by Trish Adams
Jason snorted. “Tons of women,” he said wryly. Just none that wanted to let him get past first base.
Or, rather, let him even get to first base.
“Nice,” the guard laughed.
Feeling somewhat dirtier than usual, Jason scowled and moved back to his car. After driving back to his office, he booted up his computer and started looking through some of the information. Everything Helen had said checked out. All the newspapers declared that police and everyone had given up searching for Timothy’s body. There was never a ransom note, and there was no reason for him to leave. He had a happy marriage, a beautiful boy, and a successful business. Nothing shady or sinister going on there.
Except that blood in the hotel indicated a murder, and they were calling it an accidental death. He went deeper until he found a reporter that followed his same line of thought.
What the Police Don’t Want You to Know about Billionaire Timothy Myer’s Disappearance.
Staring at the headline, Jason thumped his pencil against the paper. He scrolled through the article until he found something interesting. Scribbling it down in his notebook, he reached over and called the newspaper. After claiming that he had information on the Myer disappearance, he agreed to meet reporter Dan Johnson in two hours in the Sulliver’s Department store parking deck.
Really? A parking deck? Some people just loved the flare for the dramatic.
Picking up the phone again, he dialed a familiar number. “Ready to come to your senses?” a rough voice growled on the other side.
Jason ignored him. “I need a favor, Smith.”
“I only do favors for Seals,” Trevor Smith muttered.
“Once a Seal, always a Seal,” Jason said easily.
“Active Seals. What the hell do you want, Leonard?”
“I need a name of someone who can help me out in town. I’ve got a bug.”
“Call an exterminator.”
“Not that kind of bug. Come on, Smith. Help an old friend out.”
He could hear the sound of weights clanking in the background. Trevor Smith was the biggest nerd he knew, but he could easily pound a man with one hand tied behind his back. He took out all that aggression that had built up when he was bullied in middle school and brought it to the Navy.
Trevor Smith was terrifying.
“I hate to enable you during this little project of yours,” he hissed. “When are you going to come back to the fold?”
Leonard didn’t say anything. He missed his old comrades. He really did. But feeling lonely simply wasn’t enough for him to go back. Smith must have heard volumes in that silence. “Got a pen?”
“Yup.”
Smith rumbled off an address. “Tallyhouse is the best I know in Dallas. Be careful when you go in, though. I’m fairly certain that half of his equipment is illegal.”
“You got a phone number for me?”
“Nope. Tallyhouse doesn’t have a phone, and few people know of his address. When you show up, he’ll be suspicious, but he’ll know someone trustworthy sent you.”
“Roger that.”
“Leonard?”
“I’m not in the mood for a heart-to-heart, Smith. I’m happy. I’m fine. I hope you’re the same.”
He hung up the phone before his old buddy could say anything else. Smith would be pissed, and he’d bitch to the old gang, and they’d be calling him soon.
And he’d ignored their phone calls. It was almost a ritual now.
The address was about half an hour out. He could make it there and still make it to his creepy parking deck appointment with time to spare. As he stepped out of his office, he winced.
He could only afford a small space in the dingy part of town, but what they lacked in funds, they made up for it excitement. Christmas decoration hung from every building and every light pole. Every few days, someone tried to hang a wreath on his door. Ripping it off, he tossed it back in the street. He really needed to install a camera to catch the idiot that kept trying to hard.
It wasn’t that Leonard was against Christmas. The holiday was fine. Annoying and long lasting, but otherwise fine. Still, he had a reputation to protect. What hardened security guard had a pansy wreath on his door?
And someone was deliberately going against his wishes.
He’d need to teach that someone a lesson.
Stepping over the wreath, he opened the door to his beat up jeep and climbed in. The bottle of whiskey stashed in his console called his name, but the picture of young Davis Myers rose in his mind.
Better stay sober for this one.
