My cheeks ached by the time I pulled into my space in the parking garage, and I forced the smile from my face. I’d been ravished by Franklin Reed. Holy crap. Could I ever look him in the eye again? On Monday, I would return to work and pretend like nothing happened. Simple. In a few weeks or months, Franklin and I would laugh about our meaningless tryst.
I entered the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. My neighbor, Jacob Smart, greeted me when the doors slid open and I stepped out.
“Hey, Tatum. Come here you gorgeous thing, give me a squeeze.” I obliged and enjoyed the familiarity of his arms.
“How was your day, Jacob?” I kissed his cheek and brushed a piece of white hair off his forehead.
“Great day, today. I’m exhausted. Headed to bed.” He patted my shoulder and turned to enter his apartment.
“Goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jacob and I had shared a hallway for three years now. I moved into the building shortly after my father died. Jacob bought the neighboring unit a week after I moved in. For a sixty-something retired bookstore owner and widower, the guy was as spry as a toddler on a sugar high. We had become fast friends and he’d always been there for me, like a favorite blanket or comfort food. Wise, gentle, and patient, he called me on any bullshit I might have been idiotic enough to feed him.
I became obscenely wealthy on my twenty-first birthday. Turned out my father acquired quite a fortune after his great aunt died and kept it a secret from my mother and me. Upon his death, the money came to me. My mother wanted nothing to do with it. She’d said, “Without Antonio, I wouldn’t enjoy it.” Although I’d never desired material things, I did splurge and buy a condo on Alki Beach, overlooking Seattle and the Puget Sound. I had invested the rest of the cash and hadn’t touched it since.
It was a good feeling to know I was set for life, but I liked working. I enjoyed getting up in the morning and having a place to go. I relished the office camaraderie.
I ended up at Cruse Investigations because Wallace Cruse was a kiss-ass mooch. He grew up with Dad, harbored some weird man-crush on him, and followed him around like a lost puppy. My father started the company when I was three, got bored, and sold it to Wallace. When I debated college, Wallace offered me a job with a cushy salary. I was nowhere near qualified, and I know he hired me to satisfy his weird need to please the man he coveted. I took the job only because I still didn’t know what I wanted to do when I grew up.
As the receptionist, I spent most of my day answering phones, directing calls, scheduling appointments.
The majority of our cases? Infidelity. The majority of our clients? The upper echelon of the Seattle social scene. I’d learned over the past four years that absurd wealth didn’t protect people from stupidity. It just made it easier to cover up their imprudence. After Wallace took over, Cruse Investigations quickly became the place to call when someone suspected a cheating spouse or significant other. We’d become the Jerry Springer of the private investigation world.
Wallace was the king when it came to schmoozing. King of Kiss-Ass that is. Lied through his teeth most of the time to land clients, but for some crazy reason, it worked, and he’d built himself a mini empire with my father’s company.
I didn’t love my job. Just didn’t hate it enough to move on. Dad’s aura permeated the walls. Some days, it seemed he was right there working alongside me. Did that make me crazy? Perhaps. It also gave me reason to stay. As much as I despised Wallace, I could deal with his insane personality, less than honorable business practices, and flamboyant lifestyle. He’d been part of my family for as long as I could remember. I’d never known him to be anything other than the putz he was. Didn’t mean I was obligated to like him, though.
Chapter 4
The gray Seattle sky I’d come to love gave way to black, thunderous promises of a torrential downpour. I wiped salty water from my face and waved to Jacob Smart, who passed on the sidewalk just beyond the short stretch of beach. Wallace thrashed and struggled in vain to dislodge the hand that held his face below the surface of the water.
Seaweed tangled around his neck. With eyes bulged and glossy, he screamed, silent and ineffective.
I laughed. “No one will help you.” I looked up to the gathering crowd on the shoreline. Some applauded. Some guffawed along with me.
“This is what happens when you make practice of screwing with people, Mr. Cruse.”
His thrashing ceased. My audience cheered with whoops and hollers. I released his throat and watched the lifeless, bloated body bob away in the darkening water.
