Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

One look at his phone told him the time; it was almost seven. Who knew when Nicole had left…? The bitch could be anywhere by now, although she didn’t have that many places to go. She could be headed to her mother in Tennessee. If he hustled, he could still make the Greyhound terminal before the last bus left. She wasn’t brave enough to hitch a ride with some trucker; no, she’d always been a coward, a scaredy little bitch.

Heading into the kitchen, he flipped on the lights and dropped the duffel bag on the table, atop broken dishes and spilled food. He rummaged through the pantry, collecting a handful of energy bars, a pack of salty crackers, and a few cans of Coke, then stuffed everything into the bag. Satisfied, he zipped it up and headed out, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled the side windows and cracked the jamb at the joint.

He drove quickly to the bus terminal, flashers and siren on, although he was off duty and didn’t have a code. But who would pull over a cop responding to an emergency? Grunting and feeling beads of sweat breaking at the roots of his hair, he swore endlessly, clasping the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles cracked.

A few minutes later, he pulled in front of the bus terminal, chuckling when he saw a couple of people scatter into the woods at the sight of his red-and-blue flashers. Upstanding citizens, he was sure of it. Nicole was nowhere in sight, and a quick question at the ticket counter revealed she hadn’t bought a ticket that night, nor was she seen boarding one of the earlier buses that stopped for mere moments in Mount Chester on their way south, to San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Where could the bitch be? Did she have help?

The thought of someone else being involved in his business froze him in place, halfway back to his patrol car. How come he didn’t see it before? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. She couldn’t be the organizer of her own escape; she didn’t have what it takes. He, on the other hand, knew people; he’d interrogated more perps and collared more thugs than most cops do in their entire careers, just because he knew how to spot their weaknesses, stab a knife in them and twist.

Someone else was involved. Had to be.

Nicole didn’t even have a car. Someone else had to have picked her up from the house and driven her somewhere, with luggage and all. Had to have been a man; who else would waste time on the cheating, lying, sprogged slut except some dude who wanted to stick it to her?

The only problem with throwing Nicole’s secret lover in jail for the rest of his days was how easily it could be done. A traffic stop, followed by a discreetly placed gram of heroin in his vehicle, then he’d resist arrest. Scott could fake resisting arrest even if his bodycam was on, per Logan’s latest, fucked-up directive, and everyone would buy it. Then he could up the ante by finding a weapon in the trunk of his vehicle, one he’d buy off the street beforehand and carry around until the moment presented itself. Even better, a hot weapon, a gun recently used in some San Francisco murder, where the bullets had been recovered by the police. He had connections who’d pay him good money to plant a gun like that on some sorry-ass loser, and he’d gladly do it to Nicole’s secret man.

Too. Fucking. Easy.

If fuckboy somehow survived the arrest, one phone call from him, and the asshole would meet a shank behind bars, and Nicole’s love story would be over. Would serve him right for screwing his wife, wouldn’t it?

He’d wait and see Nicole crawling back to him, begging his forgiveness. It wouldn’t take her that long; a day, maybe two.

Then he’d teach her the lesson she had coming all that time.

He let the air out of his lungs slowly, calming his fraught nerves, now that he had a plan, now that he knew what she’d done. It would take some digging to locate the lovebirds, and there was a time for that. Tomorrow, when that fed would be busy doing one thing or another, he’d start asking questions, pulling phone records, and he’d find Nicole and her secret lover.

He climbed behind the wheel and unwrapped an energy bar. All that effort had left him hungry, frustration drilling a hole in his stomach. If he had the time, if he didn’t have to chase after the fed, he’d run by the gym and pump some iron until he couldn’t feel his arms anymore.

He checked the time again. Almost seven-thirty. Where could that fed bitch be?

A ten-minute drive by the office, but her SUV wasn’t there. At that time, she was probably home for the night. A quick search on his laptop revealed her address.

It wasn’t far.

He drove over there quickly but without flashers, approaching Kay’s residence with his headlights off. Across the street from her house and farther west by 50 yards or so, there was a thick hedge bordering a property shrouded in darkness. He pulled alongside, knowing his car would be hard to spot from the driveway, with a couple of oak trees in the way, and several trash cans pulled at the curb for morning pickup.

Then he walked back to the Sharp ranch, confirming Kay’s SUV wasn’t there. The light was on in the kitchen, though. He found a good spot to hide, where he could see through the kitchen window without the risk of being seen if the fed picked that moment to pull onto her driveway.

The wind howled angrily, rolling off the side of the mountain and bringing the smell of fresh snow from the peaks. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and every breath he