Never satisfied, not even after I just delivered her the dossiers and the tiles to check. Scowling, I scroll down. Huxley’s grandmother had another meeting with Andreas Webber. Either Hux hasn’t put a stop to her machinations or she doesn’t care about the consequences because she’s going to do it no matter what. ShouldIdo something about it? I’d hate to see Huxley forced to work at Huxley & Webber. It’s a great law firm, but it isn’t his dream.
The job opening post shows up again.Very funny, Mother.
Want a working vacation?
Take the chance of a lifetime in the beautiful countryside of Colombia. Great coffee, clean mountain air, and easy transport into the city.
Now it’s an ad. A fake one, of course.
Not interested.I start to click away, then pause. As long as it doesn’t take more than a week—and Mom said it would be quick—I could do the job and give Bobbi some time to think. It would have the bonus of getting Mom off my back.
Bobbi didn’t say how much time she needed, but a week seems like it would be good. And the distance would force me to give her the space she wants. Plus, maybe a job would help clear my head. The cheetahs and I, working together toward a common goal… It has a meditative quality.
I type my response:Sounds great. Where do I send the résumé?
That done, I knock back the rest of my drink and reach into the safe for my cheetahs. My phone pings. I try not to sigh. Mom never wastes time.
–TLOML: Can we talk?
Bobbi. My heart pounds as expectations and hope stir. My hands shaking slightly, I type my answer.
–Me: Of course. Where?
–TLOML: My place.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bobbi
I sputter at the splash of icy water on my face. I try to wipe it, but there’s an unnatural stiffness in my shoulders and arms, preventing me from moving. The ringing in my ears adds to my disorientation.
Water drips from my face and soaks into my hair. A groan tears from my throat. Although I’m forced awake, I want to close my eyes and try to block out the splitting headache. It feels like an ax is wedged into my skull.
But that would be unwise. The last thing I remember is getting texts from Victor and blacking out. I blink, trying to clear my bleary vision and the fogginess clouding my mind. Something scratchy rubs against my cheek. A rug. Familiar couch and table.
My living room?
I realize I’m on my side. Duct tape is around my wrists, biding them together. My ankles are also taped and bound.
The home invasion incident with Reggie and Floyd slides into my head. Is this the same culprit?
No… Probably not. No bullets. And no tranq, based on how much the base of my skull throbs. Somebody swung something at me—maybe a sap… Or a baseball bat.
My thoughts start to unfurl in a torrid mess.Victor. Is he okay? He’s waiting for me. I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but he might try to reach me again. If I don’t respond, he might text TJ because I told him to get in touch with my cousin if he needed something and couldn’t get ahold of me.
And Noah… I asked him for some space, so he won’t be dropping by to come to my rescue. The notion leaves me oddly bereft. Do I want him to save me like some action-movie hero? If I didn’t know he was an agent, I’d be terrified of him getting caught in a situation like this. But—
“Wakey, wakey, Bobbi girl. Come on, now. No time for beauty sleep.”
That voice…Trey?What’s he doing here?
He looks down at me, holding an empty glass in his left hand and a gun with a silencer in his right. He’s wearing a black Angels cap, a stretchy black top with long sleeves and jeans that are—naturally—black. His black sneakers have some dirt on the sides. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard, but you were out for a while so I helped you along. Hope you don’t mind.” He gives me an I’m-such-a-nice-guy smile, which I’m dying to wipe off his face. Only if I weren’t tied up. I’d love to face off with him right about now.
“If you hadn’t hit me, this could’ve all been avoided.” My voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Why don’t you untie me and face me like a man?”
He smiles as he puts the glass on the coffee table. “It’s an idea. But your dad said you were good at judo.”
He knew my father? Some of Dad’s colleagues and friends visited while he was alive—and at his funeral, but I don’t remember ever seeing Trey.
