Private Investigation
Page 17
He’s right. Eva’s just a link to the higher-ups that do whatever they want because they think they have the power to wield over the law. They stretch it and twist it to meet their needs.
Eva’s just the tip of the iceberg. But the ease with which her past cases have always been shut down reminds me of the many times it happened when I was on the force. It made my job nearly impossible. Trying to catch the bad guys on the street while the bad guys on my team threw every wrench they could into the mix.
In this case, there are judges or politicians involved. What could Eva have possibly done for them so that they owed her? I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out—she slept with them. But even then, keeping someone out of jail seems like a very expensive price to pay for a fuck.
I don’t care. It’s not my business anymore. My part in this shit is done.
Something shiny on my coffee table catches my eye, and I lean over to pick it up. Lena’s ring. I clasp it tightly in my hand. I finally found it. Somehow, at some point, Eva had access to it.
Now the question is, why? Why put me through this? She claims that I hired her. I’d remember doing that. And how the hell did she get this?
“Fuck!” I slam the thing against the table.
I want this all to go away. To sleep so deeply that nothing will matter. I. Don’t. Want. To. Dream.
Going into my closet, I dig through the safe, to the very back, inside a box of letters I wrote to Lena after she died. Letters my grief counselor said would help. They didn’t.
The night I realized they were pointless, I took the innocent little pill that had been prescribed to relieve my insomnia shortly after Lena’s death. It was meant to help me through but quickly became an addiction. It was an addiction to unconsciousness. To having the ability to desensitize my brain.
I didn’t care if it was day or night, sleep could come whenever I wanted it. And I wanted it always.
As I pull the pill bottle out of the box, I recall that night six months ago. I was exhausted, full of grief and despair and a guilt so overbearing it threatened to squash me. All I wanted was to sleep. To drift away and not think anymore.
I’d tried to drown out the sound of Lena’s voice with a bottle of vodka, and when that didn’t help, I swallowed down my instant sleep. I woke the next day in my bed, stripped to my underwear, but my car was found in a ditch and I have no idea how it got there, though I can surmise. I went for a drive, landed myself in that hole on the side of the road, and walked away.
Although it happened while I was on a case in Naples, the call about the found company car was made to my parents. I got hell for it. I lost their trust for a long while, but in the end, I got off easy.
I’m lucky to be alive. Lucky I didn’t kill someone.
But it could have happened. Then I’d have someone else’s blood on my hands too.
No, I can’t take these. Not again. I go to the sink in my bathroom, open up the orange bottle, and pour out its contents. As the pills fall, clicking against the porcelain, I look up. I want to examine my own reflection. To see into my tired soul.
Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, a stirring so small that I can hardly feel it begins. A distant memory, barely there because, in the past, I brushed it off as a mere dream. But now, as I stand here staring into my own eyes, I’m not so sure it wasn’t something more.
In the dream, I saw Lena through a mirror, just as I’m now looking at myself. It was fuzzy, hazy. She was facing away from me, but then, as if she felt me, she looked up. Our eyes met through the reflective glass. Her sadness permeated the air around us, and I ached to take it away. But then what happened?
I force my mind to remember, to bring back what it saw.
Suddenly, I was in front of her. And when I stared into her eyes, they weren’t Lena’s. Not anymore. They belonged to someone else entirely.
“Who’s Lena?” she asked.
She toyed with Lena’s ring on a shiny wooden counter. That was the last time I saw it. I’m sure of it.
And when she asked, “What’s your heart’s desire, Matt?” I thought of Lena. But I don’t know if I said it.
There’s nothing more. I don’t remember anything but a whisper. Faint words said as I was pitched into darkness. “I’m Eva Jean. I’ll do whatever it takes to grant your desire, Matt. I promise.”
I stumble back as the memory of those words slams into me. Not only had I hired her, but she’d also accepted a mere silver ring as payment. She hadn’t lied.
It was me who hired her to set up this desire in the first place. She did as I asked.
And I fed her to the wolves for it.
Matt and Eva’s story continues in Public Affair!
Eva’s world has completely collapsed…
She knew this day would come, the day when Matt learned the truth about her life. She was ready to pay the price for her sins. Or so she thought.
Even after so much pain and loss, nothing could prepare her for the devastation losing him would cause. In trying to heal him, she only deepened her own wounds.
But even though her affairs have been made public, he’s not done with his private investigation. As far as he’s concerned, the case will remain open until he completely exposes her. In more ways than one.
Aidèe Jaimes is a Mexican American author of contemporary, historical and paranormal romance. She also writes under the pen name, Haden Hudson. To receive information on her novels and future releases, sign up for the newsletter at www.aideejaimes.com or www.hadenhudson.com.
Books Under Aidèe Jaimes:
The Ticket (The Affair, Book 1)
The Red Dress (The Affair, Book 2)
Good Mr. King
Work Me
Public Affair (Private Investigation Duet, Book 2)
Coming Soon… The Other Side
Books Under Haden Hudson:
Souly Yours (Ghostly Love, Book 1)
Souly Bound (Ghostly Love, Book 2)
Souly Mine (Ghostly Love, Book 3)
Letters from the Vieux Carré
The Forgotten Life of Émilie
Tequila and Stubborn Women
Mine Again