Too Much to Lose

by Holt, Samantha

  “It’s not that simple.” I don’t elaborate. Mitch doesn’t need to hear about my money problems. Last thing I want is pity.

  He shrugs. “Well, it’s your career.”

  “It is,” I say firmly. “Just keep an eye on her. She’s not convinced but I think we’ve got someone gunning for her. Whether it’s to do with her activities or what I don’t know. Anything unusual—anything—tell me. I’m picking at straws here. If this is because of something she’s done, I’m better off finding out sooner, not just because of the job, but we can’t protect her if we have no idea what’s going on.”

  “And if it turns out she has taken that money? What then? Do we still protect her?”

  I clench my jaw and mull his words. That occurred to me too. Do I just leave her to suffer the consequences of her actions? “I don’t know. Let me do my job first, then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  Mitch sighs. “Man, when did you got so jaded?”

  Jaded? Am I that bad? Sure Richie screwing me over tarnished my opinion of people a little but I didn’t think I was jaded. I thought I wasn’t seeing things clearly because of the effect Jess has on me but maybe Richie has clouded my judgment. Either way, the only thing that will solve my dilemma is finding out what Jess is hiding. It’s something—maybe the money, maybe not. But until I know everything about that woman, I can’t make any firm decisions. And I sure as hell can’t begin to trust her yet.

  “I’ll see you later,” I tell Mitch, ignoring his statement, because, hell, he’s probably right. “I’m going to pick her up so you can head home then.”

  “Sure thing. See you later.”

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  Mitch grins. “Why would I need anything?”

  I roll my eyes. “And don’t let her come to harm.”

  “Hunter, it will be fine. Go do your detecting shit.”

  Taking in a deep breath, I shake my head and go back to the car. It takes me a while to work through the morning traffic to Jess’s apartment. The sandstone monster of a building seems all the more oppressive today. My heart makes itself known in my chest. What am I going to do if I find out she’s taken that money? Shit, I can’t believe I’ve got myself into this mess. Am I really doubting what her uncle told me? Why waste money to send me on a fool’s errand? I weigh up what I know. She’s smart. With a head for numbers. She must be planning something. But it just doesn’t jive with the Jess I know and I’m not easily fooled.

  I stomp up the stairs and pause in front of her door. No indication of forced entry or anything. I open the door, pausing to take a look around the cold apartment. Funny, it always seemed grim but without Jess in it’s like a wasteland. There’s no more letters waiting for her, no sign of the stranger from last night.

  My search starts in the kitchen where I saw that mysterious letter. Still can’t find it but without the need to tiptoe around, I can do a decent exploration. Everything is clean from the tops of the cupboards to the grouting between the dingy tiles. Hardly the behaviour of a hardened criminal or someone planning to make a break for it. Given the sparse state of the kitchenette, it doesn’t take me long to finish searching.

  The search of the living room proves fruitless and there’s nothing in the bathroom apart from the odd bandage or two. I try not to recall Jess’s soft fingers skimming my side and the way she chewed her lip with concern. What kind of a con woman plays nurse? Concentrate on the job, Hunter. Examine the place, find the money, then worry about what the hell to do with Jess.

  Entering her bedroom brings a whole load of memories—ones that make my blood zing through my veins. The pounding remorse surges through my brain and I have to shake it off. I rifle through her drawers, search on top of her closet and inside it but come up with nothing. Not even damned dust bunnies. I turn my attention to her bedside table. The one on the other side contains the pills I brought over, a bottle of perfume and some moisturizer of some kind. Now I have to tackle the cabinet on her side. This could be it and I’ve been putting it off for some reason. If she’s going to keep anything that will hint to where the money is, where better than by your side at night? My hand trembles a little as I open the drawer.

  There, under several different varieties of make-up, is the letter I’d seen. I draw it out and study the address. Guildford. Where she’d been living before she came to London? Carefully I peel open the letter and slip it out. The paper is creased as if it’s been folded and refolded several times. Words are smeared and illegible, some ruined by the creases and others by what looks to be water. Tears perhaps? This has to mean something, but what? Why keep a letter you can barely read?