Tallyhouse’s place was a rundown shack on the wrong side of the tracks. It was more ghetto that his office strip. Tucking his gun in the back of his pants, he stepped cautiously out and looked around. The nearest neighbor was a mile away, and the place was covered in trees. Anyone could be hiding anywhere.
“Relax,” he muttered to himself. “It’s the house of a nerd, not a terrorist.” Striding over to the front door, he pounded on it. “Tallyhouse?”
“Don’t broadcast my name you idiot!”
Startled, Jason looked around. The voice was coming from in front of him. Inspecting the door closely, he realized that the doorbell was just a covering. Flipping it up, he found the intercom. “Smith gave me your address,” he said softly as he pushed the button. “I need your help.”
“I’m busy. Go away.”
Nerd had a mouth on him. “I’m not leaving. There’s a boy’s life at stake.”
After a moment, he heard the click on the door. Cautiously, he turned the knob. It swung open easily.
He stepped in and immediately ran into another wall. “Drop your gun off at the desk. You can have it when you leave,” Tallyhouse said through a speaker.
“I don’t have a gun,” Jason lied.
“I’m not an idiot. I saw you tuck it in when you got out of the Jeep.”
Jason was impressed. The man had cameras everywhere, and Jason hadn’t seen a single one. He pulled the gun out and placed it on the counter.
The door buzzed and opened. Jason tried not to smirk. Nerd didn’t realize that he had another weapon tucked into his ankle holster.
The room inside comprised of a small kitchen, a small half door that probably led to the bathroom, a murphy bed, a torn up couch, and what was probably millions of dollars worth of equipment.
Jason couldn’t help but whistle. “That’s a lot of money in here. Why are you living in a shack?”
A small man in glasses and a baseball hat turned around to stare at him. “I don’t live here. I just work here. And I need security. This neighborhood is practically abandoned. I’ve had eyes on you for the last mile. It’s convenient.”
“Right.” It was best not to ask questions, so he pulled out the bag Helen had handed to him and tossed it on the desk. “Can you trace this?”
Tallyhouse glared at him. “I work on top secret government projects. You’re interrupting me for a bug?”
“The Myers boy has been kidnapped. The mother found it in the house. I have the weekend to figure out who took him. So yes, I’m interrupting you for a bug.”
“The Myers boy?” Tallyhouse snatched up the bag and smiled. “Well now, that is interesting.”
Jason lifted his eyebrows. “Interesting? How so?”
“The disappearance of Timothy Myers is intriguing. I’ve wanted to look into it, but I’ve been busy. Now I have an excuse.”
“Hold up,” Jason said as he lifted his hand. “We don’t have time for that. Just trace the bug, Boy Genius.”
“I’m twenty-five,” the man said with a scowl.
Twenty-five? Jason wished he could go back to twenty-five. “Like I said, Boy Genius. I’d give you my number, but you don’t have a phone.”
“I can call you. Write it down.” Tallyhouse nodded his head to the scratch pad on the side. Jason shrugged and jotted his number down.
“How long will it take you?”
“A few hours. Maybe longer. I’ll call
you in the morning to let you know if I’ve made any progress.”
“And you won’t get distracted?”
Tallyhouse smiled crookedly. “Distracted? You’re working for the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever laid eyes on. Don’t talk to me about distracted.”
“Five-year-old boy,” Jason growled. He didn’t necessarily feel the need to protect Helen, but he didn’t need the smarmy nerd to think he could talk to Jason like that.
Tallyhouse shrugged. “You going to give me your name?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough,” Jason said casually as he opened the door. “Keep the kid in mind. This is a stealth operation.”
He grabbed his gun on the way out and checked his watch. Still on time. That almost wasn’t like him.
Climbing back into his Jeep, he glanced casually around. He couldn’t spot a single camera.
Smith didn’t disappoint.
CHAPTER THREE
The Reporter
The parking lot was crammed with Christmas shoppers. As Jason drove through, he started tallying up points in his head.
