by Nicole Snow
Eat something, I tell myself.
That’ll help. I haven’t eaten since noon, when I wolfed down the leftover pasta salad I’d taken to the office yesterday.
Listening to my small amount of common sense, I pull out more deli food, and tear open a container of fresh salad. It’s some sort of spring greens mix with chicken and seeds and avocado and raspberry vinaigrette dressing. I put away the rest and plop down at the small breakfast bar to savor a few bites.
I don’t get far before the phone buzzes again.
Oh, crap.
I don’t glance at it, but that doesn’t stop my mind from conjuring up a thousand different scenarios. The mind of a writer is never silent. It’s always working on overtime, creating what-ifs and heroes and bad guys that’ll grab you by the throat and scream read me.
It’s worse for me, though.
Because I was trained from an early age to observe the simplest things with intense scrutiny ever since Mom realized I had an interest in her craft. One time, in her pre-millionaire days, she kept me occupied describing the nacho cheese machine at a gas station in such gory orange detail, I’ve never been able to eat the stuff since.
Add in the fact my mother told me I should write thrillers because it would cure my fear of the dark, and, well, I’m screwed.
That’s all there is to it. I always imagine the worst, never the best.
Like whoever’s texting right now just has to be a serial killer or a sicko looking to put some poor lady on an auction block to pay off Manny’s debts.
Ugh.
It’s exhausting, I know, but in my hamster wheel brain, it’s too real.
The phone goes off again three times before I’m done with my salad. The food helps. I’m no longer thinking the absolute worst.
Well, serial killer is still in the back of my mind, but I’m also pissed at myself for grabbing the damn phone out of Manny’s desk.
But I made my choice. It’s my responsibility. So now what?
Grabbing the phone off the counter, I read the messages, all asking if she’ll be there. Before I lose my nerve, I stab back at the keys on the screen.
I’ll have to confirm that. Hold on.
Smiling, satisfied I’ve bought some precious time, I set the phone down, rinse my dishes, and put them in the dishwasher. Then I go upstairs, change into a pair of yoga pants and t-shirt, and take my hair out of the tight bun that keeps it halfway manageable most days.
Another text comes in hot, making the phone jump against the counter as I’m heading back downstairs.
My eyes suddenly itch. I probably should just ignore it, but, of course, I can’t. There’re three new messages.
Confirm what?
What sort of shitshow is SS&A? I don’t have time for this BS.
You guaranteed your end of this deal. Guaranteed. And I’m paying out the ass.
Whoa. At least I’ve managed to confirm there’s something majorly hinky here.
And that’s about the second the air in my lungs locks up.
I pace the small kitchen area frantically. Oh, God.
What have I started up? Whether Manny drives me nuts or not, this seems serious.
He hired me, gave me a chance, a job, when no one else would. If I screw this up, I’m screwed to the place you go where you don’t have good screwing puns anymore.
Bad news is, I need this stupid job. Even if it comes with a slight risk of major, enigmatic weirdos barking demands through cheap phones.
I swore I’d never accept another dime from Mom after college. Even if she has enough dimes in her investment account to rebuild the Tower of Babel.
Mom doesn’t owe me anything. I already owe her a lot. She covered my tuition in full, not to mention she’s letting me live here practically rent free.
But now I’ve just put my ticket to adulthood in freaking jeopardy.
Maybe worse.
Worse, meaning, I could be knocked off or arrested for being involved in...whatever this is.
Crap, crap, crap, crap. Also, crap.
I take a deep breath and hold it, contemplating my answer before I start to type carefully.
Stork, Storkley, and Associates has a sterling reputation.
Lame, but it’s the best I can come up with right now.
Within seconds, a new reply buzzes in.
Fuck your reputation. Can you deliver what I need or not?
“I don’t know what you need!” I shout at the screen, getting flustered all over again. I know if I could see my own reflection, my face would give my hair a run in the red department.
I’m mulling over how utterly frustrated I am, mostly with myself for thinking a little fun wouldn’t come back to bite my rump, when it happens.
The phone rings again. And I almost pee my pants.
“Crap!” Why the hell did I text Mr. Unknown back? Now I have to answer it. Have to!
