Private Investigation

by Aidèe Jaimes

  Carlos inspects my pockets, then proceeds to pat me down, making sure I followed Ember’s rules. No weapons.

  When he’s satisfied, he opens the car door for me. “Please step inside.”

  The man is big, a good head taller than me. And at six foot two, I’m taller than most. He’s wider too. His black business suit, which is probably worth more money than most people make in a year, seems to barely contain the broadness of his chest and the width of his arms. His clothes tells me he’ll be professional, but his stance says he’s ready to pounce if I step out of line. Fuck, if I didn’t know he was a driver, I’d swear he was some sort of drug lord with the fat gold ring on his pinky and his shiny leather shoes. But who knows? Maybe he is.

  I raise a brow, eyeing him warily. If I could see his eyes beyond his dark aviator glasses, I’m sure they’d be terrifying.

  “Sure thing, boss.” I get in. On the buttery soft leather seat, I find a box wrapped in gold paper with a large black velvet bow. “What’s this?”

  “Your purchase from Ember,” he answers, and when he closes the door, I’m blinded to the world outside because the windows and the partition between the front and back seat are all done in reflective glass.

  As the car starts to move, I focus my attention on the “purchase” I made. I assume he’s referring to the money I paid Ember. It makes sense; they’d need a receipt to show why they charged me an ungodly amount of money.

  Inside is nothing but a shiny crystal paperweight. Orangey-brown with specks of black through it, it’s meant to resemble a piece of ember, I suppose. Underneath it, I find a black business card with a phone number assigned to me.

  I set it aside, turning to the window out of habit, even though I can’t see where we’re going. All I can do is sit in the cushioned silence, listening to the thrum of my heart getting louder and louder the farther we go.

  I wish I could see something more than my reflection in the glass. It’s disconcerting. Even worse, there’s nothing to distract me from my thoughts.

  Twenty minutes into the trip, the car stops. There are mumbled voices, then it lurches forward and we drive for five more minutes.

  We arrive at our final destination, and Carlos opens the door to let me out. We’re at an apartment complex in a nicely manicured yet swampy area. Old Naples if I had to guess from the live oaks so large their branches form a canopy overhead that’s full of Spanish moss and vines. All sorts of palm trees dot the grounds, as do a myriad of other plants.

  The sounds of frogs and bugs fill the air, and the mossiness of the lakes is so heavy in the air that I can taste it.

  It isn’t Sea Island, but Florida is far too wild a place to capture its tranquility. Still, it has that Southern feel I know Lena would have loved.

  “This way, sir.”

  I follow Carlos around one of the white stucco buildings, across a little winding path, and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. We stop at an unnumbered door.

  “There’s a clock on the wall to your immediate left when you enter. You have until one o’clock. Please be aware that at all times, I’ll be standing outside this door,” he warns.

  “And I’ll feel the safer for it.”

  Finding no humor in what I say, he sticks out his hand to me. “Your phone, sir.”

  “Here you go. If my brother calls, tell him I’m busy.”

  His lips form a straight, thin line as he takes it and places it in his pocket. Turning away from me, he ends our conversation.

  “Well. I guess this is me.” I gently knock on the door. When there’s no answer, I turn the knob and open it slightly to peek inside. “Hello?” Unsure of what to do next, I ask Carlos, “Do I just walk in?” When he says nothing, I decide to let myself in and close the door quietly behind me.

  It takes me a second to move beyond the entryway. Just as Carlos said, there’s a clock on the wall to my left. Only, it’s not truly a clock—it’s more like a timer with the hands winding backward, counting down the four hours I get to spend here.

  But that’s not what keeps me there. It’s the room. The way it looks. It’s as though I’ve stepped into some vague memory of mine where I’m not entirely sure what something looked like, but the idea is there.

  The brick wall, the artsy wooden tables with useless knickknacks that make no sense. There’s a deep microfiber couch full of pillows and blankets to get cozy under and a large wooly rug over the dark wood floors. Lining the back wall is a four-paneled glass sliding door. My breath catches as I remember our sliders, the ones that led to a balconette. We used to stand out there and gaze at the Blackbank River.

