“What happened?” I blurt.
“We just weren’t good together,” she says with a shrug. “Divorce isn’t that uncommon, honey.”
That’s not what I meant and she knows it. I can see it in her eyes.
I say nothing, hoping she’ll keep talking.
But she says nothing, and focuses all her attention on my hair.
Chapter Eleven
Jason
I’m seated at a rectangular wooden table with Wes, Vance, and our client, Gary. My elbows rest on the tabletop, my chin in my hands, and I watch as Wes taps the screen of the iPad. The video surveillance footage immediately begins to play.
We’re tucked away in a small alcove in the back corner of Heaven Here Coffee. The alcoves are one of the reasons we meet with clients here. They give a semblance of privacy, blocking out other patrons from seeing us. The soft sounds of a rainforest are coming through the speakers and the rich scent of coffee floats in the air.
To his credit, Gary’s expression doesn’t change as the video plays. There’s a moment of silence when the feed ends, before he looks up at me. “I can’t believe this.”
This is not an uncommon reaction for a client. It happens more often than not. People see the proof and they don’t want it to be true. It’s so much simpler to suspect than to know.
Except Gary had his doubts in the first place. That’s why we were hired. But like most clients, he wanted to be wrong.
He wants us to be wrong, too.
“I’m sorry, Gary,” I say, purposefully keeping my voice steady and cool, as to not make this any harder on him than it has to be. I slide an envelope containing photos and a written report of our findings across the table to him. “I know seeing this can’t be easy.”
His features begin to crack as he picks up the envelope and dumps the contents onto the table. He shuffles through the photos. I’m not sure if he thinks what we found is better or worse than he suspected.
His wife isn’t sleeping with the gardener.
But his seventeen-year-old daughter is.
I’m not sure which is better.
I think I’d want to kill the gardener either way.
He laughs, shocked and uneasy, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
It’s not my business how he handles it from here.
It can’t be.
“What you do with this is entirely up to you,” I reply. “We’ll give you all copies of everything we’ve collected.”
My phone rings, distracting me from the conversation. I fish it out of my pocket and glance at the call display.
Liam.
I stare at it for a moment, seeing the name flash back at me, before pressing the button to silence the ringing and placing the phone on the table.
He found something already.
He wouldn’t be calling yet otherwise.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
“So you don’t keep anything on file?” Gary asks, sorting through the photos and shoving them back in the envelope. “What about the negatives?”
I understand his worries. It’s all about image. People with money always worry about their image. How others perceive them.
Looks like Gary is no different from the others.
“We keep a shortened report,” Wes says. “And enough info on you to bill you for our time. You can have the negatives or we can destroy them along with the video file after we send you the copy.”
Gary nods, seemingly content with this response. He should be. Our image is just as important as his. Leaking cases would ruin us. He knows that.
My phone starts ringing again, and once again, Liam’s name flashes across the screen. Calling twice in under two minutes, not leaving a voicemail …
My stomach coils.
That’s not good.
“Gotta take this,” I mutter, snagging up my phone and standing up quickly. Vance narrows his eyes, so does Wes, but they don’t say anything. Gary is still muttering over the photos as though if he says this has to be a mistake enough, the images will change to whatever it is he wants to see.
Stepping away from the table, I press the answer button and bring the phone to my ear. “Yeah.”
“Jase.” His voice sounds terse, annoyed maybe. Tired for sure, but that’s the nature of our work. Late nights, early mornings. It catches up to you quickly.
“Yeah,” I say again, walking to the door. “What’s up?”
“You just sent me to voicemail,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re ignoring me.”
Pushing the door open, I step outside and start across the parking lot toward my car. “I was in a meeting,” I tell him. “What’s going on?”
“Thought you’d like to know that I found him,” Liam says.
“I figured as much,” I say, stopping beside my car and leaning against it. “You find anything else?”
“Yeah. The cop’s been having breakfast with that girl’s parents daily,” he says. “From what I got from one of the bakers, he’s only missed a few days over the last year.”
That doesn’t surprise me.
From what Elena said last night, Peck had tracked her down a few times, the last being three months ago, just before she hooked up with my old man. He knows she’s still alive. Knows she’s still running. He’s probably waiting for her to get sloppy again.
“He’s probably hoping she’ll call them at some point.”
“Maybe,” Liam agrees. “But there’s more. After Peck left the bakery, he picked up the brother. The guy was just standing there on the corner about two blocks away. Peck stopped, jumped out of the cruiser, and slapped cuffs on him. The guy didn’t look surprised. Didn’t say a word. Just went along with it. It was as though he were expecting it. He was taken to the station. Hasn’t been released yet.”
“Huh,” I say. I’m not sure what to make of that. I’m not sure if I’m surprised or not. Maybe Peck’s caught wind of Elena again and decided to follow through on his threats to lock her brother up?
“Yeah,” Liam says. “That pretty much sums it up.”
