But still.
This place…
I stared out at the view.
I’d never been in a high rise in the middle of downtown Dallas before, and to be completely truthful, I hadn’t really expected to ever be.
But, now that I was, I wondered if I could afford a place like this.
Which was why I was on Zillow snooping on the man’s address, trying to find the man’s apartment, trying to distract myself from the fact that I was in some strange man’s home that was a felon.
I’d just found a neighbor’s apartment, with a view similar to Copper’s, when my dad called.
Pressing the green phone icon to answer it, I looked down at Holt, who was still fast asleep for once on the couch beside me and stood up extremely carefully.
I knew that noise and the like was good for babies, but I’d found that it wasn’t good for me.
It was actually detrimental.
Then again, maybe what was detrimental was the way that Joey would scream like he was actually dying in real life, instead of on some game.
Since he was used to me answering the phone like that, Dad didn’t complain when it took me a whole minute to get to the exact opposite end of the house from where I was standing to say hello.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Dad said quietly, matching my energy. “You doing okay?”
I looked around the bare bedroom that literally had not one single ounce of furniture in it, and said quietly, “I’m okay.”
“How’d leavin’ go?” he asked carefully.
“Fine,” I answered. “Joey never even came out of his gaming room. Not that I expected him to. He never does until he’s either out of water or about to come to bed. And seeing as it’s not nearly three in the morning yet, I imagine that he hasn’t even noticed I’m gone yet.”
“Oh, he’s noticed,” Dad said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’m sending you a video. Watch it then call me back.”
I hung up with him, then clicked on the video that he’d sent.
The view was of my—not mine any longer—living room.
There was a large man standing just to the right of where the phone was facing, and all I could see of the man was the left side of his arm—which was flooded with color from a plethora of different types of tattoos—a black t-shirt, and just the very side of a leather cut that I knew to be a Truth Tellers MC club cut.
He had his hand out the gap of the open front door, and soon I knew why as the sound of the doorbell rang and rang and rang.
Over and over.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Then I heard Joey yelling.
“For Christ’s sake, you dumb bitch! Answer the goddamn door!”
Ding.
Ding.
