Fool's Ride (The Jenkins Cycle Book 2) Read Free

and living a normal life in Virginia—with Peter Collins. A jerk, sure, but he was her jerk, and it was none of my business. But now I had a problem. In addition to being my rival in college, Peter was also a former ride. Almost eight months ago, when I’d looked at his phone to check the date, his number was at the top of the display, and my spooky-perfect memory had captured every digit. So it was within my power to call him and find out how he was doing with his little drug problem. If he hung up on me, I knew where he lived. Being so close, I could go there easily and…
    And that’s what I was afraid of. That I’d show up and try to fix her life by scaring him away. Or maybe I’d screw up and wouldn’t just scare him. Though I had no burning desire to harm Peter, I might feel differently if I saw him again.
    Sandra had occupied so much of my existence—from my college obsession to all that guilt for killing myself and leaving my stupid carcass in her room to find.
    I shook my head. That part of my life was over.
    “What the hell’s wrong with you now?” the woman said.
    I unclenched my fist, unbit my lip, slowed my breathing, and looked at her.
    Somehow, I hadn’t noticed that she was good-looking in an older, platinum blonde, blue-eyed, slender sort of way. All the bases were covered: good bone structure, decent profile and all that … But she wasn’t doing it for me. All those checkmarks right down the list, and if she stood too close I’d hold my breath for fear of breathing in whatever was wrong with her.
    A young Middle Eastern gentleman driving a limousine pulled up to the curb. He got out, came around to our side, and opened the door for us.
    “Mrs. Sandway,” he said, courteously.
    “Thank you,” she said, with no warmth, and got in.
    He smiled at me. When I got in beside her, he shut the door, walked back around, and off we went.
    Mrs. Sandway was still making with the angry vibe, filling the space with its tiresome heaviness. To escape that and pass the time, I looked out the window. It was fun watching the different people going about their day-to-day. The tourists, the business types with their building badges, the homeless people everywhere being deliberately ignored.
    Out of nowhere she said, “When the story breaks, you’ll seem more interesting than ever. You might even make CNN. If that happens, our sales will skyrocket. But Ernest.” She gave me a withering look. “Don’t do that again. And seriously, what the hell? Since when do you go hands-on like that?”
    I shrugged. “You only live once.”
    She frowned. “That’s another thing. Don’t challenge me in front of the boys. Stick to the script and everyone’s happy. I’ll tell Jacob … something.” She barked a harsh, scornful laugh. “He’ll probably congratulate you. You need to be the grownup. Another of those lunatics tries something, move away.”
    “Will do,” I said.
    The car stopped. We’d arrived outside a big Marriott hotel.
    “We’re here,” she said. “I didn’t want to be there all day, anyway. Those events are worse than useless. Soon we won’t need them.”
    I nodded.
    “I trust you can get on your plane by yourself without fighting anyone, right?”
    “I’m a big boy now,” I said. “No worries.”
    She smiled. “Jacob and I are working on something big for you. For your next book. Until then, keep to yourself, and when you’re at the airport tomorrow and you’re photographed: be mysterious. It’s expected.”
    The driver went around and opened the door for me. I got out and stepped back. When I peered through the tinted window she was on her phone, head high, talking-talking-talking, not listening, somehow turning even ordinary activities into something dismissive. A black hole of relentless will.
    She saw me looking and tilted her head.
    Before I could wave goodbye, they drove off. And with her departure, it was like this weirdly oppressive weight had been lifted from me.
    The first