“Stay on him, will you?” I ask. “And let me know when the brother comes out.”
“Sure, Jase, whatever you need.” He’s quiet for a moment, before asking, “You want me to run a check on the brother?”
“Nah,” I say. “I’m gonna stop in at the station. I’ll get Cruz to run it.”
I hang up, slipping my phone into the pocket of my jeans. Sighing, I just stand there for a moment in silence, taking a minute to gather myself before heading back into the coffee shop.
Twenty minutes later, the meeting is finally over, and we head out the door. It’s still early, nearly ten o’clock, and as much as I don’t want to leave Elena alone with my mother any longer than needed, I know she won’t be too thrilled with the idea of coming to the police station with me, and I’m not too keen on the idea either. I should have another half an hour before her hair is done. Enough time to stop by the police station, but probably not enough to move all the stuff I have on my old man from my house.
Standing beside my car, I turn to Wes. “Can you—?”
“Nope.”
I stall, my hand on the door handle, taking in his annoyed expression. “I need you to—”
“Nope,” he says again, this time shaking his head.
“Fine,” I bite out, pulling open the car door. “See you guys later.”
I don’t know what’s gotten into him.
Okay, maybe I do know. He’s pissed I walked out of the meeting. Looking at Vance, I’d have to say he’s not too impressed either, but right now, I don’t care.
“Jase, stop,” Wes says. “Give us a couple minutes, will you?”
Sighing, I pause and glance back at him. I don’t have time for this. Keeping my words tentative, I say, “I got a lot to do before I pick her up.”
“What did Liam say?” Vance asks harshly, ignoring my statement. He watches me with an eyebrow
raised—waiting.
He’s unhappy.
I don’t blame him. He has every right to be unhappy with me right now.
I close the door, leaning my arms on the roof of the car. “Peck’s keeping in touch with her family—daily. He also picked up her brother this morning.”
“How are you planning to deal with that?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“I’m not sure yet,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ll figure that out later. Right now, I’m going to see Cruz.”
“Okay,” Wes says slowly. “What about Elena? How do you think she’s gonna take this?”
I hesitate. I don’t think she’ll take it well. Actually, after listening to her last night, I think she’ll probably crack over this.
“I don’t think I’ll be telling her,” I admit. “At least not until I find out why he was picked up.”
Shaking his head, Wes grins. “You think keeping this from her is a good call?”
No, probably not.
I shrug a shoulder. “There’s no point in worrying her.”
Vance full out laughs. “Heads up,” he says. “That’s probably a mistake.”
“No different than any other case,” I counter. “We get the facts, and then share them.”
“This isn’t like any other case,” Vance points out. “The client is living in your house.”
I grimace. Point received.
It doesn’t change my mind, though. Actually, it only makes me more certain that keeping this quiet for now is for the best.
“Can one of you head to my place, empty out the safe?” I ask. “Won’t be able to get that stuff moved before picking her up.”
“Sure,” Vance says and nods. “I’ll handle it.”
“You want me to come with you?” Wes asks.
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I’ve got this.”
Wes doesn’t look happy with my response, but he doesn’t protest it either.
In good traffic, the drive to the police station takes ten minutes. Today it takes me nearly fifteen. I park my car right in front of the building, and make my way in.
At the front desk, I have to wait a few moments to be noticed, as the young officer behind it finishes up whatever she’s doing on the computer.
I smile when she looks up. “I need to speak with Detective Cruz.”
She asks me my name and smiles at me warmly, before she picks up the phone, paging him, and tells me to take a seat.
I only wait about five minutes, before I see Cruz coming through a door off to the side of the reception desk. He smiles when he spots me and waves me over.
“What can I do for you, Jason?”
“Just in the neighborhood,” I say casually, as another officer walks past us. “Thought I’d stop by and see how my friend was doing.”
Cruz laughs, amused at my choice of words. We aren’t friends. Never have been. We’ve known each other since high school, but never really crossed paths until he became a cop. We found ourselves working on the same case, for different reasons, with different targets, and ended up sharing information.
One thing led to another, and we’ve been working together—off the books—for a few years now.
It’s been a slightly tense relationship, but it’s a needed one.
For both of us.
He gestures for me to follow him and leads me down a hallway, stopping in front of an interview room, and pushes the door open. Wordlessly, I go in, and slip into a chair at the table.
Cruz closes the door behind us and gives me a look. “How about we cut out the friend bullshit and you tell me what you’re here for?”
Straight to the point.
I’ve always liked that about Cruz.
There’s no bullshit with him.
No dicking around.
“A friend of mine was picked up about an hour ago in New York,” I say. “I need to know why and I need you to run a full check on him.”
“Does this friend have anything to do with the girl you moved into your house?” he questions, keeping his face straight, as he takes a seat across from me.
I curve an eyebrow at him. “You’re not watching my house again, are you?”
His smile freezes.