I awoke refreshed and spunkier than my norm. Did I feel guilty for killing Wallace on a regular basis, be it in daydreams or real dreams? Not a chance. Maybe it was my body’s way of purging the pent-up repulsion towards him.
Despite what it seemed, violence wasn’t my nature. I could barely stand to kill a spider. There was something about the man that drew morbid fantasies out of my psyche. Perhaps I needed to see a shrink. Perhaps not. Dreams were cheaper than therapy.
Warm sunshine blanketed my living room. I stood at the window and watched the early morning walkers, bikers and rollerbladers. Some moved along with purpose, but most seemed to delight in a casual stroll and revel in the rare, early spring sun.
An elderly couple caught my eye. The man, although walking with a cane, steadied his wife with his free arm. Their movements were unhurried. They smiled, laughed, greeted people as they passed. That’s what I wanted. That, to me, was true love. Two people who have weathered the storms of life and stuck together. I pictured a similar future for myself. Just had to ditch the curse first.
They traveled at a tedious pace, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. That couple was far more beautiful than the beach, the mountains in the distance, or the Seattle skyline. Their love story, in my imagination, was rarer than the April sunshine and blue sky, far more fascinating than the man with the bright orange running shorts and tie-dyed muscle shirt who roller-danced with a boom box perched on his shoulder.
They passed a lamppost and my gaze rested on a man wearing black boots, dark denim, and a dark gray sweatshirt. He leaned against the massive pole, legs crossed at the ankle, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. Casual, yet arrogant. His hood was pulled low, revealing nothing of his face but a pair of aviator sunglasses. Even through the dark lenses, the weight of his glare crushed me.
Something in my stomach twitched. I placed a hand on the window and leaned against the glass, hoping to get a better look. He was too far away to know for sure, but I think he smiled at me. Not a friendly hi, how are you kind of smile. It was more an I got you, you're a dead bitch kind of leer. I would have been frightened if I weren’t across a busy street, in a secure building, five stories up. I was mesmerized by this stranger. From my viewpoint, I couldn’t accurately gauge his height, but underneath his loose attire, the solid, formidable form was unmistakable.
Standing straight, he pulled his hood down farther and strutted away, carrying himself with fierce confidence. Badass-motherfucker came to mind. I imagined a gun tucked in the back of his jeans, a knife or two hidden strategically in the sleeves of his shirt. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by his stranger-danger vibe. Each and every passerby gave him a wide berth as he strode away.
What a way to start my morning. Someday, my vivid imagination was going to get me into a heap of trouble.
* * * *
I wrapped up my Saturday morning ritual of coffee and muffins with Jacob. In typical Jacob style, he inquired about the status of my love life. I scrunched my face and told him boys grossed me out. That always made him smile.
I loved Jacob like an uncle, but there were some things a girl shouldn’t talk about. My romp on Franklin’s couch would be one of them. I sent him on his way with a plate full of leftover muffins, kissed his cheek, and watched him shuffle across the hall to his door.
I was about to shut myself in when I heard the ele
vator ding. Being the curious bloke I was, I peeked through the crack of my door to see who was coming. I nearly fell on my ass when the hooded stranger from outside stepped into the corridor. Without hesitation, I slammed the door shut and secured both locks.
Heart racing, I peered through the peephole. Eons passed before a dark form blocked my view. I jumped back and covered my mouth to stifle my panicked gasps. Shit. Did he hold a finger against the hole? What the hell? Frozen in place, I waited for a knock that didn’t come. My heart hammered painful blows against my chest, pumping heated blood through my ears and skull. I jumped when I heard muffled voices and a loud slam. It had to be Jacob’s door. We were the only apartments sharing this floor.
I listened, then listened some more. Excruciating minutes passed before I was able to trigger the nerves that connected my brain to my legs. This was insane. Jacob had a visitor. So what? Why was I getting so worked up? Maybe my overactive imagination needed a long vacation.
I threw on my sweatshirt and grabbed my sunglasses. A walk on the beach would do me some good. Sunshine, blue sky, and salty air. I peeked again before leaving to be sure no hooded creeps lingered in the hall. The coast was clear so I made my escape.
