Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Ahh fuck.
I was too caught up in my thoughts that I forgot to pretend that I had no idea where she lives. I didn’t even attempt to ask her for directions. “Uhh. Elias pointed it out to me a few years back. Guess it just stuck,” I lie, knowing damn well I searched her information the second I realized she’d rented an apartment and had no one else looking out for her. I’ve kept an eye on her for years, checking in from afar just to make sure she was doing all right. Not that I would ever tell her that.
“Oh, okay. Well, umm . . . yeah,” she mutters, grabbing her purse and double checking she has all of her things before swinging the door open.
She starts climbing out when I call after her. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need me to do a sweep of your apartment?”
The fuck was that? A sweep of her apartment? What the hell is wrong with me? Are these the kinds of lows I’d sink to just to get inside her home? What’s going to happen then? I’ll accidentally trip and fall straight into her tight little cunt?
I’m such a piece of shit.
“No, but thanks,” she says, climbing out of my truck. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Besides, I felt fine at home last night. It’s just work that messed me up.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding toward her phone in her hand. “Don’t forget. Call me if you need me. And in the meantime, try not to get slaughtered by a crazed lunatic.”
“Ha. It’s not a crazed lunatic I need to watch my back around,” she says as a wide grin stretches across her face. “It’s my mom. After humiliating her in front of all of her bitch friends, I’m going to have to sleep with one eye open.”
“Well, if I happen to get a call in the middle of the night for a hostage situation, at least I know who it’ll be for.”
Harper laughs. “Very true, but promise, if it comes down to having to take her out, do me a solid and let me take the shot.”
“Well, shit, Harper. That got dark fast.”
“I work night shift in a morgue, spending most of my time with my hands inside rotting corpses. Not to mention, I may or may not have a stalker. That wasn’t dark. It barely scratched the surface of the gray area,” she says, stepping back from my truck and closing the door between us. And with that, she offers me a small smile before walking around the back of my truck and heading straight up the stairs to the main entrance of her apartment complex.
I wait just a moment, making sure she gets in alright. Then after entering her access code, she pushes the door open before pausing and glancing back. Another small smile crosses her face, and after her fingers flutter in a soft wave, Harper disappears inside, leaving me more fucked up than ever before.
6
HARPER-RAYN
My hands grip the last door of the morgue refrigeration unit, and I tear it open before grabbing the empty stretcher tray and rolling it out. I all but shove my head inside the unit and peer around, checking every last corner before finally determining that there’s nobody hidden inside. Well, at least no live bodies.
I’ve checked every possible space, right down to the small areas inside the old filing cabinets. There’s not a single doubt in my mind, I’m alone as can be. Well, mostly. I came in an hour before my shift to do all of my checks. My supervisor is still here and a bunch of the admin staff, but they’ll be gone soon and when they are, I need to know that I’m well and truly alone.
I’ve already peed and made sure my water bottle is filled, so there’ll be no excuses for me to leave the morgue unattended tonight. Meaning absolutely no chances for some creep to sneak in and leave me unwanted gifts.
I’ve been watching the door. I know exactly who is inside the morgue and am taking note of the moment they leave. Nothing is getting by me tonight.
“Are you about done taking stock of my morgue, Madden?” my supervisor, Dr. McKullan, questions as he skillfully dissects a pair of lungs, his whole attention locked on what he’s doing.
“I am indeed,” I respond, striding over to my desk and unpacking my bag to get ready for my shift. “Is there anything you want me to do? I can scrub in if you’d like.”
“Your shift doesn’t start for another forty minutes.”
“That’s alright. I don’t mind starting early,” I tell him, always down for a chance to learn from the master. Dr. McKullan is at the top of his field, one of the highest-regarded forensic pathologists in the country. Residents would kill to learn from him, so any chance I get, I take with both hands.