by C. A. Harms
As I enter the room, I’m face to face with three men, one being the man I’ve thought about every minute of the last four days. The urge to call him was constant; the desire to feel his hands on me overpowering. But most of all, it is the way he makes me feel by just holding me close that I craved the most.
Security, safety…I’ve missed them every second of each day.
“Ms. Mansfield,” the man with the longer, shaggy hair says. He is one I hadn’t seen the day of the murder. “I’m Detective Norris and I believe you’ve met Detective Vaughn and Detective Miller already.”
“I have,” I say as I shift my gaze to Nic and find that he is looking at the file he holds in his hands and not at me. It causes a sting that I have no right to feel. After all, I was the one to push him away just as my father wanted me too. I am an idiot. “What can I help you with?”
“We’ve got a few questions regarding some gaps in the security footage of Sunday evening and early Monday morning.”
“The security team that Mr. Mansfield set you up with should be able to answer those questions for you.” I look back toward Nic to find him still avoiding eye contact. “They have access to all the tapes.” I may have handled quite a few things in the company, but security was always my father’s responsibility.
“Which they provided for us,” the other guy from the morning of the investigation, Detective Miller, says. “But the problem is that two segments of video have been removed from those tapes. One from about eight p.m. on Sunday evening, which we have been told was within a few minutes of Ms. Quintes’ arrival. There is also a gap around three forty-two a.m., which the medical examiner has indicated to be about ten to fifteen minutes after the estimated death of our young victim.”
My heart races as my mind goes over the things they said.
“But very few people have access to the security room. If anyone goes into that room without scanning a badge, the alarms sound and alert the local police department. It’s the same with our vault.”
“So then we need to know who all has access to the security room,” Nic finally speaks as he lifts his head and locks his gaze with mine. “Because I hate to burst your bubble, Ms. Mansfield,” his nose wrinkles when he says my name, “but there is someone on your staff that has deliberately deleted two time slots on the videos, and we need to know who and why.”
All I can do is nod because this is all somewhat of a shock. Why would anyone delete anything from the tapes? Unless they were trying to hide something, either for themselves or someone else. This also means that among those people on that list my father would also become a suspect. I understand that I will most likely suffer through my father’s wrath once he gets word that I provided information to the police that may or may not lead to his interrogation concerning his whereabouts during the missing time slots. But what choice do I have? In the end he may be pissed that he has to prove he had nothing to do with the situation or the cover up of a horrific crime, but for now I have to provide the information.
I spend the next thirty minutes giving the detectives every name authorized to access the security room. I willingly hand this information over because something isn’t right, and I want to find this person almost as much as they do.
Except for the one question Nic asked me, he hasn’t said anything more. He avoided looking at me and allowed the other men to ask all the questions. He merely continued to listen intently as he stared down at the file he held. I wasn’t sure if there was something of interest he was looking at or if it was his way of keeping his focus off me.
When they’re done, he gathers his things and stands from the table in what appears to be a hurry. He looks past me as if I’ve not spent the last thirty minutes being drilled with one question after another. Like he doesn’t know me. Like a recap of how I’d treated him only a few days ago.
My heart sinks when I realize what I’d done. Not calling Nic was hard, but seeing him now just reminds me of what I so willingly stepped away from. That familiar ache I’d had when my father told me to stay away from him, or even when Gia looked at me with disappointment, had returned.
The first two detectives offer me thanks as they began to walk toward the door and I reach out to place my hand on Nic’s arm just as he starts to follow. “Nic,” I whisper his name and feel his arm tense beneath my grasp.
I have so many things I want to say, so many feelings I wish to express as I stand there and fight against the worst internal war I’ve ever felt in my life.
“It’s okay, Emerson,” Nic says in a whisper of his own, still keeping his eyes focused straight ahead instead of looking at me. “We had fun while it lasted, but why lie to ourselves and pretend we were in the running for some lifelong romance.”
An alarm fills my body as I keep my hand on his arm, the words he speaks only a repeat of my own from days before.
“You got to spend a little time being wild, and now you can go back to those lifelong dreams that a guy like me can’t fulfill.” My hand slips from his arm as he steps away and he joins the two men who wait for him just outside the room. I think his words sting more because they are my own being thrown back in my face. And the fact that every single one of them are nothing more than lies crushes me. Nic is the type of guy to give a fortunate woman a lifelong kind of love. I could have been that woman. He is the first real thing I ever had, and because of the fear I have of my father and the hold he has over my life, I let that chance go.
Nicholas
“We got a call from Mr. Mansfield this morning.” Perry sits down on the chair at the opposite side of my desk. “It would seem he didn’t care much for us seeking out his daughter the other day while he was out of town.”
I’m sure he didn’t, but pleasing him isn’t what we are hoping for. Solving the case is a top priority; bringing justice to the victim is what we are striving for.
“He said, and I quote, ‘All questions were to be directed to me.’” Perry even offers the air quotes which makes the whole thing more ridiculous.