  I skim over it repeatedly to garner what I can. It’s an apology of some kind. Whoever wrote it didn’t know. Didn’t know what? Jess’s name is clear at the top but the ink disintegrates as it gets further down the page. My heart does a little jolt as I study one word. Carl, it says. Jess’s uncle. Someone’s been writing to her about him. Other words start to come together now. The writer doesn’t blame Jess. She hopes she’ll move on with her life.

  “Shit.” Sinking onto her bed, I shake my head. This has to be about the money.

  I glance at the envelope again. I need to make a trip but it’s already nearly lunchtime so it will have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime I’m going to have to concentrate on not touching Jess. The gnawing ache in my chest tells me this letter is the key somehow. Everything is about to come unravelled and I’m not sure I really want that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hunter

  Three days and several phone calls later, I head to Guildford. The address turned out to be a hostel and it seemed Jess lived there briefly. I swipe the image of her living in a place like that when I debate turning around and heading back to her. From the hostel, I’ve tracked down her workplace—the pub she worked in just after her disappearing act. And then I had to track down the old owner who now owns a club. So far my calls have proved fruitless. So a visit to the owner seems in order and one of the staff told me he’d be in today.

  It takes me over an hour to reach the place on my bike. Set on a hill, the bulk of the town is spread between two streets. I park in a lot close to the club and walk over to the large brick building, its neon sign currently unlit, while I fight to forget what it had been like to spend evenings with Jess or how she sweetly said goodbye as I dropped her off. Jess curled up on the couch with big fluffy socks on and some cute tartan shorts has become my new fucking fantasy I think. I spent most of the night considering peeling those damned socks off and kissing the arch of her foot. The uncertain girl from the first night had dissipated and in its place was a woman who is close to irresistible. Only the knowledge that I planned to dig further into her past prevented me from trying anything.

  Palms clammy, I push open the door to the club and two women swivel to face me from behind the bar.

  “We’re closed,” the blonde one says, pausing mid-swipe as she cleans down the bar.

  In the light of day, the club looks bare and lifeless. The empty dance floor covers the back, and a DJ Booth waits patiently for someone to bang out some tunes. The bitter tang of cleaning fluid pervades my nostrils when I approach the bar, but clearly the floors haven’t been cleaned yet as they’re sticky underfoot.

  “Sir,” the blonde drops her cleaning cloth and glances at her dark-haired colleague, “we’re closed. You shouldn’t be in here.”

  I paste on a charming smile and her stance softens. I resist smirking. Looks like I haven’t completely lost my touch, even if Jess doesn’t fall for it. “Is there any chance of speaking with the manager?”

  “We’re not looking for any new suppliers,” she says warily.

  “I’m not a supplier. I need to speak to your boss about an ex employee. A missing person’s case.”

  She draws in a breath. “Missing persons? Are you a cop?”

  I shake my head. “Private Investigator.”

  “Oh, cool.” A smile breaks acros
s her face and her shoulders ease back.

  I skim my gaze over her. Pretty. Decent figure. Not my type. Not anymore anyway. I prefer… shit, I prefer Jess. I’m not sure I even have a type now. I’m a fucking sucker for a hot brunette rock chick.

  “Let me take you up to the office,” she offers, grin turning flirtatious.

  “Sure.” I smile back. I don’t want to piss off the gatekeeper quite yet.

  “I’m Bella,” she informs me and leads the way out a door in the rear and up some stairs. We pause outside the door to what I assume is the office and she faces me, tucking a hair behind her ear. On Jess I’d find it charming but on Bella, not so much. Everything she does is deliberately flirtatious. With Jess, it’s all natural.

  “Wait here, I’ll let Mr Harris know you’re here. What’s your name?”

  “Hunter O’Reilly. O’Reilly Investigations. Tell him I’m looking into the disappearance of Jessica Callahan.”

  “Hunter,” she practically breathes and I mask a shudder. “I’ll be right back.”

