I Blackmailed Her Brother

by Jessica Frances

  “My parents’ place—”

  “Will have the same security issues you have here,” I cut in, trying not to sound as impatient as I feel. “Although, their house is much more manageable than this place, so that will be a step up.”

  My mind quickly races ahead to the Booth household, where I had many dinners inside. The neighborhood is nicer, their house is better put together, and there are lesser blind spots. However, when her parents arrive back home, they might question why they suddenly have topnotch security.

  “I don’t want things to get awkward between us.”

  “And they won’t,” I lie, since that’s a given. “I have a spare room, and I promise to give you space. Just do me a solid and not sleep naked,” I throw in there, half-joking and half-pleading.

  When she chuckles and nods in agreement, I sigh in relief.

  “Okay, I’ll stay with you until the trial is over.”

  My body slumps for just a moment before a new tension rolls over me.

  This is happening. This is really happening.

  She moves into her bedroom then, pulling with her a couple of suitcases that were resting next to her room and up onto her unmade bed.

  I try not to pry, shifting my eyes to the view outside her window rather than the messy state of the room. I do notice one suitcase is already half-filled with clothes, while the other is empty.

  She begins grabbing a few items out of her drawers then takes other clothing off her floor.

  “Looks like packing won’t take long at all. Did you even unpack when you moved in?” I ask, nodding at several overflowing cardboard boxes.

  “I’ve been busy,” she states defensively.

  “I notice your bookshelf is stocked, though.”

  “Well, yes. Priorities.” She gives me a wink, and while I know her doing that is a subconscious response, I can’t help my heart aching at seeing the simple act.

  She used to wink at me all the time. I think it was her way of a friendly smile or a nod hello.

  “Oh, shit. You probably think I just farted. I didn’t!” she gasps, color flooding her face.

  “Huh? Why would I think that?” I ask as I sniff, since I suppose that is the standard response when someone tells you about a bad smell. Kind of a stupid automatic response, really. Like when you see a sign for wet paint and immediately have to test it out.

  She looks at me strangely. “Because I used to wink at you whenever I farted.”

  “Wait. What?” I gasp, completely shocked.

  She stares at me in confusion. “You don’t remember?”

  “I remember you winking. I do not remember you farting!” I rush out, my mind racing.

  “Really? I thought you knew?” she says on a shrug. “I always gave you a wink whenever I let one rip.”

  My mouth drops open as I splutter, “Why would you do that?”

  “Fart? Because it’s a natural response from my body. I’m human, Cyn.” She gives me an eye roll, as well as a smirk, but what makes my heart speed up is the use of the nickname she used to affectionately call me.

  I haven’t been called Cyn in months.

  Another thing I have desperately missed.

  “No, I mean, why would you wink at me after you farted?” I sound a little hysterical. I mean, are we seriously having this discussion right now?

  “I don’t know. Because laughing would have given me away? I thought you were looking at me because you knew what I did, and I was winking at you because I was acknowledging what you had already realized. Plus, I thought it was freaking hilarious.”

  I shake my head, memories of all the times I was out with Scarlett and she winked at me bubbling in my mind.

  “You winked at me when we had dinner with my parents!” I gasp, clutching ahold of that moment and recalling it clearly.

  She laughs, slapping her leg a couple times in response. “Yes, that one was awkward. I’m pretty sure your dad got the blame from your mom.”

  I shake my head, another memory pushing forward. “What about when we were in the heated pool at the gym the one and only time you went with me?”

  “You didn’t see the bubbles?”

  My mouth drops open in shock. “I think I need to reevaluate everything I thought I knew about us.”

  Scarlett laughs, crouching over to zip up one of her suitcases. The other still sits empty. “No need to be overdramatic. There were rare times I was just winking because I was flirting with you, and other times my farts came out silent and smelling like roses. No wink necessary.”

  I’m fairly certain winking after farting is completely unnecessary.

  “No person’s farts smell like roses. Oh, my God! The first time we slept together, you winked at me when we woke up spooning!”

  She laughs harder now. “I’m surprised you didn’t feel that! I thought you must be a keeper if you were so chill about it. I mean, I eat a lot of dairy, a lot of beans and, just in general, I have a high protein diet. I can’t date someone who gets weird about farts.”

  I try to take this in, not sure how I feel, but a small part of me, one that grows larger until it consumes me, finds this hilarious.

  Before I can control it, I’m laughing hard enough that I am folded in half, tears streaming down my face, my side in stitches.

  “Oh crap, now I do need to fart,” Scarlett mutters, which of course means I hold my breath and laughter in.

  The sudden silence encompassing us before we hear the barely audible sound of a small pop sets us both off laughing again.

  This one definitely doesn’t smell like roses. In fact, I fear this falls under the practically silent but most definitely deadly category.

  Half-laughing and half-struggling to breathe, I attempt to open her bedroom window, only to find it painted shut.

  “None of the windows open,” Scarlett informs me, her voice muffled behind her shirt.

  While definitely a fire hazard, it does make this place a tiny bit safer since no one can stealthily break in from those points.