  It was a tiny place. Shitty actually. But Lena loved it, and because of that, so did I.

  The knot in my throat makes it hard to breathe as I go to the doors and look out. It’s not a river, but the lake is large, nonetheless, and full of tall grasses and lily pads.

  “Matthew?” I spin suddenly as I hear the voice from somewhere in the house.

  My breathing is erratic, my hands trembling. It’s almost impossible to control this reaction, this anticipation of what I’m about to see.

  That is, until her form becomes clear through a glass dividing wall I just now noticed, her image broken by waves in the design. I’m no longer shaking but frozen to the spot. Only my eyes move, watching. Waiting. Breathless.

  I brace for the impact of her full face coming into view, but even then, nothing could have prepared me for what I see when she rounds the corner with a smile on her lips and love in her eyes.

  She resembles Lena in the way a sibling would, with almost identical features arranged just differently enough that you can tell them apart. But it’s her movements, the way she practically glides to me with sweetness and warmth emanating from her that nearly convinces me she’s not someone else.

  “You’re home!” Slim arms come around my shoulders and she leans in for a kiss. Her full lips touch mine for a brief moment but long enough to steal my breath away. “Are you hungry? I ordered out, hope you don’t mind. Though I did make the salad. What’s wrong?”

  “I…” I can’t speak. Words completely elude me as I’m strangled by the slew of emotions that overcome me at seeing her. At having her so close.

  Her hand takes mine and she squeezes. We walk around the glass wall she just came from into the small kitchen area, where she sits and begins to serve the salad and pizza. “Did you have a good day at work?” she asks, as if this is just any other ordinary day. As if this weren’t some sort of distorted mirror image of my life.

  “It was fine.”

  I sit beside her, looking around the foreign space that feels so familiar. Looking at her. I will myself to see beyond the lie, but I can’t. The similarities are too great. Her, in this place. With me.

  When she catches me staring, she smiles shyly, her eyes gazing up at me through her long lashes. It’s that one thing that reminds me of where I am. It’s the color, I tell myself. It changes everything. Her features seem more catlike against the clearness of her gray irises. And the meaning in that look… It’s not innocent or sweet.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asks when I glance away.

  “This is just so new to me.”

  Her face softens. She understands what I mean. But just as the woman on the phone said, she doesn’t break character. “Do you want to rest on the couch for a while? Or take a shower?”

  “Can we watch some TV?”

  “Of course. Why don’t you head in there? Find us something good. I’m going to clean up real quick.”

  I nod and do as I’m told. From the couch, I can hear her humming as she washes the dishes. It takes me a while to recognize the song. When I do, it surprises me. She’s singing “Better Together” by Jack Johnson, but for some reason, it comes out as a heart-wrenching melody. It’s her voice. That’s another thing that’s different. Lena had a high voice. She always said it was mousy. I thought it was sweet.

  But Eva’s voice, even as she hits those higher
notes, remains husky. There’s a little raspiness, almost as if she just got out of bed. Perhaps that’s part of it, to remind me of what she’s here to give. Though, to be fair, I’d imagined she’d greet me in lingerie. Instead, she opted for something far more comfortable, pink shorts and a gray sweater.

  “Couldn’t find anything?” she asks in that smoky voice I was just contemplating as she enters the living room.

  “This remote is acting up again,” I say, playing the role.

  “Ah. Give it here.” She pushes a few buttons and settles on a show.

  I can’t say what we’re watching. I’m far too distracted by her. Too aware.

  She’s observing me too, from the corner of her eye. Every once in a while, I can see her glancing at me when she laughs at something someone says. Her laughter is also different. More guttural. Far more unrestrained. It makes me smile against my will.

  “Matthew?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I missed you.”

  I turn to her, my smile gone. “I…I missed you too.” The words come out, but I’m not sure exactly who I’m saying them to.