  Bella slips in the door and I tap my foot as I wait. I hear muted voices but nothing out of the ordinary. The door opens again and Bella beams at me as if she’s just solved world hunger. “Go on in. And if you get the chance, stop for a drink after.”

  “Thanks, Bella. I appreciate it.” I don’t respond to her invite. All I want to do is finish this job and get back to Jess. Whatever comes out of this, I’m becoming convinced we can work through it.

  Kyle Harris rises from his seat when I enter and I shut the door behind me. He offers a hand and I take it, surprised by the strong grip. He’s a wiry man, slightly owlish. Not the depraved businessman I thought he might be.

  “Please take a seat. Excuse the mess.” He waves at the papers scattered over his desk. “How can I help, Mr O’Reilly? Bella said you wanted to ask about Jessica Callahan?”

  “Yeah, I spoke to the owners of The Bell and they said you owned this place now.”

  The grey-haired man chuckled. “Decided to get out of the pub game and go big. Regretting it now. I spend half my time dealing with incompetent or unreliable staff, and drunken idiots smashing the place up. Give me a village pub any day.”

  I nod sympathetically. “You owned this place long?”

  “Just over a year. Still finding my feet. Anyway, you wanted to know about Jessica?”

  “Yeah, my client is looking for her,” I lie fluently. “The last place she worked was the pub.” People are more likely to give you answers if they feel sympathetic.

  “Poor girl. I hope she is okay—I hope you find her.” Kyle runs a hand through his cropped hair. “She was a sweet kid. I don’t know what had happened to her before but she was desperate for a job. I thought she’d probably run away from somewhere but she never said.”

  “Why did you take her on?”

  “She offered to work a few nights for free, to prove what a hard worker she was. One of the waitresses had quit so I said sure. I didn’t regret it. Jessica was one of the best employees I’ve ever had, especially for a kid so young. She had a determination in her that you don’t see in the younger staff. I get a lot of staff come and go, but you don’t forget someone like that.”

  I nod. This sounded like Jess. “Was she happy working there?”

  “Happy enough. Waitressing isn’t anyone’s dream job, but she made friends with some of the staff and a few of the college kids who were around her age. She dated one for a while but it ended badly.”

  “Ended badly how?” Jealousy crushes tight around my windpipe and I have to force myself to concentrate on Kyle’s words.

  “I don’t know the details. She came in really upset one day—all shaky and unable to concentrate. I tried to send her home—she was living in a hostel at the time I think, after the boyfriend kicked her out—but she said she wanted to work. By the time we closed that night, she was a wreck. I’d been working the bar while she worked the restaurant and I didn’t get much of a chance to check on her.” He sighs. “I wish I had. Maybe I could have found out what went on. I did ask her—and the staff—but no one would tell me anything. I asked her if she was all right before she left for the night. She said she was fine, said she’d see me tomorrow and that was that. I never saw her again. No one knew where she was and her ex-boyfriend told me he was glad she was gone. Jackass.”

  “Do you know this ex-boyfriend’s name, or any of her friend’s names?”

  “Not sure about the others but he was Peter—Pete usually—Wilkins. He actually comes in here sometimes. Works in marketing now, over at Selby’s Insurance in the industrial estate. Thinks he’s some kind of hotshot. He doesn’t cause any trouble but he always comes in with a different girl on his arm and comes onto all the female bar staff.”

  I hate him already. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can talk to him.” I slide a card out of my jacket and pass it over. “Will you let me know if you think of anything else that could help?”

  “Of course.” I stand and Kyle follows suit. “Mr O’Reilly, can you tell me if you’ve got a lead on her?”

  “I think I have.”

  “And she’s okay?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “If you get the chance or if you talk to her, tell her to get in touch. I’d like to know she’s safe.”

  I nod. “Thanks, Mr Harris.”

