what could happen.”
I thought a lot about what he said before drifting off. It was a short flight, so my nap was brief. Soon, I exited the plane and because we landed at an FBO, I hoofed it to long-term parking. From there, I caught a shuttle back to the main airport terminal. I entered on the upper level for departures. I went to the lower-level men’s restroom and changed clothes. Before I exited, I bought a baseball hat, put it on, and then went out to get a taxi. Hopefully, all of that would mask my appearance at the airport.
When the cab arrived at my old apartment, it was go time. Though I walked casually to the door, I was on high alert for anything. Jovial smiles at the passersby on the sidewalk were a mask for shrewdly assessing every individual as a threat.
My building wasn’t fancy, chosen for that very reason. My persona as Shawn, a corrupt cop with the Chicago PD, didn’t afford me luxuries. Therefore, Shawn had gone to work off duty with the notorious crime boss, Nicolas Cortez.
I jogged up three flights of stairs and avoided the elevator. I wasn’t packing and didn’t want to be confined with a hired killer if that was in store for me. I wouldn’t stand a chance in that situation.
At my door, I reached below the mat for a key. It was the most cliché hiding spot, and why it was chosen. Normally, it wouldn’t be there. But my handler had put it there so I could access it. I had cameras installed in the hallway light fixture overhead. One pointed at my door at one end, and the other camera aimed down the hallway. I’d checked them during the cab ride over. The only person who had come to my door in the last twenty-four hours was my handler.
I entered the apartment and immediately felt a sense of comfort. It would be an odd feeling to some, as I’d only been living here for a few years, but this place had come to feel like home to me during that time.
In the middle of the room stood a worn mocha leather sofa. It faced a flat-screen TV on the right affixed to an exposed brick wall. A bookshelf was to the left of the TV and held titles I’d never read and other knickknacks to give the appearance of home.
To the right of that was what could only be described as a kitchenette. It sported a small two-burner stovetop and tiny oven combo and a vintage refrigerator that looked like it was made in the seventies.
The other half of the room to my left held my bed with a nightstand on the right. The only other door was on that side and led to a compact bathroom, barely big enough for one. Everything had been carefully organized to maximize the tiny living area.
I headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower at maximum temperature. Steam was called for, given what I was about to do next. This apartment was most certainly bugged, either by the feds or someone after me. In the past, I’d swept for such things on a daily basis, but I was without my toys and needed something I had hidden in the bathroom if my colleagues hadn’t found it.
When the room filled with a misty haze, I came in, dropped my bag on the floor, and closed the door. I got to my knees on the pretext of getting something out of my bag, assuming I could still be seen. Then I slowly opened the bathroom cabinet door, hoping not to make a sound as the steam should shield me.