Three points for the man carrying the Victoria Secret bag. Giving a gift that was ultimately for you? Lame. Five points for the mother carrying the toy department bag. No doubt the kid would play with it for a day before tossing it.
Fifty points for the old man carrying the Victoria Secret bag.
But running over people for walking down the middle of the deck was still against the law. And Jason was pretty impressed with the last one. The man was hobbling on a cane, for goodness sake.
As he passed 4B, he slowed down when he saw the man in a Red Sox hat. Scowling, he slowed and unlocked the door. The man slid into the passenger seat carrying a folder. “You have information on Timothy Myers?” Dan Johnson asked in a horse voice.
Rolling his eyes, Jason locked the door and started to speed up. “Hey,” the reporter protested.
“I don’t have information,” Jason said tightly. “I need information. And if you keep making this weird, I’m going to do more than ask politely for it.”
“Really?” the reporter slumped. “Come on.”
“All you have to do is tell me who your source is in the investigation, and I’ll let you go. That article was way too detailed. You knew something on the inside.”
“A good reporter never reveals his source,” the reporter said bravely.
“You live on Traverson drive with your wife Monica and your two-year-old daughter. Monica is an accountant, and last weekend, you guys went putt-putting and had dinner at the aquarium. You are a not a hardnosed reporter. You work for the Sun Weekly, and if it weren’t for this case, you’d be reporting on store openings and how to make your gardens grow in winter. Who is you source?”
“How do you know all of that?” Johnson whispered.
“You keep a blog, Johnson. You write about every moment of your life. I bet if I went deep enough in your posts, I’d probably read about your source. Now save me the time and give me a name,” Jason said as he took a turn a little too fast.
“Shelly Burns,” Johnson said desperately. “Her name is Shelly Burns. She’s a hooker off Ninth Street. She sometimes sleeps with Myers’ partner, Joshua Mines. He told her everything.”
“And she came to you?” Jason questioned.
Johnson reddened, and Jason snorted. “Of course not. You’re sleeping with her. I bet that’s a little secret you don’t want Monica to find out.” He slammed on the brakes. “Get out.”
“But we’re three blocks from my car,” Johnson whined.
“Get. Out.” Jason repeated.
“Wait. Wait. Don’t you want to know how to get in touch with Shelly?”
Jason snorted. “Hardly. I’ll just get the information directly from the source. Get out. And leave the files.”
“No!” the man said as he clutched his files.
“Do you want Monica to find out about Shelly?” Jason said easily.
Johnson rolled out of the car and left the folder behind, and Jason sped out. Turned out that getting information was like taking candy from a baby.
It looked like he needed to have a work with Joshua Mines.
***
As it turned out, getting a hold of Joshua Mines was harder that Jason thought it would be. Not only was he not in the office for the weekend, but his address wasn’t listed, and his email said that he was out of town for the week.
Curious.
Just before he’d dropped Helen off, he gave her a burner phone. He dialed it now.
He was pleased to hear the sound of the shower in the background. “Do you have something?”
“Maybe. Nothing groundbreaking, but it’s only been a few hours. I need to talk to Joshua Mines. Can you get in touch with him?”
“I have his personal number.”
“Great. Tell him it’s an emergency and that you need to meet him tomorrow. Don’t say anything about the kidnapping or about me. Call me back when you’ve gotten in touch with him.”
“Mr. Leonard…”
“Jason,” he interrupted again. He wanted to hear his name on her lips.
She didn’t give him the satisfaction. “I know Joshua doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He has information that I need. Please just do it, Ms. Myers.”
“Fine,” she said in a frustrated voice and hung up.
The sun was setting in Texas. It was about time for him to hit up his favorite watering hole and grab some sleep, but there was something digging at him. Something that didn’t make sense. He couldn’t call it PI instinct because he wasn’t really into the whole detective scene, but it was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch.
