The woman behind the desk was in light pink scrubs, her shiny, long-layered, wavy hair left around her shoulders to catch the artificial light overhead. She was in her late twenties or early thirties and pretty with a slightly round face, big blue eyes, and a curvaceous body that teetered the line between average and full-figured.
"Hey there," she said, giving me a warm smile that could have easily been due to a good nature or her job. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, actually," I said, giving her a smile too. "I'm here about Riya Sweeney."
She visibly jumped back, her lips parting. "Riya?"
"I understand she used to work here."
"I, ah," she said, self-consciously looking over her shoulder for a second. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"My name is Sawyer Anderson," I said, reaching into my pocket to show her my ID and PI license.
"A private investigator?"
"Yeah. I work for Ms. Sweeney. Can you tell me your name?"
"Ah, yeah. I'm Ginny. Ginny Mayer."
"Okay, Ginny Mayer," I said, jotting that down. "What can you tell me about Riya?"
"Wait," she said, brows drawing together. "You said you work for Riya?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you asking about her?"
"Trying to figure out why no one reported her missing is all."
"I don't... I mean, I guess that didn't seem like it was my place. I figured she had quit or something."
"Did that seem like something she would do?"
"Well... no. She had worked here forever. She was the one to train me, actually," she said, smiling like it was a fond memory.
"Did anyone try to get in contact with her?"
"Yeah. I mean, Maryanne called her at least a dozen times, but then her phone stopped working..."
"Maryanne is the office manager," I guessed. "Is she here? Can I speak to her?"
"Ah, let me go check," she said, moving out from behind the desk and going into the hall, knocking on the first door on the left, going inside, then reappearing a moment later. "You can go right in," she said, giving me a quick once-over and there was an unmistakable light in her eyes that suggested if I was in, so was she.
I should have been in. She was pretty. She was friendly. She didn't fucking hire me to figure out where a year of her life was.
But I felt nothing.
So I went in the office and shut the door and didn't even try to pursue it.
I talked to Maryanne. I was told all about Riya's perfect work record. I was told how much the office felt her loss, that she all but ran the place most days.
When I asked why no one reported her missing though, I wasn't mistaken that she stiffened and her tone got more guarded. "We just figured she wanted a change and left."
But that was all she would give me.
And it wasn't enough.
So I had something else to have Barrett look into- the people at Navesink Bank Fertility Center. Because Maryanne, at least, was hiding something. And I wanted to know what that was.
I got back in my car and jotted a few notes then plugged in the next address into my GPS.
Her first boyfriend, the one from high school, Eric O'neil didn't need to be checked up on. He had finished college in California then permanently relocated there, getting married, having two kids, and working some boring ass mid-level job at some PR firm. Complacency and the lack of a letterman jacket and the training that went with it to keep him fit, he had bloated up and lost his hair.
She had dodged a bullet by them breaking up.
But the next long-term boyfriend was worth looking into. He was not only the longest relationship left on the list at two years, but he had stayed in the area, getting a job one town over at a bar as a bouncer.
Derek James dropped out of community college after a year and a half, just six months shy of graduation. From there, he bounced around at various restaurant and store jobs before getting the bouncer position. He had a couple of petty arrests for drunk and disorderly and one assault arrest that didn't end up with any kind of conviction. But still, it was violent which made him worthy of checking out.
He lived in a rental house with his brother in a decent area where they must have paid a mint to stay.
"Can I help you?" A woman answered the door, her brow raised, her hip cocked, like she had no patience for waiting to get back to whatever I had interrupted.
"I'm Sawyer Anderson. I need to talk to Derek James."
"Derek!" she shrieked over her shoulder. "Door!" she added, gave me a hard look, and wandered away.
Derek James had the perfect build for a bouncer. He was a solid six-three with huge shoulders and biceps bigger than some mens thighs. His white tee stretched over a strong chest and abs, a hint of a black tattoo covering his deep skin out the neck of the shirt. His dark hair was kept short and his deep brown eyes sized me up quickly.
"You a cop?"
"PI," I corrected instead.
"PI, huh?" he asked, putting a hand on the doorjamb, making it obvious I wasn't invited inside. "What are you here for?"
"Riya Sweeney..."
"Riya?" he interrupted me, body stiffening. "She alright?"
"She's fine now."
"Now? What happened to her?" he asked, curious, interested. Whatever happened to her, he wasn't in on it.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
"I haven't seen Riya in... fuck, I don't know... three years? And even then, it was just that we happened to be at the gym at the same time. Never saw her there again at that time. Guess she didn't want to see me."
