by Faith Gibson
I scroll down, looking for something, anything, to tell me what kind of person Alexa Murdock is. Most of the posts are made by her friends. Stupid memes meant to make her laugh. Videos of cute puppies meant to lighten the heart. Short messages from old friends asking to get together soon. From what I can see, there are no posts from her. No responses to her friends. Why have a page if you aren’t going to interact? You have one. Mine is so I can fly under the radar. Is that what she’s doing?
I return to the top of the page and click on the photo tab. While the other women have tons of pictures in their albums, she has five. The oldest is a shot of her taken at work. Again, Lexie’s obviously caught off guard, because she’s looking over her shoulder, but she’s smiling. As the photos progress over time, the light in her eyes dims. The smile fades. I’ve seen her beauty close up. I’ve also been witness to the sadness. This shouldn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter to me. Liar. I’m just high. Right.
Not wanting to argue with the voice in my head, I click the red X in the top right corner of my screen and power down for the night. I don’t bother getting back up. I place the computer on the floor before turning out the lamp and sliding down between the sheets. I reach down for my nightly jerk-off session, but my dick has decided it doesn’t want to play. Between the pot and the sadness in Lexie’s eyes, my body is as melancholy as my brain. Just as well. Jared’s probably tired of me wasting water from having to wash my sheets so often.
Chapter 12
Cass
I’m taking a big fucking risk coming here during the day, but last time I was here, I noticed Adam leaves his personal laptop at home. After meeting up with my former cellmate last night, I have a device that will copy the files from Adam’s computer even if it’s password protected. It amazes me the technology that’s available if one knows where to get it. I wouldn’t have known anything like it existed if it wasn’t for Damian. Seeing him brought back some fond memories as well as some I’d rather forget. He didn’t bring up the past, and for that I was grateful. He just told me I owed him one before leaving. I almost dread what the one will entail.
I have my hair tucked up in a ball cap. My arms are covered by long sleeves so my ink isn’t visible. I’m wearing nondescript clothing and basic black motorcycle boots. I found a pair of black-framed glasses with no prescription in them to finish out the look. The only thing I have going against me is my height. There aren’t too many men skulking around this area who are six and a half feet tall. I don’t have anyone watching my back, and I don’t have eyes on Adam. Lexie’s at work, so I won’t be distracted this time. I let myself in the back door and hurry to the office. If my husband locked the door to his office, I would want to know what secrets he was hiding. Lexie either knows or doesn’t care. Or she doesn’t want another bruise to go with the one that has only recently faded. It takes mere seconds to pick the lock and enter the office. There’s enough daylight coming through the edge of the blinds that I don’t need to turn on the light.
I open the laptop and power it on. I find it is password protected, but like I said, it doesn’t matter. I could hack it if I had time, but I don’t. I insert the device into the USB port and send Damian a text. Within thirty seconds, the light on the device turns from red to green, and I wait. He said it could take anywhere from five to thirty minutes depending on the amount of information on Adam’s hard drive. While I wait, I carefully search the office for anything I might be able to use against my former partner. Murdock was supposed to show me the ropes. Teach me how to be a good cop. Instead, he stabbed me in the back. I want to know why. Other than he’s a piece of shit for a human being, there has to be a reason he set me up the way he did. Him and his two buddies.
Charles Cutler is no longer on the police force. From what I can tell, he got out of the cop business soon after what went down and I went to prison. He wasn’t elbow-deep in the shit like Adam and Neil, but he testified, giving them an alibi for that night. He’ll get what’s coming to him, too. Lying piece of shit. My phone pings with an incoming text.
One word – done
I close the desk drawer I’m looking through and make sure the light is flashing green instead of steady before removing the device from the computer. I slide it into my back pocket and shut down the laptop, making sure to leave it and everything else the way I found it. I lock and close the office door and exit the home the same way I entered.
My sedan is parked on the next street over. I ensure the neighbors aren’t peeking out their windows as I wind through the side yards leading to my car. Pulling off the hat and glasses, I settle in for the drive to the apartment where I can swap vehicles. If anyone is paying attention, it wouldn’t be hard for them to take note of my coming and going. The Super Sport is as loud as it is eye-catching. I would leave it parked for the time being, but Jared would want to know why I was driving something else. I already lied to him earlier when I told him I’d be late. I don’t think he was being nosy when he asked why; I think it caught him off guard since it was the first time I’d ducked out of work for any reason.
When I told him I was giving a friend a ride to work, he nodded and let it go at that. He didn’t ask which friend. Since he already knows I’ve been spending time with Violet, he probably figured I was talking about her. I hated lying to him, but I had managed to keep him out of my shit so far, and I intended to keep it that way.
I’m anxious to get through the day and get home so I can plug the device into my own laptop and begin digging. I have a feeling I’m getting closer to finding out the truth of what happened that night, and why I was set up. Who the fuck were they protecting besides each other? And how did my wife end up involved in their shit?
Jared and I have finished rebuilding the Shelby, and we’re rolling it into the showroom when the front door opens. The man looks familiar, but I can’t place him. “Can I help you?” Jared asks as soon as we have the Mustang where he wants it.
