Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Larrsen studied the card a moment, nodded and handed it back to Gideon, who slid it into his wallet. “You have cameras set up in the garage?”
“Unfortunately, she rarely uses her car. We have them on the street coming to the apartments. We may have picked something up. I’ll have my people go through everything we’ve got.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Cameras? They had cameras? On her apartment building? Gideon and his people were supposed to have ceased all contact with her. She’d threatened him with calling the police on them. Now she was lying and telling Larrsen that Gideon was her boyfriend. She couldn’t look at her car, and she couldn’t look at Gideon. She couldn’t inhale too deeply, or she’d drag his scent into her lungs.
She wished the earth would open up and swallow her. Was it too much to ask for an earthquake? Not a big one, just a tiny little tremor that would split the ground wide enough for her to slide right in and disappear.
What about the man you call Whitney? Rory was proud of herself for using the despicable man’s name.
It isn’t his style.
Obviously not him. Rory tested her legs, straightening them. They still felt like rubber, but she was gaining strength. Could he have ordered someone to scare me?
I don’t see what the purpose would be. If he programmed you for a specific purpose and you don’t have a clue what that is, why would he try to threaten you?
She didn’t want to discuss Whitney or his programming with Gideon, but she didn’t have anyone else. Still, she wasn’t going to talk with him about it. That felt too much like forgiving him. What he’d done was betrayal at the worst.
“I’m better.” She tested her voice. Shaky. She sounded scared. Not fierce. “I’m going to be fine. I really appreciate everyone’s concern.” There was that terrible lump in her throat coming back. She didn’t feel fine. She felt lost.
Are you going to look at me?
No. I do appreciate you saving me from an embarrassing ambulance ride, but you need to leave. I don’t want to see you. It hurts too much, and that’s me being honest. I’m not pretending you didn’t get to me, because you did. I don’t know what your motivation was, Gideon. Maybe you play a lot of games with women, but I’m not someone who can deal with your level of sophisticated manipulation.
Even as she flung the accusation at him, she knew she had struck out at him to hurt him, and it was entirely unfair. She might not understand why he’d done what he had, but it hadn’t been to play her. He had genuine feelings for her, and he was every bit as devastated as she was. Rory was ashamed of herself. She rarely hurt others on purpose. In fact, she didn’t remember ever doing so.
Gideon didn’t react right away. He sat very still, holding her on his lap, his arms surrounding her as if he could keep her safe from the maniacs who had destroyed her car. She tried to tell herself Gideon had destroyed her heart the same way, but she felt his pain. It was impossible not to, even though he wasn’t trying to share it with her. His devastation came off him in waves. Swamping him. Swamping her.
I’m sorry. I was deliberately striking out at you. I know playing me wasn’t your motivation. I don’t understand you or why you did it, but it wasn’t for that reason. I tried to hurt you back.
He ran his hand down the back of her hair. His fingers tangled in her braid for a brief moment, making her heart stutter. I’m already hurting enough, Red. There’s no need to try to make it any worse, although I deserve it.
She hated the fact that she wanted to soothe him. She needed to get away from him. At the same time, she wanted to prolong her time with him. She was beginning to breathe much easier. The blood was flowing just fine to her legs. She really didn’t have an excuse to stay in his lap other than she felt safe in his arms.
When she began to shift her weight to slide off his lap, he tightened his hold. “I’ll carry you away from this glass.”
“It’s safety glass,” she reminded.
“Nevertheless.”
“You can’t carry me,” she practically hissed it, trying not to sound like a shrew. You’re wounded.
Thanks for the reminder. I doubt I would remember without everyone telling me every few minutes.
It wasn’t his normal voice. There wasn’t sarcasm or self-pity; there was more of an edge, a bite. She was open to his mind, and she caught images of a little boy with a mop of thick black hair and too-old blue eyes staring up at her. There were dark bruises on his face. Swelling around his eyes and jaw.