Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) Read Free Page A

assume you’re going to enlighten me?”
    “No, you’ve been traumatized enough for one day. Just take my word on it. We’re a reprehensible lot. If you understood to what degree, you’d grab your baggiest sweat clothes and run to the bathroom to change.”
    “ Or I could kick you out of my room.”
    “That’s always an option.”
    “You’re not serious, are you? Yoga pants and a tank top? Yeah, real risqué—” I stopped short, my ears picking up what I had subconsciously been waiting for: Jared Wells. By the frequency of his voice, I guessed he was coming up our front walk.
    My heart shifted into high gear, which would be a normal heart rate for the average human. An extremely healthy heart meant one that didn’t have to work so hard.
    “Oh, man!” I said, forgetting decorum and spitting on the sock. I had to get the mascara off.
    “I’ll pretend I didn’t see that,” Emery said. “I’m assuming my students have arrived.”
    His students were boys from school who met Saturday or Sunday mornings for Fight Club, as they called it. It had been Nate’s inspiration after their soccer games got rained out in the beginning of January a few weeks ago. Emery had become their natural instructor, since he was the most skilled in martial arts—or so they all thought. I was more Chuck Norris than Emery. Heck, I was more Chuck Norris than Chuck Norris.
    “Yes, Sensei,” I answered, finally getting my face clean. I dropped the sock on the floor and grabbed the mascara tube to reapply.
    “You always were one to tempt fate,” Emery teased.
    The doorbell rang. Anxiously, I swiped mascara on my lashes.
    “Isn’t that the part of your face you don’t want to bring attention to?”
    “Are you now saying my eyes are spooky?” I challenged, painstakingly brushing the wand over my lower lashes. Those were always so hard to get.
    “Dudes!” Nate, my twin brother, answered the door. Their voices were like a crashing wave—in other words, loud.
    “No, I stand by beautiful,” said Emery. “But either way, it won’t be your eyes they’re looking at.”
    “My friend,” I said, moving the wand to my other eye as the boys clambered up the stairs, “if I wasn’t trying to beautify myself, I’d kick your butt.”
    Nate drummed my door. “Cass! Em! Fight Club!” he shouted.
    “No duh!” I yelled back, my stomach twisted into knots. Knowing Jared was just on the other side of my door made me feel like hurling. My nerves calm down after talking to him a bit—usually.
    “I’ll meet you up there,” Emery told me as he rose from the bed. “Up there” was our attic, the perfect place for some friendly sparring.
    “’Kay,” I replied, tapping bubblegum-scented gloss on my lips. I hated the taste and smell, but it looked nice.
    “Don’t take too long beautifying—” Emery’s cell rang. He glanced at the screen and answered the call. “Hi, Riley.”
    I rubbed my well-glossed lips together and smiled. Bail bond agent Riley was Emery’s former college mate, current employer, and a redhead—a very hot one, I suspected. I didn’t know for sure, since I hadn’t met her yet. Every time I queried Emery about her looks, he just laughed, confirming that his boss was, indeed, hot. Why else would he avoid answering the question?
    “Say hi to Riley for me,” I sang softly, opening my door.
    Emery nodded, but didn’t comply. Instead he pointed at my hoodie on the floor, wanting me to cover up. I really wished he would give it a break.
    “You’re like my dad,” I whispered.
    He shrugged, his finger on the hoodie.
    I rolled my eyes, which reminded me of my new problem. Are you sure? I mouthed, pointing at my eyes.
    Emery gave me the A-OK sign, saying to Riley, “Employment records should turn that up.”
    They’re discussing a client who didn’t show for court , I deduced, which meant the client was now a fugitive. Emery did skip tracing for Riley, which meant he located possible places where a fugitive