  He shows me out and I avoid Bella and her offer of a drink. Pausing outside, I rub a hand over my rough jaw. What happened to make her pack in a job and move to London? Was she moving to escape heartbreak? Did this Pete hurt her? I need to get a grip on my emotions or I can see me ploughing a fist into his face before I even get the chance to ask any questions, and he’s my one lead. I can’t afford to fuck this up.

  Tension and nerves eat into me. I’m not sure I want the truth. What if I’m digging up stuff that’s going to make her life worse? I already witnessed one of her nightmares. I swipe my hand through my hair and clasp the back of my neck. That gut feeling that these things are better off buried is biting into my conscience.

  I grab my bike out of the club car park and sit on it for a moment, feeling the engine thrum underneath me. Twisting my hands on the handles, I draw in a breath. What other choice do I have? Lose the house? Lose the business? I refuse to be a useless bum like my father. He barely contributed when he was alive—preferring alcohol and get rich quick schemes to hard work and his family. Him leaving was a blessing and a curse. My mother finally got on her feet but it took years and years of working two jobs. The woman was selfless and that damned house is a testament to that. How the hell can I give up my one chance to save the home she loved?

  Dammit. Driving out the car park, I head up to the industrial estate. The building is easy enough to spot with its big sign outside. I find a place to park, turn off the engine and unclip my helmet, tucking it under my arm. I push through the door and pause at reception.

  A harassed looking woman eyes me. “Deliveries that way,” she points to the right.

  “I’m looking for Peter Wilkins.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “No.” I don’t even try to be charming. She looks too no-nonsense and I’m too fucking antsy.

  “Give me a second.” She sighs as the phone rings and she answers it, plastering on an artificial sweet tone.

  I rest against the desk, leaning deliberately in so she doesn’t forget me while I wait. When she’s finished, she offers me a weak smile and jabs the phone.

  “Peter? There’s someone here to see you. No, I don’t know—” She glances at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Hunter O’Reilly. Tell him I’m here about Jessica Callahan.”

  I can’t decide if revealing my hand is the best idea but I’m not willing to wait it out much longer.

  “His name is Hunter O’Reilly. He says he’s here about a Jessica Callahan.” She pauses and nods to the phone. “Right, sure.” Placing the phone down, she motions to some hard-looking, but highly stylish plastic chairs. “Take a sea
t, he’ll be down in a moment.”

  I don’t have to wait long. The elevator doors slide open and out steps Peter. I can tell it’s him. He walks with an arrogant air—matching my mental picture perfectly. His blond hair is cut into an expensive style, one that probably takes him a good fifteen minutes to style each morning and he flashes a charming smile. I recognize that smile—I use it myself—but there’s something innately dangerous behind it. Perhaps something that only a guy could recognize. I can see why Jess fell for him, I realize bitterly.

  Pete offers his hand and I stand, drawing myself to my full height. I’m a few inches taller than him and plan to use it to my advantage.

  “Hi, I’m Peter Wilkins. Jules said you were asking about Jessica?”

  I shake his hand. “Yeah, I’m from O’Reilly Investigations. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. Is there anywhere we can talk?”

  “What’s happened? Has she done something stupid? Illegal perhaps?”

  His eagerness grates against my nerves but at least it should be easy to get him to talk. “I need to ask you a few questions about her, if you don’t mind.

  “Sure, we can talk in one of the conference rooms. Jules, is room two free?” he calls over to the receptionist who nods unenthusiastically. “Follow me.”

  He leads me into a plain room, only big enough for eight people. Peter opens the blind and motions to one of the chairs. “Take a seat.”

  I sit, trying to crush the idea that we’re alone and if I don’t like his answers I might even get away with beating the shit out of him. He sits opposite. The large grey table is wide so I’d have to jump over it to get at him but he’s put me between him and the door. Idiot. I mask a smirk. Peter is charm itself at the moment but I bet that would change if he realized what I was thinking.

  “So how can I help? I’ll admit I didn’t think I’d hear that name again.”

  “You dated, right?”

  “Yeah, we lived together for a while.”

  “What happened?”

  “Can I ask what’s going on? Is she in trouble?”