"Any particular reason why?"
He shook his head at me, looking at his feet for a second. "I fucked up. Young and stupid and thought she would love me no matter what I did."
"What did you do?"
"You met Jodie," he said, nodding his head toward the woman inside.
"Yeah, she's a real sweetheart," I agreed, lips twitching a little.
"Yeah, well, I knocked her up while I was still with Riya."
"She must have been pissed."
"Nah, man. Riya doesn't run hot. She gets pissed, she gets fuckin' frigid. She told me that she hoped I had a daughter and would understand how shitty what I did to her was because of that." He paused at that. "I did have a daughter and I would gut a mother fucker who did what I did to Riya to my little girl," he said with a nod. "Though, we were doomed to fail anyways."
"Why's that?" he asked as a little girl walked up behind him, smiling up at him.
"Because I wanted this," he said, reaching for the girl and picking her up.
"Riya doesn't want kids?"
"Riya had her tubes tied the week she turned eighteen. She wants kids, but she wants to adopt. I wanted my own."
"Alright," I said, exhaling. "Well, thanks for your time," I said, knowing it was wasted on both our parts.
He nodded. "I hope you get the answers Riya needs. She's a good woman. I hope nothing bad happened."
With that, he backed up and closed the door.
I went back to my truck and scratched out his name, picking up the paper for the next guy on the list.
Timir Lee was in marketing, making huge sums of money and living in the luxury townhouses in town. The ones that cost millions. For a fucking townhouse. Timir drove a nice car and vacationed in nice places.
He and Riya had dated for a year back when she was twenty-three, pretty fresh out of her relationship with Derek.
Timir had been ten years older than her at the time.
I drove over to his office, waiting in the lobby until I saw him break for lunch.
Timir Lee was tall and thin, his expensive suit tailored perfectly, complete with a goddamn pocket square. He had the indeterminate heritage that Riya seemed to have, but seemed more likely to be Indian, the Eastern, not the Native, kind. His black hair was neat and shiny with some sort of product. He was reasonably attractive and had an air of confidence and success around him.
"Timir Lee," I called, falling
into step with him.
"I'm on lunch. Make an appointment."
Oh, he was a charmer.
"I'm here about Riya Sweeney," I said as he walked out the front door.
"Riya?" he asked, turning back suddenly outside the door on the sidewalk.
"Got your attention, I see," I said with a nod.
"Who are you?"
"Sawyer Anderson. I'm Ms. Sweeney's PI."
"Her PI. Is she being stalked or something?"
"Or something," I agreed.
"Is she alright?"
"Yes."
"Why are you here?"
"I need to know about your and Riya's relationship."
"Okay," he said with a nod. "Sure. What do you need to know?"
"Well you dated for about a year..."
"One week shy," he agreed.
"Mutual or..."
"Riya was young. She was fresh out of a relationship where a man treated her like she was interchangeable with other women. She didn't like how often I had to be away on business, was distrustful that I was faithful."
"Were you?"
"I was thirty-three years old, Mr. Anderson. I had long since gotten over my need to bed any attractive woman I came across. I was looking for something serious."
"With a woman ten years your junior?"
"It's a cliche to say, but Riya truly was mature for her age. She knew what she wanted out of life and I thought she wanted that with me."
"She broke up with you?"
"The night I came back from a business trip to the City, I found her in the living room next to a pile of her boxes. She was tired of being alone and worrying. So she was done. She didn't realize I had a ring in my pocket. Bought it at Tiffany. It was an almost exact replica to the one her father gave her mother."
"Wow," I said, genuinely impressed. "Have you been in contact since?"
"I won't lie. I tried a time or two. I wasn't done with her. But she was happy finally getting her life going, standing on her own feet, not relying on men. She wasn't looking for a commitment and I still was. Is any of this any help?"
It'd be a fuckuva lot of help if I was looking for character references. She was, by all accounts, a great person. The men she loved had nothing but kind words to say about her, even after all the years.
"Not particularly. But at least I can scratch you off the list."
He nodded at that, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He reached for it and looked at the screen with a sigh. "I hope you find what you are looking for, Mr. Anderson," he said, nodding at me, then walking toward his waiting car.
Oh for three.
And the other two names on the list would need a lot more research to narrow their names down.
Or, I could go to the source and ask.
She wouldn't like that, but she would have to get over it.
When I got back to the apartment late that night, I found her gone. I also found my dog gone. I felt my guts twist slightly before I saw my note sitting on the counter. Walking over, I saw the panties missing and her own writing underneath mine, much more loopy and feminine.