“I’m here about the Cuda. I called earlier.” He doesn’t look like he has enough money to buy a sack lunch from McDonalds much less be able to afford a high-end muscle car, but I know from personal experience looks are deceiving. He walks over to the car in reference and takes a good look all the way around.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Hughes.” While the man is checking out the interior, Jared opens the hood so the customer can inspect the motor. I have no reason to stay up front while they complete their transaction, but something about the man doesn’t sit right with me. It’s that gut feeling you get when you know something’s off. If he has the money to purchase this car, then that’s all that should matter. I pretend to wipe fingerprints off the Shelby so I’m not looking like a slacker. Jared cocks his eyebrow at me while the man’s attention is under the hood, and I give my cousin a small shake of my head. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns, but I keep my mouth shut. I take every opportunity to study his face, but it’s the way he continues to look my way that unsettles me as he asks questions.
“I’ll take her,” Mr. Hughes says, glancing over his shoulder at me. I duck my head and retreat into the back. As I’m walking away, I hear him say, “I brought cash. I hope that’s okay.”
Whoever Mr. Hughes is, he has seventy thousand dollars cash to drop on a car he’ll probably never drive. It’s been completely restored, same as the SS. I should feel bad about driving the Chevy as much as I do, but I don’t. It was a gift from Jared. I’m not going to take something so expensive and hide it in a garage. I’m also not going to go out and tear it off the frame, either. I go back to work on the carburetor I was cleaning. A few minutes later, Jared finds me at my work bench. “What was that about?”
“You ever get the sense of déjà vu? Where a sound or a smell reminds you of something from your past?”
“Sure. Everyone gets that from time to time.”
“Well, that man’s voice, there’s something about it that gave me a chill. What’s his first name?”
“Clayton. And befo
re you ask, yes, I asked for ID so I could verify everything he put on the paperwork. I don’t care how much cash someone has, I know to cover my ass.”
I tried to think back on the name. It didn’t ring a bell. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll come to me eventually if I know him from somewhere.”
“I’m headed to the bank. No way I’m letting that much cash sit around here. You want me to pick up lunch while I’m out?”
“Yeah, you know what I like. Thanks.” Jared leaves me to work, and I add Clayton Hughes to my list of things I’ll be checking out once I’m home. I don’t remember him from my stint in prison, but worrying about it all day won’t do any good, so I put him out of my mind and focus on the job.
By the time I get home, I’m about to crawl out of my skin. I don’t want to be rude and skip supper when Jared takes the time to cook, and thankfully today I don’t have to be. He’s on a deadline with the chopper in the garage, and we agree to have a sandwich. I take mine to my bedroom and fire up the laptop. I plug in the device that’s been burning a hole in my pocket all day. While it downloads the files to my computer, I do a search for Clayton Hughes. At first glance, the man is on the level. No parking violations, no articles about him in the newspapers, nothing. It’s when I dig a little deeper I find something interesting. Clayton Hughes died three years ago. The obituary doesn’t include a photo.
My computer pings when all the files from Murdock’s computer are on mine. I minimize the screen where I’m reading about the dead man and open the new screen to look at the new desktop. The neat thing about copying his files this way is I can see it as if I were looking at his computer. His background photo is the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. No surprise there. I open his document icon and find close to twenty folders arranged alphabetically. The names of most of them are cases he is or has worked on. I click on the first one and find several more folders inside the first one. I take a chance and click on the top most file, and when it opens, I find more folders. If Adam has done this with every folder in his documents file, this is going to take for-fucking-ever to go through.
I back all the way out and decide to rearrange them by date starting with the oldest first. Some of the files go all the way back to the year 2000, but that’s before what I need. I shouldn’t be surprised he has case files on his personal computer. Adam was a good cop in that he was thorough in the job. He paid attention to detail. He saw everything around him. Adam was a bad cop when he decided I was guilty. Of course my fingerprints were all over the house. It was my fucking house. The knife used to kill my wife was my fucking knife. He and I had only been partners for about six months, but that was long enough for him to get to know me and the kind of person I was.
I unplug the laptop and take it over to the bed and get comfortable. I finish my sandwich and take a pull of my beer before I continue clicking on file after file. My eyes become dry from staring at the screen, and my ass is going to sleep from staying in one position, so I stand up to stretch and go grab another beer. I walk out to the garage where Jared’s wiping his hands on a grease rag. “You finished?” I ask as I admire the chopper he built from the frame up. It’s a one-of-a-kind custom.
The smile he gives me is one I rarely see unless he’s about to get paid, and by the looks of this bike, I’d say he’s going to make enough cake to retire, even though he won’t. “Yep. What do you think?”
“I think I’m in awe of you. Man, this machine is a fucking beast.” The front fork is stretched out so far I wonder how it’s steerable. I’ve started riding recently, and there’s no way I’d get on a chopper raked that drastically. The seat is custom-made by a man who deals in horse saddles. It’s ostrich by the looks of it. The paint job includes a scene from the movie “Tombstone”, and the detail is amazing. Snake was working on the drawing for it last time I was at his house getting inked.