I only needed to cross the street to reach my destination. There was a walking and bike path, a patch of grass, and then the beach. Despite the sunshine, it was way too chilly to park it in the sand and enjoy the view, so I headed west. Merging onto the walking path took an insane amount of gumption, much like I-5 during rush hour. Somehow I managed and even dodged a cyclist with an impressive amount of grace.
Instead of clearing my head, I filled it with dizzying thoughts and questions about my non-date with Franklin. What would happen on Monday? How could I face him after running like I did? Oh crap. What if I’d stayed? Would I have woken in his bed this morning instead of my own? Hmm. He must be yummy in the morning all sleepy and…oh, no. I couldn’t let my mind go there.
I made the decision to call him. At least it would make things less uncomfortable on Monday. Except I didn’t have his number. We’d never exchanged digits, never had reason to. Maybe Nan could help me. Would that be creepy? Make me a stalker? Clearly, if he’d wanted to give me his phone number, he would have, right? Except, I hadn’t given him a chance. I was the one who bolted after all.
Okay. Enough was enough. I’d call Nan as soon as I got home and get his contact info. She’d have it on file. The woman practically ran the damned company, for crying out loud.
I was less than a block away from my building and lost in reflection when a bulldozer wearing a gray hoodie knocked me off my feet and flat on my back. I lay on the sidewalk for a moment, stunned but unhurt as far as I could tell. From the corner of my eye, I watched him sprint away and duck around the corner of a building.
“Asshole!” I shouted. Not that it did any good. A jogger stopped to help me to my feet.
“You okay?” she asked, panting. Her face turned ten shades of pale. She looked wide-eyed, down the length of my body. “Oh, my God. Let me call an ambulance.”
“What? No. I’m fine.” I reassured her.
“But you’re bleeding.” She gestured to my stomach.
Yup. There was blood smeared across the front of my clothes. I frantically searched for a wound. No pain. I pulled up my shirt. Nothing. Not a scratch. I inspected my hands. They were bloody, but only from touching my soiled garment.
It must have come from hoodie man. My throat closed tight and I grabbed the jogger to steady myself. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
I sprinted the short distance home. The elevator took at least three hours and twenty-five minutes to reach my floor. As I approached Jacob’s door, my heart stopped beating, the hallway narrowed and lengthened, and I fell to my knees. It was wide open. I pulled myself up, gripped the wall for support, and peeped in the doorway on shaky legs.
* * * *
Detective Leland Waters jotted one more note in his little black book, handed me a card, and patted me on the shoulder. “Miss Wood. Here’s my number. Please call if you think of anything else.”
I nodded because I hadn’t a damned word left to say. I’d told him everything I could remember about the man who’d haunted my day, from the moment I’d spied him out the window until I found Jacob, bloody and clinging to life on his newly tiled floor.
Was this a dream? Only a few short hours ago, Jacob and I laughed over coffee. Now, the muffins I’d baked, as I did every weekend for him, sat in a pretty basket atop his counter, soiled with gore.
“I’ll be in touch, Miss Wood.” He handed the bag containing my bloody clothes to another officer. The familiar ding of the elevator resonated through the hall. When Franklin stepped through the doors, escorted by a bald, stalky officer, my shield of numb lifted and like I’d been tossed in a tub of icy water, a brisk dose of reality drowned me in emotion that somehow, until that point, I’d held at bay.
The men around me blurred, all but Franklin. After a brief word with Detective Waters, he pushed through the field of blue and stormed toward me. I couldn’t peel my eyes from him. I could hear nothing but my own heartbeat, see nothing but Franklin Reed. Then, he whisked me into my home, the door slammed behind me, and rock solid arms wrapped around my middle.
“Tate. Are you okay? Shit. I was going insane downstairs. Police, ambulances.” He stopped talking and held me tighter.
It was then that I started to shake and allowed tears to fall. I dropped to my knees and let the dam burst. Franklin followed me to the floor and cradled me. I don’t know how long we sat there or if he spoke. I did know, with Franklin Reed holding the pieces of me together, I could survive anything.
