by RK Close
Upon my arrival, the receptionist let me know that the clients were meeting with Mr. Chavez first and that I’d be next.
My patience is drawing thin as I make my way to the floor-to-ceiling windows to look out over the Phoenix cityscape. The view is breathtaking from the tenth floor, and for a moment my thoughts drift away from the silent lobby.
A door opens, drawing me back to the present. Mr. Chavez leans out of his office and smiles at me. “We are ready for you, Ms. Chase. Won’t you join us?”
Mr. Chavez is an average-sized Hispanic man in his early fifties with a touch of gray at his temples. His glasses sit low on his nose, most likely only for reading. He reaches for the button on his sports coat to make room for his round middle.
I return his smile, gathering my briefcase before entering his office. My business attire consists of a pencil skirt, white silk blouse, and large black-rimmed reading glasses. A wisp of hair falls from the messy bun which holds my long strawberry-blonde hair. With a confident smile on my face, I approach the Taylors.
In my line of work, dressing the part of a professional goes a long way toward winning the trust of new clients. Especially the wealthier ones.
The Taylors, a successful Phoenix family, started Pima Solar, a huge corporation specializing in solar energy for businesses and homes. I’ve seen articles over the years where they’ve been featured in Phoenix Home and Garden for their philanthropy, and in news coverage when making large charitable donations to various local groups. From my research, they are self-made millionaires who built their empire from the ground up.
Mr. Taylor, a middle-aged man with prematurely white hair, looks quite distinguished. He’s handsome and looks as though he stays fit. His expensive tailored suit and red power tie scream success, in case I didn’t already know it.
Mrs. Taylor is another story in cream-colored designer jeans, a stylish red cropped leather jacket, and matching pumps. Her long blond hair is pulled back in a sleek and sophisticated ponytail. She is stunning, to say the least. Genevieve Taylor is supposed to be forty-three, but she hides it well. I would not have guessed her older than her late twenties.
Other than Mr. Taylor’s white hair, I would’ve guessed they were both ten to fifteen years younger than they are. Does money buy youth? I wonder.
Mr. Taylor stands to greet me, while Mrs. Taylor primly moves forward to the edge of her seat. Power and strength radiate in Mr. Taylor’s body and movements. His smile is cordial but strained. Understandable.
It’s obvious to me that he’s sizing me up, wondering if I’m capable or qualified to find his missing daughter.
Mr. Chavez hastily makes our introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, this is Samantha Chase, the private investigator I’ve been telling you about.”
“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m sorry that it’s not under better circumstances,” I say, shaking hands with each of them in turn.
“Mr. Chavez has highly recommended you. We are hopeful that you can help us find our daughter,” Mr. Taylor says, glancing at the lawyer.
He has doubts about me.
“I plan to focus all my attention on locating your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. I’ve gone over the file that Mr. Chavez sent me. I do have some questions for you.”
Mrs. Taylor speaks up. “We want to help in any way we can. Please feel free to ask us anything. We’ve always been a private family, but we want our daughter back, Ms. Chase.”
“I understand.” I pull out my laptop from my briefcase, while seating myself at the round table, by the window.
“I already have the general information about Madison’s disappearance, but can you tell me why you haven’t taken this matter to the police? She’s been missing long enough for them to treat this as a missing person case.”
Silence causes me to stop typing and look up from my laptop.
Mr. and Mrs. Taylor share a silent look between themselves before turning their gaze on Mr. Chavez.
He clears his throat before saying, “Ms. Chase, as you know, the Taylors are a well-known family who would rather avoid a media circus.”
I stare at the odd threesome and have the distinct feeling they are keeping something from me. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather alert the authorities?” I blink at them, waiting for someone to speak. “If I determine there has been any crime, I’m obligated to report it to the police.” I hold each of their gazes until they nod their understanding.
“In the written account, you state that your son was the last known person to see your daughter, Madison. Is that correct?” I ask.
They both nod.
“Is there anyone who would want to hurt your daughter?” I ask, pointedly.
“There is nobody that would want to hurt Madison. She’s a beautiful, smart girl. Maddie has many friends and no enemies that we are aware of,” says Mrs. Taylor. “And you can call me Genevieve.”
I smile, then look to Mr. Taylor, who doesn’t volunteer the same offer of a first name. Pushing my glasses up my nose, I look back at my screen. “Is there any reason you could think of that she would take an unscheduled holiday or decide to run away for a while, from the pressures of school, maybe?”
Mr. Taylor looks annoyed by the question. “Madison has a three point eight GPA. She’s an exceptional student who would never jeopardize her academic achievements for a…fling,” Mr. Taylor says, a hard look on his face.
Genevieve reaches over to place her hand on top of his, and he relaxes noticeably. Giving them what I hope is an understanding smile, I continue.
“I know these questions are difficult and may not seem important to you. But I need the answers to paint an accurate picture if I’m to do my job.”
They both nod their understanding, and we move on.
“Does Madison have a boyfriend? I’ve seen her picture, and she’s a beautiful young woman. I’m sure the boys are lining up.” I open the file folder. A lovely blonde girl holding a racket smiles up at me from the glossy photo stapled to the inside of the folder.
