CHAPTER 16: CHAPTER 16: ITCHY THROAT

Jean Ellison held her breath, a hint of fear hidden in her eyes, her whole body tense.

She didn’t believe Justin Holden would trust these things; he’s always been a materialist.

"Where?"

A man’s deep, slightly hoarse voice came to her ear, making Jean’s heart rise to her throat, her lips pressed tightly together.

She looked up at him, the man’s face remained indifferent and stern as usual.

The little girl’s eyes were firm, and she said seriously, "With this rooftop as the center, radiating out within sixty kilometers, the person you’re looking for is in this range."

Jean exhaled and quietly released her tightly clenched hands, cold sweat forming droplets that slid off her fingertips.

She should say something, looking at the expressionless man beside her, she asked, "Who is Lawyer Holden looking for?"

She had to pretend not to understand.

Justin Holden didn’t respond to her question, he looked at the little girl and spoke coldly, "The entire Kingswell City is just over six hundred square kilometers."

She drew a circle that was much larger than Kingswell City, essentially saying nothing.

The little girl pouted, muttering, "I said, I’m not good at this, the stuff in the bag is what I secretly took from my grandmother’s burial items, I don’t really know how to use it yet."

Justin Holden glanced at her, saying nothing more, then looked at Jean Ellison beside him.

"I saw the news your company released today; don’t go far at night lately."

Jean let out a ’hmm’, nodding.

She didn’t expect Justin Holden to read online news; wasn’t he the type who used to only read newspapers and magazines?

The two went down from the rooftop, one in front and one behind.

The little girl shouted loudly from behind, "Hey, can you be a little patient? Give me some time, I’ll definitely find the person for you."

Jean took a deep breath, unable to hold back a cough or two.

She went downstairs and immediately began rummaging through her clothing pockets, searching for the keys, but couldn’t find them.

"What’s wrong?"

Justin Holden stood aside, looking at her with deep eyes.

"I think I left the keys at home..."

Jean was wearing a thin short-sleeved blouse, with a skirt suit that reached her knees, her stockings nearly transparent.

Standing in the stairwell, a breeze made her shiver.

Justin Holden glanced at her coldly, took off his suit jacket, and handed it to her.

"Put it on."

Jean held onto his jacket, which retained his body warmth, a feeling she was very familiar with.

The suit jacket carried a scent of women’s perfume, a clean, sweet floral fragrance.

It probably belonged to Wendy Wallace.

"No need, I don’t want anyone to misunderstand."

She returned the jacket to him.

She wasn’t wearing any perfume, and her face was bare of makeup, so even if she wore the jacket, it wouldn’t leave any trace.

Afraid that this jacket was too warm, warm enough to make her forget how cold her heart had grown during five years in prison.

"Then just freeze."

Justin Holden held the jacket in his hand, his face grim, his cold, deep eyes fixed on her face.

His light blue shirt was stretched tightly over his muscular chest, without a single crease, and there were slim black leather sleeve holders on his upper arms.

"Can you call a locksmith for me?"

Jean asked him for help; she hadn’t even taken out her phone, holding nothing but a rolling pin.

Justin Holden remained silent, taking out a flashlight to shine on the wall, where several small locksmith ads were posted.

He took out his phone and dialed a series of numbers.

"The number you have dialed is not available, please try again later."

Jean pointed to the newest-looking ad on the wall, "Try this one."

This time, Justin Holden handed her the phone; she took it and dialed the numbers from the wall one by one.

"Hello, do you need a student girl to come to your place? Please provide an address, and we’ll arrange someone nearby."

Jean hurriedly hung up, looking at Justin Holden who appeared unfazed, she said awkwardly, "There’s a comma between locksmith and home service on that ad."

She had used his phone to call a prostitution line; she wanted to find a hole to crawl into.

"You better do it."

She handed the phone back to him, not daring to look him in the eye.

Her blushing was all too apparent.

Justin Holden took the phone, his gaze brushing over her flushed cheeks, suddenly recalling something Samual Pryce had said at the dining table.

Said that he hadn’t had a sex life in five years, like a monk.

Then this woman before him, hadn’t she also been a nun for five years?

She kept her head slightly lowered, the thin neckline blown open by the wind, revealing her snow-white, deep collarbones, a strand of fine hair sticking to the side of her neck.

Justin Holden felt an itch in his throat.

"Wait in the car,"

he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

There were no lights in the stairwell, and Jean, who was afraid of the dark, had no choice but to follow him downstairs to the car.

The car’s heater was on, and Justin Holden handed her a blanket.

Jean immediately recognized the blanket, a blue and white checkered pattern she had bought five years ago.

Back then, he said it was gaudy and just tossed it into the car.

Once, he had torn the zipper of her short skirt in the car.

She couldn’t just walk out naked, so she wrapped herself in the blanket, clutching it at her chest with one hand and holding her high heels with the other, dashing to the second-floor bedroom, almost being seen by the household staff.

Jean didn’t understand why he still kept this blanket, it was even starting to pill.

She draped the blanket over her legs, sitting in the car, her body a bit tense.

"When will they come?"

She sat in the car, nervously shifting in her seat.

In her memory, it was in this very spot, where the seat beneath her would often be wet and then dry, over and over.

"Not sure, it’s too late,"

Justin Holden sat in the driver’s seat, his slender fingers pinching the sides of his glasses, taking them off.

His hands were large, the backs pale, and his pinky fingers were longer than her middle fingers.

Jean glanced at the time on the car’s display screen, it was already past one in the morning.

She leaned her head against the leather seat, slowly closing her eyes, a familiar cedarwood aroma mingled with a faint minty freshness filling the car.

Justin Holden took out his phone, about to urge the locksmith, when his gaze caught the blanket on her legs in the passenger seat, which was slipping to the floor.

He bent over, picking up the blanket, pausing midway through the action with his fingers gripping it tightly.

At close range, he saw her face, her features delicate and defined, eyes closed, her long, curled eyelashes fluttering with her steady breathing.

Her lower lip was lightly bitten in her sleep, full and glistening.

The itch in his throat hadn’t subsided, and now his chest felt itchy too.

He lowered his head a little more.

His neat black hair brushed across the woman’s smooth forehead, the strands too stiff, slightly prickly.

She shifted slightly, her petite nose nudging against the side of the man’s prominent nose.

Their warm breaths mingled up close; she slept deeply, oblivious to it all.

Justin Holden couldn’t suppress the desire in his dark eyes, his gaze fixed on the close, rosy lips in his sight, his Adam’s apple moving as the itch grew in his chest.