“So, we’ve managed to offend Mr. Mansfield and his female clone.” Maybe I am childish in regard to Emerson, but I am still battling with the unsettled feelings I have for her. How the hell could I have been so wrong about the time we shared?
“No,” Perry leans forward and rests his elbows on my desk, “not his daughter. From what Deputy Harris has said, his daughter walked out on him.”
Now, this gets my attention.
“He called to follow up with her after our interview, and her assistant said that she no longer works for Emerald.”
“Did she walk out or was she fired?”
Perry shrugs before standing up and grabbing a handful of mints off the corner of my desk. “I guess the truth about that situation we’ll never know. Not many employed by him are willing to offer any more information than they have to. I’m sure the idea that because of his own daughter’s willingness to help he is now a suspect of murder doesn’t really sit well with him. I’m sure that didn’t go over real well.”
I stare after him as he walks away, my heart racing. When he is gone, I reach for my phone and dial Emerson’s number. Disappointment hits me when it goes straight to a recording that indicates the number is no longer in service.
Frantically I dial Spencer’s number and drum my fingers on the desktop before me as I wait, very impatiently, for him to answer.
“What’s up grouch?”
“Where is Gianna?” There is a moment of silence which grates on my nerves. “Spencer?”
“You need a Midol, man, you’re turning into a raging bitch.”
“Where is she?” I ignore him.
“Hell, I don’t know,” he fires back with equal irritation. “Probably at work. Contrary to what you believe—”
I cut him off. “What’s her number?”
“Why the fuck do you need my girl's number?” The asshole decides to get all jealous and territorial. I know there is only one way to play this if I want answers.
&n
bsp; “Perry just informed me that King Douchebag himself called into the office to express how displeased he was that we questioned Emerson without him being present.” I stand from my desk and grip the back of my neck as I turn to look out the window behind me. “He also let me know that when Detective Harris attempted to make contact with Emerson again to clear up the interview, he was told that Emerson no longer worked for Emerald.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I tried calling her, and it says her phone is no longer in service. So what I need to know is has Gia talked to her?”
“As of last night, no.” My heart sinks. “She’s pretty torn up about the distance between them, too. They’ve never gone more than a day without talking.”
“Call her, would ya? Make sure she hasn’t heard from her today.”
“And what are you gonna do?” he asks as I turn around and grab my keys off my desk.
“I’m gonna take a ride over to her apartment, see if I can get some answers. I just need to make sure she’s alright. She may not want anything more with me than what we’ve already shared, but I do care about her, Spencer. More than I should have allowed but it’s too late to stop it. All I want is to confirm that she’s okay, then I’ll let her go. I’ll let it all go.”
Twenty minutes later I’m walking into the lobby of Emerson’s building with one sole purpose in mind—ensure she is all right. I may feel wounded by her words, sour from the idea that what we shared before means nothing to her, but I can’t ignore the fact that I care about her. She can pretend that what we had was some fling, a way to give her wild inhibitions a test drive, but I know there was something there. I felt it.
“Good evening, sir.” The doorman stands from the chair behind his desk as I enter. “Can I offer some assistance?”
“No.” I walk past him toward the panel near the elevators. “I’m actually here to see Ms. Mansfield.” I tap in the code she’d given me that night she awaited my arrival the night she lay in bed, wanting me as severely as I desired her.
“Ms. Mansfield isn’t here.”
My finger froze over the last number, the same uneasy feeling in my stomach once more.
“She left two days ago,” the doorman continues. “She only took a few things with her and when I asked, she said it was all she had.” I turn around to face the man and immediately see the concerned look on his face. “I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I also know that you and her shared something so I’m gonna go against the privacy policy of my job.” I nod, my heart racing as I wait for the information he holds. “The apartment upstairs was registered in the name of Emerald Suites, her father’s business.”
The puzzle is now all coming together.
“She left to say that everything in the place was his. I guess his meant Mr. Mansfield. I never really cared for that man. He was always throwing around his power, with her and quite frankly everyone. That poor woman has been a yoyo to him for years, never truly did she seem happy. That was until I seen the two of you together. Emerson deserves better than her father has ever allowed for her. You made her happy, I could see it.”
Suddenly I felt even more raw than I had moments ago. “Do you know where she went?”
He shook his head. “Only that she climbed into the back of a cab looking completely lost and sad. I had half a mind to snatch her up and take her home with me, but I’m not sure how well that would have gone over with the missus.”
The guy had to be near retirement age.
“I presume she had someplace to go, friends maybe?” I knew she wouldn’t have come to me, not after the way I acted toward her the last time we were in the same room. And Gianna—they too were at a crossroads, also because of me.
“Listen,” I cleared my throat trying to hide my worry, “if you see her, can you tell her I stopped by?”
“Sure,” he nods, “and your name?”
“Nic,” I was already reaching inside my jacket pocket for a card, “or Detective Vaughn.”
“Is Ms. Mansfield in some trouble?”