“No, Madison doesn’t have time for boys. Her life is too busy with school and the tennis team.” Mr. Taylor sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. This topic is making him uncomfortable and a bit defensive. He may not know it, but I read people well. There’s more to this story.
I look directly at Genevieve, ignoring his reply. Raising my eyebrows, I wait for the rest of the story. She fidgets in her chair for just a second before glancing at her husband.
“There was this one boy that we did not approve of, but she finally saw reason and broke things off after only a month or so,” Genevieve says.
Mr. Taylor looks out the window. Obviously this is a touchy subject for him.
“I have several friends and acquaintances on my list to interview. I’d also like to speak with your son. If you could notify them that I will be in touch, the process will go more smoothly. What was the name of the guy she was seeing?” I direct this question to Genevieve, but Mr. Taylor answers me instead.
“His name is Sean O’Donnell. He works at some bar. You won’t find anything there. She didn’t date him long.”
Hmm. Could this be the Sean I know? My favorite bartender has the same name, and he’s Irish. His Irish brogue is something I’ve always loved about him. Could there be two in town?
“Do you know the name of the bar he works at?” I ask, hoping it’s not the bar I’m thinking.
“It’s somewhere down on Mill Avenue, near the A.S.U. campus. I don’t recall the name,” Genevieve says.
“Thank you. What you’ve supplied is enough for me to get started. I will be contacting you with additional questions. What is the best way to reach you?” I close my laptop and slide it into my bag.
“You can reach us at the phone numbers we supplied in our email. We check our messages regularly,” Genevieve says, rising from her chair. “Please find our daughter, Ms. Chase. Our children mean the world to us. I can’t imagine life without either of them in it.” Her eyes start to
get glossy, but she blinks quickly and looks out the window.
“I’ll do my best. And you can call me Sam,” I say, extending my hand toward her.
Turning away from the window, she gives me a small smile and reaches for my hand. When we touch, something like a shock runs up my arm, and I almost yank it back. We share a look that tells me she felt it too. Neither of us say a word.
Strange.
Genevieve surprises me by pulling me into a brief hug. I’m so startled by the sudden display of affection that I stand there for a second blinking at her when she pulls away. It seems uncharacteristic for her, but then I don’t know Genevieve Taylor.
“Thank you,” she says. And with that, our meeting is over.
3
Sean O’Donnell
After running to the library in search of my next good read, and then dropping off clothes to the dry cleaners, I learn that the missing girl’s roommate is out of town at a tennis tournament for several days. I need to get into her apartment before then.
Other than the strange situation between Genevieve and me, it’s been an ordinary kind of day. I agreed to spend some time with Adam tonight, so I asked him to meet me at a bar called Rúla Búla, an Irish pub on Mill Avenue.
I chose this place for two reasons. First, it’s one of my favorite spots to hang out with friends. Second, I hope to speak with Sean, the bartender. I don’t ordinarily mix business with pleasure but this case is sucking up most of my time, and I want to go over my case with Adam.
There can’t be two Irish bartenders working on Mill Avenue named Sean. Maybe Irish bartenders named Sean are a dime a dozen in Ireland, but in Phoenix it’s too much of a coincidence.
I’ve known Sean for almost two years, but I don’t know him.
Every time I see him he asks me out, and always buys my first beer. I’ve always been intrigued by the many tattoos that cover his arms and neck, and his attention is flattering. He’s handsome in a bad boy sort of way, but he’s always been sweet to me. We flirt, but it doesn’t go anywhere. I don’t let it.
Anyone with eyes can see that he’s attractive and charming. Girls at the bar hover around him like flies and I recognize his sex appeal, but he’s not my type.
When I arrive at five o’clock the happy hour crowd is already starting to fill the place. I don’t spot Adam or Sean when I briefly scan the room. I find a table with a view of the bar and the front door, claiming it for my own. Pulling out a small notepad and pen from my bag, I begin to jot down some notes for my case.
Suddenly, soft lips are at my neck, causing me to jump and my pen to fly out of my fingers. Adam reaches out and snatches the pen out of the air before it flies across the room.
I let out an exasperated breath. “Must you sneak up on me all the time?” I ask, still bristling from the shock.
“My apologies. Your neck is far too tempting with your hair pulled up in that manner. I will try to refrain if possible, but I make no promises.” He takes the seat next to me and leans back in a relaxed, lazy fashion that says he isn’t sorry at all. “Thank you for agreeing to join me for a drink. I took the liberty of ordering you a beer,” Adam says.
As if on cue, the waitress arrives, placing a beautiful glass of Guinness on the table.
It’s impossible to miss the seductive look she gives Adam before slowly turning to leave. I don’t even think she knows I’m here.
He gives her a glance, but not the kind she wanted. She throws the last look over her shoulder at me, apparently sizing me up. Most likely trying to decide what this incredibly seductive male specimen could see in me. Ha. I ask myself the same thing, girlfriend.
But, if she keeps throwing him those come-hither looks I may have to trip her.
I’m not that girl. I’m not usually the jealous type, but that’s just rude. And ignorant people get on my nerves.