I woke hours later on my couch, wrapped in the afghan my grandmother crocheted for me the year before she died. Franklin rested on the floor, back against the sofa, watching television with the volume on mute. I ached to reach out and touch him, but I didn’t have that right. He wasn’t mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He turned, piercing me deep with a blazing gaze. Concern, but not pity, etched the lines of his face. “I couldn’t leave until I knew you were okay.”
My heart lurched at the sentiment in his voice. It was the most desirable sound in the world. He held up a sandwich and a beer. “Helped myself. Hope you don’t mind.” Placing the food back on the coffee table, he turned and grabbed my hand.
“How did you know where I live?” I pushed into the sitting position. He didn’t release my hand. Just held it, sure and steady. I trembled under the power in his simple, comforting gesture. Not from fear, but the raw masculine force that came from his touch.
His smile soothed my jagged emotions. “Stalking 101. I took a class. It’s opened a whole new world to me.”
I forced a grin. He reached over to cup my face. “I was worried I did something wrong last night. You ran out so fast. I needed to make sure we were good.” Caressing my cheek with his thumb, he studied my lips, then my eyes, then my lips again. Did he want to kiss me? I wanted him to, more than I’d ever wanted anything. Something held him back.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I freaked and bolted. It’s just that—” I stopped. What was I supposed to say? Sorry, bub, if you want to get with this, I need a ring on my finger? I don’t do casual sex? Sheesh. Was there any girl my age in Seattle who didn’t do casual sex?
More likely than not, a man as fine as Mr. Reed collected a plethora of over eager ho-bags. All of whom would eagerly spread their legs for the chance to be touched by the glory that was Franklin.
I sighed. “I need commitment. I need to know I’m more to a man than just a place to stick his dick. Call me crazy.” I was probably the only girl in the universe who would run away from a man as delicious as Franklin, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“Tatum Wood. What makes you think I wanted to stick my dick in you?” He pretended to be offended.
“Well, Mr. Reed. It could have been the fact that y
our dick was harder than a diamond dildo and desperate to shred the fabric of my skirt.” Oh God, did I just say that? I needed to tighten the reins on my loose tongue.
He must have read the horror on my face. His jaw dropped, then closed, then the wrinkles in his forehead deepened.
“Tell me what happened today. Every detail.” His tone, no longer playful, was a dead-on impersonation of my father.
Okay… Subject changed.
I told him about hoodie man and how it seemed he’d been watching me. Franklin grilled me harder than Detective Waters. He pulled information from me I didn’t realize I’d retained, like he’d done it a million times before. I found it odd that he failed to query me about the stranger.
He asked about my relationship with Jacob. How did we meet? What did I know about him? How often did we talk? Was he ever in my apartment? How many times? Did he have a key? Every detail. No stone left unturned.
“Why so many questions about Jacob? He’s the victim, remember?” Swelling tears blurred my vision. “What does my relationship with him have to do with the poor man being gutted like a pig?”
Franklin stood and paced the length of my living room. “I’m sorry. I feel like we’re missing something.” He rubbed his finger up and down the cleft of his chin. “Wicked Game” blared from his ass, drawing my attention to the tantalizing part of him that got me in trouble the night before. Cussing under his breath, he pulled the cell from his back pocket, opened my balcony door, and disappeared into the darkness.
Whomever that ringtone belonged to, Franklin didn’t like talking to him and apparently needed privacy every time he did.
Chapter 5
I watched, breathless, as the sexiest man alive blazed an angry trail back and forth across my deck. I couldn’t hear the conversation but his body language spoke volumes. Clenched fist, angry pacing, shoulders taut. Silhouetted against city lights in the distant background, his physique consumed my attention, drowning out the street noise, blinding me to the surrounding landscape. Oh, to hold such power. Franklin carried himself in the same manner hoodie man had: formidable. Difference was, Franklin wore it with a sexual confidence that drew people in, unlike hoodie man’s menacing cloak.
How to Kill Your Boss Page 3