He hears the thinly veiled warning in my voice.
He knows I won’t put up with that shit again.
He tried it once. Had me followed. Staked out my house. I clocked them right away and let it slide for a week before calling him out on it.
He thought I was feeding him fake leads on our joint cases. So he figured if he watched me, he’d be able to see it all first-hand. He’d be able to prove I wasn’t being upfront with him.
But I wasn’t giving him fake leads. He was just too slow on the uptake. He took his time verifying everything, and by the time that was done, the leads were cold.
I made it clear he’d lose my info if he ever tried that shit again.
“Savannah had coffee with Lynn this morning,” he says quickly, explaining. “I guess she passed by your house on her way, saw a new car in the driveway and you getting into your car with some girl. She was upset.”
Upset. I laugh. Savannah doesn’t do upset. She has two emotions: saccharine sweet and raging lunatic. I took the woman out three times close to a year ago now, and I haven’t been able to shake her yet.
“Nice. Savannah on a rampage again. Just what I need.” I suppress a groan and wanting to get back on track, I cut him a look. “Thought we weren’t doing the friend bullshit.”
He doesn’t look happy with my response.
But then, he wasn’t thrilled when I hooked up with his sister-in-law, either.
If I’d have known who Savannah was to him at the time, I would have steered clear.
Can’t rewrite the past, though.
After a moment, he sighs. “Okay, fine. Is this for a case?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me the details,” he says, his voice monotone, and he pulls out a notebook.
I rattle off the guy’s name, age, and arresting officer, giving Cruz as much detail as I can, which really isn’t a lot, but it’s enough. The name, age, and location will give us a hit.
He jots it all down, and then glances up at me. “I’ll call when I’ve got something.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing up. I head for the door, and then pause, looking back at him. “One more thing. Can you rein in Savannah? I don’t need her spewing her shit right now.”
He regards me warily for a moment, and then grumbles, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Twelve
Elena
A new environment makes a world of difference.
I think this year’s fortune just might be true.
Or maybe it should have read: A new hair-do makes a world of difference.
At the moment, I believe that both could apply.
Unblinking, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, as I twist a dark strand of hair around my finger, scrutinizing it. In this light, it makes my skin look pale. Not unhealthy, just lighter than normal. The cut is shorter than I typically wear it, coming to rest just above my shoulders, and the tapered layers cause my natural waves to bounce up into soft curls at the back, though the front is still fairly straight.
The cut and color changes my appearance more than I thought it would.
My eyes look brighter, a sharper blue.
My cheekbones look higher.
Even my lips look different, fuller somehow.
It’s remarkable.
Suddenly, looking at myself in the mirror, I feel free. Freer than I’ve ever felt before.
Mona is scuttling around the salon, packing up make-up, hairbrushes, shampoo, conditioner, and anything she can think of that I may need while I’m here. I tried to stop her, feeling completely uncomfortable with her generosity, but she wouldn’t listen, telling me if I leave it to Jason to think of these things, I’d never get them.
I think she’s even packed me a hairdryer.
“You like it, right?” Mona asks as she sets down a cloth shopping bag filled with beauty supplies by my feet.
I grin. “I love it. Thank you so, so much.”
I mean thank you for more than just the hair. I think she knows that, too. Although she wouldn’t answer my questions about Mr. Chapman, she didn’t hesitate on giving me pointers on dealing with Jason.
Except, I’m not entirely sure why she thought that I needed to know that he’s allergic to bleach, or that he hates floral perfume, but she did.
I believe she thinks there’s more going on between us than there really is.
Is it completely crazy that knowing that makes me a bit giddy?
Yes, it probably is.
I catch a sight of Jason approaching me in the mirror, and my attention is drawn to his reflection. I feel a hum of excitement, mixed with trepidation, as he approaches me.
He has that look in his eyes. The one from yesterday. Protective, possessive. He moves toward me with confidence.
I freeze.
My thoughts freeze, my breathing pauses.
Good God, he looks sexy, looking at me like that.
Mona must see it, too, because she giggles, and wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving me a little squeeze. “You need anything, anything at all, you call me, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, keeping my eyes fixed on her son.
She steps away, grinning, as Jason comes up behind me, stopping close. His eyes run down the length of me, then come back to rest on my hair. He reaches up, gently untwisting a strand of hair from my finger, studying me carefully, and I feel my cheeks heat under his gaze.
“Beautiful.” There’s something strange in his voice as he says it, a kind of unease or insecurity perhaps.
I stare at him for a moment, blinking. Good God, he just called me beautiful, didn’t he? Something inside me flutters from the compliment. I blush, fiddling with the hem of my shirt, and swallow thickly. “Um … Thanks.”
Straightening, he lets his hand fall from my hair, resting it on my hip, and he gently squeezes. “You ready to get out of here?”
“That depends,” I say. “Are you going to stash me somewhere else?”
Two Truths and a Lie Page 9