  She curls up against me, throwing her legs over mine, and I instantly stiffen.

  “I’m cold.” The neck of her sweater slips off her bare shoulder, and I realize her choice of clothing isn’t as simple as I thought. It’s deceivingly tempting. Her eyes glaze over as she looks into my face, and she leans in to kiss me.

  I move away, though it pains me to do it. Shit, I want to kiss her. I’ve wanted to kiss her from the moment she came around that glass wall. Even before then, I think.

  But my confused mind still knows it’s wrong. Whether it’s because she’s a case or because deep down I know she’s not really Lena, I can’t say. All I can say is I recognize this for the stupid mistake that it is.

  “Can we just watch the movie?”

  She nods slightly, turning her eyes back to the screen, but she doesn’t move away. Every once in a while, she wiggles, cuddling tighter into me, until she’s practically on top of me.

  She bends her head into my neck while resting her hand on my chest. “I’m tired,” she whispers.

  “Close your eyes,” I tell her, reaching up to pat her shoulder.

  I’m not sure if she truly falls asleep or if she’s faking, but for thirty minutes, her breathing comes out evenly. Deep.

  This is fucking hell.

  My right arm aches from the weight of her body. But I can’t make myself move; I’m too afraid to wake her. If I do, then that means I have to fight the urge to take her in my arms. Or worse, she’ll pull away, taking her warmth with her.

  The suspicion that she really is asleep is confirmed when she begins to whimper. It’s not mumbled words. It’s more like the sound a lost puppy would make. Faint tremors and twitches take over her body.

  Suddenly, she wakes up, disoriented. For a second, so fast I might have missed it had I not been so insanely aware of everything she was doing, Lena is nowhere to be seen. There’s only Mrs. Cage.

  The stormy gray of her eyes darkens as she looks around the room, then to me. She’s not surprised to see me, I don’t think. It’s more like she’s trying to separate the dream world from reality.

  “Were you dreaming of me?” I ask her.

  “Yes,” she replies, still serious. Still in that hazy state.

  The honest answer takes me aback, especially because it seemed that maybe she was having a nightmare. “What about?”

  She blinks heavily, her pupils expanding and contracting with every slow lowering of her lids. But as the mist clears, so do her eyes, and she smiles. “I was dreaming of our amazing life.”

  Before I can respond, she pushes herself up and her lips are against mine.

  I tell myself it’s the surprise. My guard was down. The truth is, I respond to her kiss for no other reason than I want it. The press of her body urges my arms to wrap around her. It’s a kiss that’s meant to be sweet and soft, the way Lena would like.

  But when her lips part and my tongue tastes her mouth for the first time, the warm flame bursts into a wild inferno, all-consuming and out of control. And the way she loses her restraint, the way she moans and straddles me, tells me she’s lost her ability to continue the sweet act too.

  Her core presses against the erection I can’t hide. Nor do I want to. I want her to feel it, to ride it with complete abandon. My fingers dig into her ass, desperate to hold on to anything as I feel myself falling.

  She pumps her hips, moaning into my mouth, breathing part of herself into me. When she tugs my hair to pull my head back, opening me more to her, I let her. Her teeth nip at my lower lip until I taste blood, and I don’t care. I want this to hurt, to make me ache and burn.

  Without a second thought, I flip her over, yanking off my shirt, desperate for her.

  “Mr. Grayson.” The male voice vaguely registers as her nails scrape against the skin of my back. “Mr. Grayson. Your time is up.”

  “Wha…” I look up to find a large black suit filling my sex-glazed vision.

  “It’s time to leave. I’ll give you a minute to collect your things,” the deep voice says.

  I gaze down at Mrs. Cage, who I nearly fucked like an animal because she basically reduced me to one. She appears to be as dazed as I am, with her hair a complete disaster and her shirt half off.

  Forcing back the need to continue, I tear myself away and stand. I’ve never lost control with a woman this way. Fuck. Four hours already. It felt like minutes.

  I quickly throw on my shirt and slip into my coat. Mrs. Cage sits, adjusting her clothes.

