by Evie Nichole
“See, you basically solved the case,” Zoe said, nudging Monica’s shoulder gently. Chris chuckled deeply, and Monica was shocked to see him smile.
“You definitely made a big difference. Again, thank you.”
“Chris?”
He stopped on his way out once more, turning back.
“Are Jason’s parents coming in to be with him?”
“Stephen spoke to them this morning. They can’t get away until the weekend, but yes.”
Monica nodded. “Thank you, Chris.” He left.
“See?” Zoe said, and Monica had to admit that her spirits were lifted significantly.
Chapter 18
“Monica. Monica.” Her mother’s face swam before her eyes. The light outside the window was very pale; it was early morning. Monica raised her head up, looking around. Zoe was asleep in a chair in the corner.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“Someone wants to see you,” she whispered with a conspiring smile. There was a nurse in the doorway, who rolled a wheelchair over to Monica’s bed, and they helped Monica into it. Her mother wheeled her down the hallway and into the room Jason was in. Monica’s heart was racing. She wished she had looked in a mirror before they left and brushed her teeth.
She saw him, propped up halfway by his bed; there was a nurse checking his machines, who looked up and smiled when she saw Monica. She hurried out of the room, and her mom followed her after parking her right next to Jason’s bed. She heard the nurse say “young love” in an overly romantic tone.
Jason chuckled.
“What are we, teenagers?” She smiled at him, and he smiled back. They stared at each other for minutes, taking each other in. She was replaying everything in her mind, and she wondered if he was doing the same.
“Monica, I—”
“Don’t apologize.” He frowned at her, frustrated it. “Here’s the deal,” she continued, smirking at him. “We both feel like we have things to apologize for, but we both also feel like the other has nothing to apologize for. And we both can’t express how grateful we are for what the other did for us. So, no apologies. Okay?”
He stared at her blankly, and then started shaking his head with a closed-mouth smile.
“What?” she asked.
“I really like you,” he said, his eyes full of everything words were too small to capture.
“I really like you, too, Jason.” She reached up, taking his hand. He pulled hers up to his mouth, placing a soft kiss there. She closed her eyes and smiled. Then she snapped her eyes open, her smile turning into a mischievous smirk. He looked at her in shocked concern.
“You lied to me again,” she said, mockingly serious.
He raised his eyebrows, looking confused and genuinely worried.
“Your name is not Jason Smith.”
He laughed out loud, hard. He stopped almost immediately, holding his side and grimacing.
“Oh, I’m sorry, no laughing.”
“It’s okay,” he said, relaxing slowly.
She lifted up her hand, which he’d dropped in his pain, and held it out to him. He took it, his face full of happiness.
“Monica Watson, and you are?”
“Jason Crenshaw. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He lifted her hand to kiss it again, letting his mouth linger. Her smile was joyful.
“Oh, no,” she said saucily, pulling his hand to her mouth, and kissing it just as gently. “Believe me,” he turned his hand over and she leaned her head in to let him cup her cheek, closing her eyes contentedly, “the pleasure’s all mine.”
~ END ~
FINDING SARAH
Chapter One
Selene Velasquez was tired. Her eyes burned and her mind wandered back to her nightly nightmare. It was the same one, every single night, for the past six months.
A teenage boy runs through the dilapidated village, dust covers his determined face. There was always dust there. Dust, sand, and despair. Plenty to go around. His face is unreadable just before the bomb strapped to his torso spreads him across the pothole-riddled road in thousands of pieces.
“Miss Velasquez?”
Selene blinked, attempting to dismiss the memory. “Yes? Sorry.” She shook her head slightly. “You were saying?”
The man cleared his throat, an annoying habit Selene had picked up on in only the few minutes they had spent together.
“Sarah Mitchell Bailey. Are you familiar with the name?” His blood shot eyes bore into her. His expensive cologne irritated her nose.
Selene leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands loosely over her stomach.
“I read about her disappearance in the paper. I take it she’s the reason for your urgent phone call at five this morning?” She couldn’t have kept the bite from her words if she had tried. The fact that he waved her inconvenience off with barely a brush of his hand did nothing to soothe her nerves.
“She’s my daughter.”
“Ok.” Selene kept her mocha-colored eyes on him, waiting for more. He watched her with something akin to disappointment.
“So, yes, that’s why I urgently called you at five this morning.”
“She’s been missing for over six months.” Selene brought her body forward, placing her still clasped hands on her desk. “Your sense of urgency is a little…delayed, Mr. Mitchell.”
He smirked and allowed his gaze to scan a small piece of wall to the right of Selene’s desk. His large face tightened as he looked at the shadow box and two framed documents.
“Purple Heart. Medal of Honor. A bachelor’s degree to boot.” His gaze returned to her. “Impressive.” He crossed one leg over the other and seemed to relax. “Is the Purple Heart why you are no longer a Marine?”
“It is.”
“How many tours?”
“Three.”
“By your choosing?”
Selene felt heat rush up her face. Her time spent serving her country was not part of this man’s agenda; he was using it as some sort of underhanded tactic to knock her off her guard.