“Where have you been?” he asks, regarding me with an odd look on his face. Before I can answer, he leans over and pulls me out of my chair and into his lap. I’m so shocked that I don’t say anything at first. Next thing I know, Adam has his face in my neck and he’s inhaling deeply. I’m a little mortified by the PDA.
When I find my voice, I ask, “What the hell are you doing?”
“With whom have you visited? You smell like dog.” He has the nerve to wrinkle his nose in distaste.
I push out of his arms and settle back in my chair, glaring at him.
“What the heck are you talking about? I haven’t been around any dogs.”
I lift my shirt and smell it, just in case. All I smell is my perfume and laundry soap. He’s insane.
“That’s a lovely thing to tell a girl. Maybe you need to read What Not to Say to A Woman.” I frown at him. “I’ve only met with the Taylors and their lawyer. Maybe one of them has a dog.” I sniff my shirt again. “Only you and your supernatural nose would pick up on that.”
“Allow me to rephrase that—you reek of lycan. You might know of their kind as werewolves.”
He has my attention now. Adam’s look is one of concern—the one that most people would say was smug and arrogant, but I’m beginning to learn the subtle nuances of his brooding looks.
Adam’s concerned that I encountered a werewolf without knowing it. Truthfully, that thought rattles me as well. Nobody is normal these days. I was walking around in total ignorant bliss before.
I’ve only met with the lawyer and the Taylors. And then I remember something.
Genevieve’s spontaneous hug.
“Whoever met with you today is a lycan. You must be more careful of who you associate with,” Adam says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. I love and hate the snug-fitting Henley-style shirts he sometimes wears. They leave nothing to the imagination.
A slow smile begins at the corners of his mouth, and immediately I know what has happened. My cheeks must be bright red as I slant my gaze away and quickly cover my thoughts.
A few weeks ago, Adam saved my life after I took a brutal beating from a vampire who was trying to kill me. He saved me by giving me some of his blood. Being alive today is awesome, and I’m thrilled to be here, but there was a cost.
Having Adam’s blood in me is a permanent situation with seriously annoying complications. For one, all other vampires will think I belong to him. I don’t belong to anyone but myself.
But, my biggest complaint is that he can sense my emotions. Being around an attractive guy and knowing that he can feel your emotions as you feel them can impede the whole “dating” process.
At the same time, I’ve gained a few benefits as well. I’m noticeably faster, stronger, and I haven’t needed my reading glasses since it happened. I hope that benefit stays with me.
Thank goodness he can’t read my mind, but sometimes all he needs to know are my emotions to take total advantage of a situation. This private knowledge is the reason for his smug smile. He knows where my thoughts traveled.
So frustrating.
“You don’t need to smile like the cat that ate the canary just because I noticed you look good in that shirt.” I roll my eyes at him.
“I’m just pleased to provide you with the evening’s eye-candy. I’m prepared to show you a great deal more if you like,” Adam says, his eyes glowing their preternatural blue. I roll my eyes again and look around to see if anyone notices his eyes. When I look back, his eyes are the usual brilliance which is closer to human, but not exactly.
“You’re predictable, like a broken record.”
“Men, even vampires, are simple creatures. Food and sex drive us, in either order and often together.”
He’s so cocky and direct. You’d think he couldn’t surprise me anymore. I try hard not to allow myself to get in the mud with him. Even when his words sometimes turn me on. He’s either turning me on or pissing me off. There is no happy medium with Adam.
“Back to the issue at hand. Do you seriously mean to lecture me on what company I keep, Vampire?” I cross my arms over my chest and mirror h
is body language.
“Yes, since you seem unable to recognize a potential threat. And werewolves and vampires should be avoided, present company excluded. But then, you’d be wise to stay away from me as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you want me to stay away now?” I can’t believe he just said that.
“It would be best for you, but I don’t know if I could refrain. I’m selfish and self-serving on a good day.” He looks thoughtful as if he’s indeed taking the idea under consideration.
Suddenly the notion of him disappearing from my life by his choice is deeply disturbing, and I look away to cover my distress. It’s too late. I hate that. Before I even have time to analyze my emotions, he knows them.
“I’m not going anywhere, Samantha.”
“I wouldn’t care if you did,” I lie, and he knows it.
We say nothing for a moment.
“One or more of the people in your meeting today are lycan. We need to determine which one. Jacob has been learning who the local packs are and about their hierarchy. He’s made some contacts in the lycan community. That’s no easy task for a vampire. Our species do not play well together, but Jacob is an excellent negotiator. He’s able to make connections that I never could.”
Great, more complications to consider. I haven’t even learned all I need to know about vampires, and now I should educate myself about werewolves, or “lycans.”
“Am I in danger if it’s the Taylors or Mr. Chavez?”
“It depends. Many in my world don’t wish for mortals to know about our existence. It can jeopardize their safety. Humans have died for little more than possessing this knowledge.” There is that hard gleam in his eyes again.
“What can that mean for my case, if the Taylors are werewolves?”
“No human could make a lycan disappear. It may have more to do with the recent attacks in the Phoenix area,” he says.
My “missing persons” case just escalated.