“What’s up with you?” Jared asks as I stare at the bike, not really seeing it.
“I did some digging on Clayton Hughes.”
“And?”
“And, he’s dead. At least the man who the driver’s license belongs to. Died three years ago over in Abilene. No survivors, so no one will be the wiser at someone using his identity for something like purchasing a Barracuda. I haven’t been able to figure out where I know him from, but I’m not giving up. Is him using false information gonna mess up your books?”
“It shouldn’t. The cash was real, and I have signed paperwork along with a copy of his license. I signed the title over to Clayton Hughes.” Jared shrugs. “What else are you working on?”
“Just doing a little reading. Nothing interesting.” So far nothing I’ve found in Murdock’s files has been of use, but I’ve barely scratched the surface. Getting Jared’s attention off me, I ask, “You gonna put this bike in the show next month?” Jared has several trophies lining the walls of the living room for bikes he’s built over the years.
“Nah. This one’s going to live out in California. Some pro football player commissioned it.”
“Wow. That’s great. Not that you can’t put it in the show, but that you’re getting business from across the country. You have really made a name for yourself. I’m proud of you, cuz.”
Jared gives me a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. On the outside looking in to most anyone else, Jared would appear happy. He has a successful garage. He is the shit at building custom bikes. He has plenty of money. Maybe if he opened himself up to love again, he would finally find happiness. Maybe that’s hypocritical of me, since I don’t plan to ever allow a woman in my heart again, but it doesn’t mean I can’t wish for my cousin to be happy.
“You need anything before I head back inside?” I ask while bending over to pet Zeus, who decided he’s sniffed enough grass in the back yard.
“Nah. I’m going to call the customer and let him know he can come get it.”
I nod but don’t say anything else. It’s still fairly early, and I have plenty to keep me busy. I’m supposed to meet Violet later, but that’s going to have to wait. I’m not in the mood to watch game shows with her and her grandmother anyway. Our arrangement has turned into more than it was supposed to be. She was supposed to keep Neil Perry occupied while I kept his wife entertained. The last time I was over at Violet’s, she got pissy with me when I pulled out of her pussy before my orgasm hit. I wasn’t about to take a chance with someone who agreed to fuck a married man for money. I realize I’m doing the same thing minus the money part, but I know where my dick’s been and where it hasn’t. I have no idea who spread Violet’s legs before I convinced her to help with my plan.
After she gave me attitude, I decided to back off a little and keep our arrangement business only after that. She’s getting too used to me coming around. Now that I’m getting my rocks off in other women, I don’t need her for that. I do need her for at least another month with Neil, though. After that, I’ll cut her loose.
I grab another beer out of the fridge on my way through the house. I settle in for another boring couple of hours digging through files on Adam’s computer. Before I do that, I decide to look through the photos. It’ll piss me off if Murdock has nudies of Lexie, but at the same time, I’ll be glad to see what she looks like without clothes. Like you need more reason to fuck your hand to thoughts of her. What the fuck ever.
Chapter 13
Lexie
I wish today was my day off. My mind is preoccupied with one mysterious thief. But is he a thief? Other than whatever Adam lost in his office, I can’t tell that anything has been touched. If he did take something, he could have taken it from Adam’s office since I’m not allowed in there.
When the man said he wanted me for one night, I automatically turned him down. However bad my marriage is, I take my vows seriously. That doesn’t mean I didn’t get in the bathtub and touch myself while thinking of the handsome stranger. Or that I didn’t dream about him that night when I closed my eyes. Or that I don’t look for him to be sitting in the corner, shadows
falling over his body as he watches me move about my bedroom. His breath on my skin alone had my core clenching and dripping with need. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been so turned on. Adam has never once made my insides churn with such a burning desire.
Something about the stranger is familiar to me. I don’t think it’s his looks, because I’d never forget someone so tall. So broad. So menacing. There’s no doubt about it; the man is scary as crap. It was something in his voice, that familiarity. The deep timbre still echoes in my brain with the things he wanted to do to me. To show me. And damn if I’m not tempted. I’ve never once considered cheating on Adam even when he knocks me around. I think about leaving all the time, but never cheating. Not until now. I know I’m that woman – the one who stays in an abusive relationship because I’m scared. But Adam is a cop. Who am I going to tell about his abuse that would believe me? They might believe me, but they’d not dare do anything about it. Nobody crosses Adam Murdock.
The stranger’s words come back to me. “But he’s a bad one. He’s a bad man, but you already know this.” I’ve been contemplating those words since that night. I’ve never thought about whether or not Adam is a good detective. He closes most of the cases he and Neil work on. What if the man had meant Adam was bad as in dirty? Not once have I considered that possibility. Why would I? Now, it’s all I can think about. Well, not all. My mind flashes between trying to figure out if my husband is a crooked cop and trying to imagine what exactly the stranger would do to me if I ever succumbed to his wishes. That crazy feeling returns in my stomach. The one that spreads through my chest and elsewhere. I really need to stop thinking about him, especially with customers in my chair.