“What do you want, Mr. Mitchell?”
“I need someone who can get close to the main suspect in my daughter’s missing person case.”
“Who is the main suspect?”
“Barkley Bailey, of course.” His mirthless smile sent a chill up her spine. A man’s son-in-law being the main suspect in the disappearance of his daughter was hardly a thing to smile about, mirthless or not.
“The papers said he was taken off of the suspects list.” Selene stood and peeked nonchalantly between the blinds. The street below was just beginning to see a little foot traffic. She turned back to him, her own cold smile barely touching her lips. “As a matter of fact, the papers also stated that it was believed that she simply walked out of her own life because she wanted to. There is virtually no suspect list at this point. No leads either.”
Lucas Mitchell’s face fell, his bald head suddenly glistening with sweat. “A shot in the dark statement made by an incompetent police department.”
“Sounds like you really just have it out for Barkley.” Selene returned to her chair. “Isn’t that the way of it though? No one is really good enough for Daddy’s little princess?”
“On the contrary. I like Barkley. But he can be as ruthless and underhanded as…”
“You?” Selene interrupted. This was the first glimpse she had given him that she knew far more about him than she originally let on.
His smile returned, his mammoth body once again sinking into a relaxed pose. “Yes.” His chuckle was low and throaty. “Your reputation for fast and efficient research obviously precedes you.”
“Why me?”
“Pardon?”
Selene was tired of his charade. “Why do you specifically want me for your case?”
“I need someone Barkley will never suspect. I need someone who will catch his attention and throw him off guard.”
“How do I fit into that scenario?”
Selene jumped as Lucas Mitchell threw hi
s head back and laughed. It was like thunder rolling through her cramped office.
“Have you seen yourself? Nice body. Long black wavy hair.” The dismissive wave again. “He’ll be shell shocked.” His face became serious. “I hope that wasn’t in poor taste.”
Everything about you is in poor taste.
“How would you like me to get close to him? I mean, a man of his caliber and financial standing doesn’t just see anyone.”
“Oh, he’ll see you.” He stood slowly and pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “He’ll see plenty of you, in fact. The bastard is throwing himself a massive fortieth birthday party tomorrow night. I’ve anonymously arranged for a stripper to appear.”
Selene’s eyes bulged. “You want me to pose as a stripper?”
Lucas retrieved his walking cane from beside the door. He glanced back at her momentarily. “That envelope is one weeks’ worth of payment. I will pay that amount every week until you find my daughter.” He shrugged. “If you don’t want the job, then say so…but only after you look in the envelope.”
Before she could object further, Lucas Mitchell was gone, his bulky body making each wooden step creak…all the way down to the ground floor.
Selene opened the envelope and carefully counted forty-one hundred-dollar bills. A smile spread across her face.
Hell yes, I can be a stripper.
Selene parked her faded Toyota Corolla a good block and a half from Barkley Bailey’s townhouse. She had spent most of the previous day and a good chunk of the morning, investigating Barkley himself. He not only owned the three-story brownstone she was getting ready to enter, but an impressive manor-style house in the lush green countryside of Virginia, and a beach home somewhere in the Caymans. He was worth just over two-point-eight-billion dollars, and it was all thanks to a rich father who helped him launch an internet company twelve years prior. Barkley was an odd combination of old and new money.
Selene clicked along Madison Street, her platform high heels leaving a staccato sound in her wake. She was used to moving fast. She hoped her little stint as a stripper would move equally as fast. She knew she was pretty. It was usually more of a burden than a blessing. It took her cutting her hair to boy length and ceasing to wear makeup, before anyone in her squad took her seriously. Eventually she just became one of the boys, and that was just fine with her. But now she felt alien walking in the shoes, keenly aware of the vampish makeup she had so carefully applied. Her five-foot-four stature, now elevated to five foot seven, was the only fun thing about her get up.
Selene took a deep breath as she rounded the corner and saw Barkley’s home rising from behind a neat row of box bushes. It appeared that every light was burning on the first two floors. The darkened third floor made her think of Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester, and the secret he kept in his attic.
If you have secrets, Mr. Bailey, I will find them out.
Selene took the steps to the front door and didn’t hesitate before ringing the bell. Hesitation often brought doubt, and doubt fear. She couldn’t afford either currently. Who was the worst person that may answer? A grouchy butler? A private security guard with a secret-service-style earpiece in one ear? She had seen worse. Much worse.
A short man with a ring of dark hair just over his ears answered the door. He held a tumbler of some kind of light liquid, the ice within clinking together lightly, as her appraised her from head to toe.
“May I help you, hon?”
Selene flattened her eyes and popped the gum loudly she had made sure to bring along. She didn’t know why, but she always pictured strippers as tough cookies with plenty of attitude, popping gum as they fended off over zealous voyeurs.
“I’m the surprise for Mr. Bailey.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah!” He turned and yelled through the foyer. “Hey, Chuck! Barkley’s extra special surprise is here!”