  Scarlett grabs her bedroom door and begins waving it so the sharp opening and closing causes a breeze to float over me and some of the stink to lessen.

  “I think I need a shower,” I moan, finally able to breathe air that is more oxygen than smelly gas.

  “I’ve done worse than this,” she admits, sounding proud of herself.

  “How did I not know this about you?”

  She shrugs, slowing down her waving of the door as the smell finally begins to dissipate. “I don’t know. I mean, I fart a lot.”

  I shake my head, glancing down at the suitcase she closed, my mind finally drifting to the implications of our new arrangement.

  Am I nuts? This has disaster written all over it.

  “You know,” Scarlett says excitedly, making me glance back up at her. “I guess I had you under my … smell.”

  I roll my eyes at the sad excuse for a joke.

  “Or,” she squeals, “perhaps I was just the wind beneath your wings?”

  “Shut up,” I grumble halfheartedly. Honestly, I’m actually thrilled to see Scarlett looking so animated and happy.

  “Maybe I was the cut cheese to your perfect cheeseburger of life?”

  “That one is a bit of a push,” I point out, glad she seems to be running out of steam on the line of jokes already.

  Then again …

  “Not to toot my own horn …” She grins at me, and I shake my head in return.

  “So, this is what my life has become? Fart jokes?” I moan under my breath.

  “… but I think it’s obvious that I blasted my way into your heart.”

  “I’m leaving.” I tell her, trying not to focus on her huge grin. I can’t afford to get lost in a smile like that again.

  “You couldn’t get enough of my love gas?” she asks with a lift of her eyebrow.

  “I’m not listening.”

  “You opened up your heart just as I seduced you with my sexy love fart?”

  “You�
�re ridiculous,” I grumble, not turning back as I lug her suitcase outside, making sure to keep an eye on my surroundings before I cart it any closer to my car.

  There are a handful of people milling about, but none appear suspicious or taking any interest in Scarlett’s place.

  Scarlett is slow to follow, and I realize why when I step back inside.

  “I finished with the other suitcase,” she informs me before stepping back into our previous conversation. “I have one more fart joke, maybe two.”

  I move past her, taking the final suitcase. This one almost pulls my back out when I slide it off the mattress.

  “Shit, Scarlett. What the hell is in this one?” I groan, finding the suitcase to be at least ten times heavier than the last one.

  “The important things,” she replies seriously, not even appearing sorry that I’m having to waddle in one-inch increments to get it out of the house and over to my car.

  I didn’t even know you could get suitcases without wheels. These don’t even look that old. What sick company sells suitcases without wheels?

  “Important to you is coffee and … Please don’t tell me I’m lugging around forty pounds of books!” I groan, betting all my life savings that the full bookcase I noticed earlier is half-empty now. No wonder she was able to pack this one in only minutes.

  “Fine, then I won’t tell you that.”

  “Unbelievable,” I grumble just as I manage to swing the suitcase up into my trunk. Although, I apparently wasn’t gentle enough, given Scarlett’s outraged squeal.

  “Anything else you need before we leave?”

  “Just give me coffee and a shower to wake me up, then I’m good to go.”

  “Deal.”

  I wait outside while she takes her shower then exits with a travel mug and a backpack swung over her shoulder, likely of toiletries since I never saw her pack those things.

  Once she’s in my car, I can’t help taking in her cinnamon and rose scent. It’s always so much more potent when we are in a confined space.

  “Are you smelling me?” she asks, sounding incredulous.

  “No,” I reply way too quickly.

  “Because we’ve already established what you’ll likely gain from that. Besides, love is a warzone, and I think you’ve been stuck in the stenches for too long. Get it? Stenches instead of trenches!”

  I shake my head, glad Scarlett is finding this funny and not creepy. “Do you think I won’t kick you out of a moving vehicle?”

  “Fine, fine. I think I’m out anyway. Of fart jokes, that is, not actual farts.”

  “How am I still attracted to you right now?” I wonder out loud.

  “I think we established that already with my high-quality comedy.”

  “Shoot me now,” I say on a small chuckle.

  “Not sure my silent but deadly weapon has that good of an aim. Sorry.”

  I heartedly laugh now, unable to keep it in. I forgot how often I used to laugh when I was with Scarlett.

  Maybe this won’t be as bad as I fear.

  ***

  After Scarlett has settled her things into my home, I drive her to work then proceed to sit outside while I continue looking into Sanchez.

  I am continually tempted to email Jerry and ask for his assistance, but I know his loyalty is to Zander. Jerry knows our business almost before we do. Therefore, he will know I have taken vacation days. If I ask for assistance, he will know I’m doing something I shouldn’t. In fact, I should likely assume he can see my searches even right now.

  Has he already informed Zander?

  I glance over the information I have accumulated, including brief histories on Sanchez’s parents, which is basically zilch on his mother and a gigabyte of criminal background on Sanchez Senior. His murder is still unsolved, though I doubt anyone is too sad he is gone.

  I could do my best to hide this information, as well as hide my digital footprint from Jerry, but it would be a waste of time. Jerry is the best hacker I have never met, and he would see right through any attempt I made to hide this. In fact, it might make him look even closer.

