Chapter Eighteen

Tempest

“He didn’t call,” I say after buckling myself into Sargent’s car. “He didn’t text, call, send a pigeon…”

“A pigeon?” He smirks, placing his hand on my thigh after putting the car into drive.

“Or an owl.”

“An owl,” he mimics my accent, so I slap his arm.

“This is serious.”

“I know, b...