Another man trotted down the hall, the smell of cigar smoke and jazz music clinging to him as he approached. His blonde hair was gelled to perfection, and he had the look of Ivy League. Selene wondered what Barkley would look like. He was elusive of the press, and she was only able to find a high school graduation photo of him that was used in more than three different articles concerning his success. He was slightly above average looking in the photo, a firm jaw line and deep-set eyes, but the picture was twenty-two years old. A lot could change in twenty-two years. In the few pictures used in articles concerning his missing wife, he always had a hand up to block the camera. Maybe he was flawed in some way. She suspected he was just going to look like any average computer nerd.
Chuck grinned and motioned for Selene to follow. “So, who sent you? I mean we, Tom and I here, thought about it”—he motioned back to his shorter friend—“but Barkley is funny about stuff.”
“My client wishes to remain anonymous.”
“Right, right.” He beamed and led her to a bathroom.
“What’s this?”
“So, you can get ready.”
Selene closed the door on their stupidly grinning faces.
The bathroom was done up in simple class. Deep beige walls with an off-white tub and toilet. Gold accents were here and there, and the hand towels were a deep brown.
Man colors, Selene thought. Only a man would keep it this simple and boring.
Selene took her raincoat off with a sigh and removed the loose fitting t-shirt and pants she had on underneath. She had no idea what a stripper wore, but luckily for her there was a Sasha’s on the other side of the bridge. The sales associate bought her story of just landing a job as a dancer in one of the many clubs the city had to offer, and wholeheartedly jumped at the chance to help her find just the right outfit.
Selene frowned at her herself in the wide mirror. “Outfit” was an extremely loose term. Her attire consisted of a sparkly purple thong with an easily removed matching corset. Her nipples were covered underneath with tassels. It was the one compromise the sales clerk had to make.
“Most will want the breasts completely exposed,” she had said. “Is it a Burlesque type of place?”
Selene had smiled slowly. Burlesque would be a perfect option.
“Why yes, yes it is.”
The sales clerk had nodded knowingly, albeit a bit disappointedly, and showed Selene a whole different array of things to be used for that type of show.
Selene hoped the quick internet research she had done would suffice. Luckily, she could hold her own on the dance floor, but this would be a bit different.
The other compromise the sales associate had to agree to was a purple belly dancers hip wrap. She strategically arranged it so that one hip was covered, but left the other exposed. She doubted strippers had the kinds of scars she held.
A small knock sounded.
“Sweetie? You about ready?”
Selene rolled her eyes.
“Yeah.”
She grabbed the portable CD player she had brought along and adjusted her corset before opening the door. The men practically fell in as she swung the door open.
“Did you think I would try and escape?”
A quick embarrassed glance passed between the men.
“Oh no!” Chuck offered. “We just wanted to make sure that you had everything you needed.”
Selene stared at them blankly. “I’m a stripper. How much could I possibly need?”
The embarrassed look passed between them again. “Alright, so we will go back in there with Barkley, and when you hear “Happy Birthday” end, you just come on in and do your thing.” Chuck ran a finger down Selene’s arm. She watched its trail to her wrist before slapping his hand away.
“Let’s get one thing straight right now. No one touches me. I mean no one. If someone tries anything funny, I’ll just have to shoot him. Got it?”
Both men nodded soberly.
Selene pushed the CD player into Chuck’s hands. “It’s track one. I’ll come in when I hear it start.”
The men hurried away.
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Selene wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her thighs. She wondered if Lucas Mitchell had been wrong about the whole big party thing. She could definitely hear voices, but she doubted there were more than fifteen or twenty people on the other side of the double doors her escorts had vanished through.
She took a moment to look at the space where she had been left. The ceilings were high. The foyer opened up on one side to a formal living room, the décor elegant but not functional. There was lots of glass and leather, but nothing to indicate that the room was used as anything more than a showpiece. The opposite side of the hall had a closed door. She was about to peek when she heard “Happy Birthday” begin.
She hadn’t known what song to pick. “Get Low” seemed like as good a choice as any. The music began, and she shed her normal persona and became “Gisele” the stripper, throwing the double doors open with both hands.
Selene bounced her way into the room, an easy sweep of her eyes revealed that Mitchell had in fact been wrong. There were maybe twenty-five people counting the birthday boy. Looks of shock rippled through the room, as Selene whipped her long hair around and pinned her target with her eyes. The few women in attendance were replacing their shocked looks with twisted sour ones.
She had to keep her own surprise from showing. An overstuffed armchair held the man of the hour. Chuck and his short friend were laughing and play punching Barkley Bailey in the shoulder. Barkley’s face still held his surprise, but his mouth was twitching upward into a bewildered smile.
Selene gyrated towards him. She wasn’t prepared for his bright green eyes, or his wavy brown hair. She wasn’t expecting him to be the most handsome man she had ever seen. His face had an almost chiseled look. Strong features with those deep-set, magnificent eyes. And then there were the dimples. Those damned dimples gave him a boyishly innocent look at first glance, but with a closer inspection, they revealed a sexy mischievousness.