“No,” I tell him, “but I do think she needs someone to protect her.” Her father is poison, and this confirms it. What kind of man fires his daughter because she talked to detectives about a case? Not only that, but he takes away her home and everything inside of it. She left in a cab so I can safely assume he took her car too.
The entire thing breaks my heart and royally pisses me the fuck off at the same time.
Emerson
I wasn’t stupid enough to allow my father to maintain control of all my assets. I had a couple of credit cards, a smaller savings account in my name in a bank my father didn’t hold ties to, and a small stack of cash I kept hidden in my dresser drawer beneath all my bras.
I know those funds won’t last long and the cards will soon need to be paid. Which brings me back to the fact that I am jobless and without a source of income. One thing I did have was a trust fund I could access once I turned thirty. I guess my father thought by then I’d have my act together. Or should I say he believed I’d be his puppet, much like my mother.
Tonight is my second night at Comfort Inn, a hotel my father would call a rat hole. He had easily forgotten that he once lived in a rundown apartment in a small suburb of the city and worked for minimum wage. I have to play this out wisely, which means staying in a five-star hotel with a jet tub and heated pool was not in the cards for me.
Tonight is also the first time I’ve eaten a meal since the night before my father flipped everything upside down. I had entered my office to find the locks had been changed. He fired me while everyone stood around watching in the main lobby, like firing his daughter without hesitation gave some message to the rest of the employees.
Then he proceeded to have his bodyguard follow me back to my apartment and watch over me as I packed only my personal belongings and handed over my keys, not only to my home but to my car too.
How could I have been so stupid as to allow him to hold so much control over my life and everything in it?
I sit in the center of my bed, the starchy sheets and cover beneath me feeling stiff. I try not to imagine the things that have most likely taken place on this bed before my stay.
My burger and now cold fries sit in a styrofoam box in front of me as I pick at the half-eaten bun. My eyes are filling with tears as I quietly lecture myself on how dumb I was. I had no phone, though I could use the one in my hotel room. But again, who would I call?
Nic—he had nothing to say to me, but I can’t blame him. I am the one who lied, pretending to be uninterested in continuing anything more with him, all because my father made me feel as if I had to stop it. In the end, I am left without the man I was falling for, and my father's satisfaction of knowing that he had entirely held up his end of the promise. I did have nothing; he had all the control.
Gianna—I can still picture the disappointment in her eyes. It tears me apart each time I envision it.
I can’t even call my mother because as Gia has stated so many times before, she was my father's robot. She was most likely already directed to refuse any contact, and she would do just that for fear of also being tossed out on her ass without anything. Her possessions, her manicures, and designer clothes mean more to her than her pride or her daughter.
I push away from the remaining food and curl over onto my side. Tucking my hand beneath my cheek, I let my mind fall back to the weekend I’d spent at Nic’s—the way he’d held me through the night, nuzzling my neck, the whiskers on his jaw feeling prickly against my skin. I imagined being back in that very spot as I closed my eyes. The sound of the small refrigerator in the room hummed softly; in a way it reminded me of Jax’s low purr.
For a short time, I had something good, something that could have been real and I walked away from it because Hector threatened Nic through me.
A tear runs along my cheek and drops to my hand beneath as I give in to the exhaustion and fade into a deep sleep.
I wake sometime d
uring the night to the sound of the television—a late night talk show where some lady is demanding that a deadbeat father continue paying for his child. I climb out of bed, grab the food that still sits in a box near the end of the table, and toss it into the trashcan on my way to the bathroom. Reaching into the shower, I flip on the water and slowly begin to shed my clothes, dropping them to the floor one by one. I grab the hotel shampoo and conditioner and climb beneath the lukewarm water.
I can feel my lower lip tremble as I mechanically move through the actions of washing my hair and body. I don’t even remember turning off the water or grabbing a towel before I end up back on the bed, sitting just at the end. I stare ahead at the orange-colored drapes and the tacky wallpaper that covers the room. Suddenly I feel like the room is closing in all around me. Shrinking, making me feel slightly claustrophobic and small.
I hurry off the bed, searching through my bag for a clean change of clothes. I don’t care what they are, I just know that I need to get out of this room.
I gather my purse and my keycard, slip my feet inside my tennis shoes, and hurry out of the room. The halls of the hotel are quiet as I walk toward the elevator. I still have no idea what time it is.
Staring at the floor of the elevator, I try to ignore the anxiety that is consuming me. The sound of the bell announcing my arrival on the first floor makes me jump before I rush forward and out into the main lobby.
My hair hangs loose and wet and my oversized shirt hits just above my knees, making the fact that I wear shorts beneath hard to notice. As I step outside, I tilt my head back and take in one deep breath.
I do this a few times before I finally take in my surroundings and instantly another emotion takes over. Fear. The streets are bare with only three men standing on a corner about fifty feet away. All three of them are turned in my direction, watching me intently.
“Hey pretty lady,” one of them calls out as he lifts his hand in the air and starts to walk in my direction. “You look like you could use some company.”