  “I guess we didn’t hear the alarm,” I say.

  “Yeah. So I’ll see you later, Matthew?”

  “Yes. Later.”

  Just as I’m leaving, she reaches out and stops me. “A kiss before you go?”

  Looking into her eyes, knowing who she is, I still bend down and lightly touch my mouth to her kiss-swollen lips. Then I walk out without another word.

  Chapter 14

  “I need the report on the G.F. Tech cases,” Justin demands.

  “Yup, I’ll have it ready to go tonight,” I tell him.

  I’m sitting on the balcony with my friend, Marty. That’s what I’m calling this sad seagull that keeps coming to hang out with me, even though he’s fully aware that I have nothing for him to eat. Yet there he sits, staring at me. Frankly, I’m starting to get a complex. Does he see something that calls to his little birdy senses? Is it my hopeless soul he sees? Perhaps a kindred spirit?

  “What about Cage? Have you found anything?”

  I take a sip of my beer, then answer, keeping what I know to myself for now, “Not yet. No suspicious activity.”

  “Hmm. What about that store she goes to. Is there anyone there she might be seeing?”

  “Not unless there’s someone in the back. But I’d be surprised if they were having an affair every day amongst the boxes.” Although I suppose some might find that exciting. Hot sex against all that cardboard.

  “What if she’s leaving through the back?” Justin wonders out loud.

  My heart speeds up as I lie, “I would have seen her come out. The back door to the place faces the parking lot.”

  “Right. Well, we’ll give it until Friday.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I agree.

  “So much for my theory. If you haven’t found anything yet, there’s probably nothing to find.”

  “Let’s give it till Friday. That’s what her husband paid for, right?”

  “Right. How are you? Getting any sleep?” he asks me, changing the subject.

  “By sleep you mean?”

  “Sleep. As in unconsciousness.”

  “Never.”

  He breathes out, pushing the air in a way that makes it sound like he’s got emphysema. “Have you talked to Mom? Dad’s gout is acting up.”

  “Yup. Got the rundown of all his symptoms the other day.”

  “Ah, okay. Then make sure you
answer her call next time. I got it today. Nat did yesterday. It’s your turn.”

  “Will do.”

  Feeling like a piece of shit for lying to my older brother, I hang up. I’m not a liar. Not naturally, at least. But I know Justin, and he’d close this case in a heartbeat if he knew what was really going on.

  Yes, I said all I needed was one day with her so that I could see for myself what she was. So that I could get her out of my mind once and for all. But it wasn’t enough. If anything, it’s made things worse.

  “See you tomorrow, Marty.” I wave the gull off the balcony and go inside, taking Mrs. Cage’s photo from the desk as I walk past.

  After setting it on the nightstand, I lie in bed and stare at her face. I’ve obsessed over the way she looks for weeks. Now that I’ve tasted her… I close my eyes, running my fingers over my lips as I remember her.

  The sweet flavor that filled my mouth as I tasted her that first time lingers. My hands still feel the softness of her skin as I ran them over her smooth thighs and back. All of the blood in my body drains to the one part of me that can’t have her. It begs me to throw all caution to the wind, to not give a fuck about emotions or memories. All it wants is to be inside of her. To know what she looks like when she comes.

  I want to stroke myself as the image of her writhing beneath me, her legs spread wide, comes to mind. But I can’t. It feels sinful just thinking about another man’s wife in that way. And even worse, she’s not Lena.

  Blowing out a breath full of frustration because there’s no way in hell I can sleep with this hard-on, I head out, intent on a late day swim. But instead, I find myself on Vaspaa Court, watching the shadow by the window, knowing there’s only one way I’ll ever find the relief I seek.

  Chapter 15

  Like a pubescent teen, I wait by the window, hard-on already in place at the mere possibility of Mrs. Cage’s body against mine.

  I shake my head, disgusted by my own actions. I’ve already gone through the list of reasons why I need to see this week through several times, but I go over it again.