  The fact that Zander hasn’t called is a good sign. Either Jerry hasn’t been paying attention or he doesn’t believe what I’m doing needs to involve Zander … yet.

  I glance again at my surroundings, taking a few photos and writing down license plate numbers. No one seems suspicious and none of the vehicle checks lead back to Sanchez’s people.

  I’m not sure if I think Scarlett is being followed or targeted, but I know she is one of the most easy-going people. If something has her worried, then there is likely a reason for it.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Larissa.

  L: Dinner tonight?

  I stare at her message for a while, considering how to respond. Do I tell her what is going on with Scarlett, or at least a loose version of it? Or, do I just leave Scarlett out altogether and make up an excuse?

  I really like Larissa and enjoy the friendship we are building. She has even covered for me with Sasha by insinuating we’re taking things slow to keep her off my back for a while. Although, judging by the message that Sasha sent me last night enquiring about how things are going with Larissa, I have to wonder how long that will hold her off.

  Since Larissa and I bonded over our exes, how will she feel about me having mine back in my life?

  But, until this is cleared up with Scarlett, I can’t have any distractions. It will be hard enough to keep Sasha off my back, let alone trying to juggle Larissa, too.

  I shake those thoughts away and focus back on the message.

  C: I can’t tonight. Sorry. I might be MIA for a while. Things with my ex might not be so much in the past at the moment. Will call you when I can.

  I consider the message for a while before I send it. It’s hard to talk to the girls without feeling like they are sick of hearing about it. I know they have been close to shaking me and telling me to get over it. However, I can’t help feeling like a downer when I do open up about it, since they are all so happy in their own romances, while my life is going nowhere fast. Having fresh ears to listen has helped.

  I glance around me again, noting some more license plates and taking a couple photos of people appearing to be loitering. Then I turn back to my notes, googling the place considered the unofficial headquarters for Sanchez since it’s where most of his known associates and thugs hang out. I’m tempted to check it out with my own eyes, but with Scarlett out in the open, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her. I need to wait until I know she is protected.

  I shake my head, wishing for the millionth time I could have some help on this.

  Fortunately, I find a perfect opening when Scarlett’s work day is over a lot sooner than I expected. I take her back to my place and watch her stumble into my spare bedroom, mumbling about being tired and blaming me for such an early wake up call.

  I smile, watching her fall headfirst on top of the bed, shuffling her feet until her shoes fall off, and then she stops moving altogether.

  I creepily stare for way too long at the doorway, watching her sleep and feeling a deep ache in my heart that I can’t just lie down next to her.

  This is as close as I will ever get to her.

  I step back, trying to pull myself together as I walk into my kitchen and scribble a note for her in case she wakes up before I get back.

  I have some of the best security available, as well as it being remotely monitored by Jerry, so I feel comfortable leaving her alone here. Add in that no one should even know she is staying here, and this is likely the safest place for Scarlett right now.

  I glance down at my watch and make a point of noting the time. In the past, Scarlett would never nap longer than a couple hours, so I give myself that much time to do what I need.

  Even given the security and likelihood that no one knows where Scarlett is, I still carefully glance around my street to make sure nothing seems out of place.

  As far as I can tell, since Manuel Sanchez’s arrest
several months ago, his organization has been business as usual. So, who is running things? Do they even care that their leader is looking to be locked up for a long time?

  What am I missing?

  I ponder this for the next couple of hours as I find two men who are in Detective Tibbett’s files and proceed to clone their phones without them any the wiser. Something like this would have given me an adrenaline rush a few months ago. Now it just feels normal and easy. It helps when the security on their phones is basically prehistoric.

  Jerry has a virus that can hack into almost any security. What I have access to is basic and can be beaten by any low-key security program. But, even given how much we all rely on our phones for things such as banking and emailing, security still isn’t a top priority for most.

  It clearly isn’t for the two men I just easily hacked.

  Once I get back home and find Scarlett still sleeping, I begin to examine the information on both phones. I see a lot more porn than I hoped I would and a lot less information than I would like. But it’s a start and gets me their contacts, which is a lot more names than what was on the police report.

  Every win, no matter how small, is still a win.

  Chapter 5

  I take Scarlett to her second job after her nap, pick her up, and then drive us back to my place where we collapse on my couch. My eyes ache after hours spent going over the information, as well as my back, since I did it all from the front seat of my car.

  I used to think sitting on a desk chair all day was bad, but the uncomfortable positions I find myself doing my work in now is actually worse.

  I stretch my back, hearing the satisfying cracks and creaks as I shift from side to side.

  “You should have listened and gotten one of those desk chairs I saw online, the one that forces you to have perfect back alignment,” Scarlett tells me with a critical eye.

  “How do you think one of those would work in a car?”

  She frowns, twisting her head to the side in contemplation. “Oh, right, I forgot about that.”

  I give her a small shrug and smile, not wanting her to feel bad, given I am working a case for her, and because I always have this issue no matter what case I’m on. “It’s not a big deal. Nothing a night stretched out and sleeping in my bed won’t fix,” I say unconvincingly. My back is likely to always be in this condition, but it might be time to splurge and go see a professional.