It keeps ringing. There’s no voicemail set up. It would’ve already rolled over to it a long time ago if it were.
Taking a breath that scalds my lungs, I tap the answer button. “Stork, Storkley, and Associates,” I say.
The long silence on the other end allows my lungs to empty. For a second, I’m relieved there’s no one there. I start peeling the phone away from my ear, but then there’s thunder.
A rough, gruff voice.
“You her?”
Her? Hell no!
“Are you her?” The voice grows louder. Angrier. Mr. Unknown sounds even more pissed off than his texts.
“Excuse me?” I mutter.
“You deaf? Asked if you’re her?” He snarls again. “Lady, I don’t have time for games. There’s too much at stake. So I ask. You answer. Are. You. Her?”
I swallow a boulder in my throat. I’m not sure I’d ever know what to say.
But Unknown cuts in again before I can squeak anything.
“Look, I’ve been driving for eighteen hours already and still have to make it across North Dakota. I need to know everything’s in place. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
It’s not just fury in his voice. There’s desperation, too, but that’s not what makes me go stock-still.
Another voice in the background does.
A child’s voice, saying they have to go. Anyone who’s ever heard a kid desperate for the nearest bathroom knows the urgency I just heard.
“It’s in place,” I say. “Confirmed. I’ll talk to Mr. Stork and make sure–”
The phone goes dead before I even finish.
Holy hell. Fingers quivering, I set it on the counter again like it’s alive and might bite me.
What. Is. This?
I have no idea how long I’ve been pacing the floor, wondering if I should panic call Manny when the phone rings again.
I stare at it, my eyes ready to crawl right out of my head. Kidnapping crosses my mind. What if that’s what this is? Some soulless creeper rounding up kids for God only knows what?
But then, I remember the child said Dad. Dad, hurry up, I have to go!
Unless their dad kidnapped the boy from his mama. That happens all the time in the news.
He could still be a serial killer, and a kidnapper to boot. Or maybe she’s the big bad wolf, and he’s just trying to get the kid to safety. Or maybe...
Ugh.
Maybe that’s why Manny’s side gigs are practically classified. Child custody cases. People will pay big bucks to keep their kids – especially from psycho exes.
Picking up the phone, I click on the answer icon, and whisper a “Hello?”
“Sorry,” the gruff voice says. “It’s been a rough trip. I just need to know everything’s set. Finalized. It’s too late to—”
“It’s set,” I say impulsively. “Everything.”
“Your law office tomorrow morning?”
I close my eyes, suddenly sick to my stomach. “Yes.”
“Nine a.m.?”
I squeeze my eyes shut harder. “Yup. Nine it is.”
“Thanks. See you soon
.”
There’s a bleeping sound. The line goes dead again. Cue my entire body turning to mush.
Then I’m just slinking down on the floor, wondering what I’ve done.
I always wanted to write thrillers. Not be in one.
Want to read more? Get Accidental Rebel HERE.
About Nicole Snow
Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty.
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More Books by Nicole
Heroes of Heart’s Edge Books
No Perfect Hero
No Good Doctor
No Broken Beast
Marriage Mistake Standalone Books
Accidental Hero
Accidental Romeo
Accidental Protector
Accidental Knight
Accidental Rebel
Standalone Novels
Cinderella Undone
Man Enough
Surprise Daddy
Prince With Benefits
Marry Me Again
Love Scars
Recklessly His
Stepbrother UnSEALed
Stepbrother Charming
Enguard Protectors Books
Still Not Over You
Still Not Into You
Still Not Yours
Still Not Love
Baby Fever Books
Baby Fever Bride
Baby Fever Promise
Baby Fever Secrets
Only Pretend Books
Fiance on Paper
One Night Bride
Grizzlies MC Books
Outlaw’s Kiss
Outlaw’s Obsession
Outlaw’s Bride
Outlaw’s Vow
Deadly Pistols MC Books
Never Love an Outlaw
Never Kiss an Outlaw
Never Have an Outlaw’s Baby
Never Wed an Outlaw
Prairie Devils MC Books
Outlaw Kind of Love
Nomad Kind of Love
Savage Kind of Love
Wicked Kind of Love
Bitter Kind of Love
