Page 214 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
Fuck it all.
I grab my phone and pull up the Uber app. Are there even any Uber drivers working this tiny town?
Thank God. There is a driver, and she’s only ten minutes away. I schedule a ride and then walk around to the other side of the building where I can keep my eye on the main road while steering clear of the lot.
Time crawls. Ten minutes may as well be ten hours.
I draw in a deep breath—
“Kitten.”
Damn, that voice. Deep and rich with just a touch of rasp. That voice that used to turn my legs into a quivering mess.
It still does.
Luckily I’m leaning against the building so I remain standing. I close my eyes. “Go away, Chance.”
Then a spark as his finger touches my cheek.
I startle, open my eyes. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“You’re going to have to tell me,” he says.
“Tell you what? To leave me alone? I think I made that pretty clear. I don’t owe you any explanation.”
“You do, kitten.” His voice is a deep rasp. Soft, missing that hard edge from just a few minutes ago. “You have to tell me why you left.”
He can’t be serious. He knows damned well why I left. “I don’t have to do anything except figure out who murdered that poor guy on your ranch. That’s it. And once I do that, I’m never setting foot in this town again.”
“Please…”
My phone buzzes. “My ride is here.”
I walk to the front of the restaurant and take a look at the blue Toyota Prius. I check the license plates against the app, and then I walk briskly toward the car and open the door to the back seat. “Are you Elaine?” I ask the middle-aged woman in the driver’s seat.
“I sure am. You must be Avery.”
“I am.” I slide into the seat and attempt to shut the door, but—
Chance has hold of it, and he’s stronger than I am.
My God, he was always so strong. Big and strong and protective…
“Avery. Don’t.”
“Let go of the door, Chance.”
“Please. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Just talk to me.”
“Absolutely not.” I summon every bit of strength I possess and yank the door closed. “Step on it,” I say to Elaine.
The next morning, after checking in briefly with Jarvis, I head to Union Prison to speak to Curt Hopkins, the victim’s father. After flashing my badge and surrendering my weapon, I’m led through security to talk to the captain of the guards, a burly older man who’s bald as a cue ball.
“I understand you’re with the FBI, ma’am,” he says to me.
“Yes I am, Captain”—I eye his name tag—”Fitzpatrick.”
“And you’re interested in seeing Curt Hopkins?”