He bypassed the bar and went straight to his apartment. Just as he was about to unlock his door, his eighty-year-old neighbor hobbled out. Mrs. Sadler was a nosy gossip, but he loved her company.
“Coming home alone again?” she cackled as she locked her door.
“The night’s still young,” he said with an easy smile. “Maybe you’d like to join me?”
“If I was thirty years younger,” she rasped.
That would make her fifty. That was a bit out of his age bracket. Although there had been that one woman… and Jason had a feeling that Mrs. Sadler was probably quite the looker in her day.
“But I’ve got a date. If you hear the walls shaking, don’t bother checking in on me,” she laughed as she hobbled down the hall.
Jason shuddered and entered his apartment. Grabbing the files, the tossed them on the table and went into the kitchen. After heating up a microwave dinner, he sat down to enjoy the cardboard meatloaf and whatever that side item was. It sure was hell wasn’t mashed potatoes.
He flipped through the papers. It was an account of Timothy’s life from the conception of Myers Enterprise and before. It was just too much of a coincidence that Davis was taken just months after the father’s disappearance. If someone was just after money, they could have done it while Timothy was alive. There was something else about this.
Jason read and reread the reporter’s research until he thought his eyes would bleed. He threw away the meal tray and regrouped by doing a rigorous routine of sit-ups and pull-ups. When his muscles were screaming for relief, he went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face.
After a moment, he stripped off his shirt and turned to study the tattoo on his shoulder. There were no specific identifying tattoos for military units, but he and his unit had all gotten matching tattoos. Rather than getting a tattoo that would easily identify them as seals, they’d gotten American flag tattoos. Only their flags were actually comprised of words that seemed to make no sense.
But it made sense to them. It didn’t depict missions or military secrets. It just said the same coded phrase over and over again.
Brothers in arms. Brothers at sea. Forever bound we will be. Take one down, you’ll face us all. Brothers for life as we stand tall.
Briefly, he
wondered if that still applied to him.
He hadn’t left the military to start up his own company. He’d started up his own company because he’d left the military.
He wanted to feel like he was actually making a difference.
Start up a company.
Jason frowned. That was it. That was the odd link that he was missing.
His phone rang, and he smiled. “What do you have for me, Ms. Myers?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Con
“This is ridiculous,” Helen hissed for the third time. She adjusted herself in the seat and picked at her ear.
“Leave it alone,” Jason growled as the static nearly burst his eardrum. He sat outside the restaurant with his dodgy audio equipment and frowned. If she kept picking at it, she was libel to break it. And while it was one of the cheaper ones on the market, it still cost him quite a bit of money.
“Why can’t you ask the questions?” she grumbled as she looked around.
“If Joshua is involved…”
“He’s not.”
“If he’s involved,” Jason ignored her. “We don’t want him to know that I’m involved. He’s walking in now.” He watched as the man in the ridiculously expensive suit ran into the restaurant.
There was concern written all over his face as he sat down. He seemed genuinely concerned for her.
“Helen, I’m been worried all night. What is going on?”
“Tell him that you’re investigating your husband’s disappearance, and you have some questions.”
Helen complied, and Joshua pulled back. “Helen, I want him to still be alive as much as you do. Timothy was my best friend. But I don’t know that it’s healthy for you to keep looking for him.”
“Ask him about the weapon in the hotel room.”
Helen visibly snapped her head up, but she didn’t say anything. “Joshua, what do you know about the weapon found in the hotel room?
“How do you know about that,” he hissed.
“It doesn’t matter,” Helen said quickly. “Just be straight with me.”
Joshua bowed his head. “I hired a private investigator. I didn’t want to tell you and get your hopes up, but the police just gave up so quickly. There was a knife found in the room, and it did have Timothy’s blood on it, but it was kept out of the reports. I think they did it to use it against any suspects. Filter out any fake confessions from the crazy people using tragedy to gain notoriety.”