"I figured if I put my big girl panties on that I could take Slim for his evening walk."
I smiled at that, bunched up the note, and tossed it. Then I ordered in and waited.
And waited.
And fucking waited.
By the time I heard Slim's paws on the stairs and his tags jingling, I had been pacing the floor for fifteen minutes.
"What the fuck?" I exploded when she stepped inside, her cheeks a little pink, her hair tied back, in yoga pants with a sugar skull print and my black sweatshirt I had given her.
"What the fuck what?" she asked innocently, a little cooly, as she leaned down and unclipped Slim who immediately went to get a long drink, his tongue hanging out.
"Been home about forty minutes. You were gone before I even got here."
"Your dog was crossing his legs, Sawyer," she said, moving across the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
"Fine. Taking him out takes five minutes, not forty."
"He's also lazy and fat," she added, taking a long swig. "We took a brisk walk down the main drag and back. Twice. It's not good for a big dog to be overweight."
I took a breath and let it out slowly. "Riya, we don't know what happened to you. You shouldn't be out there..."
"Having a life?" she asked, brow raising. "I should... what? Just sit up here like Rapunzel and wait for you to let me out of my tower? Newsflash, Sawyer. I might be someone who was involved in a situation beyond her control, but that doesn't make me some damsel in distress. I don't need you to save or protect me."
Riya doesn't run hot. She gets pissed, she gets fuckin' frigid.
That was what Derek had said.
And, well, the woman in my kitchen was ice.
Unfortunately, that just made me want to warm her up.
I moved into the kitchen, grabbing a beer in the fridge, close enough that I could feel her body heat. "You might want to ease up on the perfume."
"I'm not wearing perfume."
"Sure you are. I think it's called 'Ode To Get The Fuck Away From Me'."
I looked at her face quickly enough to see her have to force her lips to stay in a straight line. "Apparently I need to go put on some more," she said, raising a brow because I moved in to lean against the counter beside her, our hips touching. But she would be damned if she backed away first.
"So I made some visits today. Went to your old work. Talked to Ginny and Maryanne. Got a weird vibe off the boss, but nothing that seemed sinister. And then I made some house and work calls to Derek and Timir."
"You... what?" she almost yelled, wrenching away from the counter so she could face me fully. "What? Why? Why would you do that?"
"To make sure they didn't have it in for you in some way."
"I could have told you Derek and Timir have no interest in hurting me."
"And I could tell you that not everyone is a great judge of character so I couldn't take your word for it. You've dated a range of guys, huh? Bouncer and some hot shot marketing guy."
"They were good men. Well," she said, rolling her eyes. "For the most part, they were good. Derek couldn't keep his dick in his pants."
"And Timir?"
To that, she shrugged. "He was genuinely an all-around good guy. But I met him at the wrong time and it didn't work out."
"He was coming back to propose to you," I pointed out, for reasons I didn't care to examine.
"He what?"
"From that last trip right before you dumped him. He said he had a ring in his pocket."
She paused, letting that sink in and I watched as surprise crossed her face. But that was it, just surprise. She wasn't regretful or sad. "Interesting."
"That's it? A man almost proposes to you and that's interesting?"
"It was years ago. I cared for him, but I was too distrustful and immature to really love him. My loss, I'm sure."
"I have a couple questions for you actually."
"About?"
"Chris Miller," I said, rambling off the name that Barrett figured must have been a one-night stand.
"Oh," she said, snorting. "Chris."
"Who was Chris? Boyfriend?"
"God no," she said, big smile in place. "No. Christ, he was... ah, well, there's no nice way to say it. He was a manwhore. He got around. He was hot and charming and I was single for the first time since high school and thought I needed a fling to 'bounce back' from two bad relationships in a row."
"And?"
"And that's it. He left work, came over to my place, we had some fun times, and he left. That went on for a couple of months before I realized it just wasn't for me."
"And how did he take that?"
"Oh, he was real broken up about it," she drawled with a wry smile. "He started screwing the girl a floor below me two nights later. We said hi in the halls until she got rid of him too and then I didn't see him anymore. He's no suspect for you, Sawyer.
I'm pretty sure he couldn't pick me out of a lineup if he needed to."
"Alright," I said, accepting that. "And what about Michael Robinson?" I asked and I saw her stiffen just before the buzzer for below went off.
I sighed, going for my wallet and heading for the door.
Whoever Michael Robinson was, he was a sore spot.
And I had a feeling she wasn't going to like it one bit when I pressed it.
TEN
Riya- 2 days
I didn't want to talk about Mike.
If Eric was my 'sweet first love' story and Derek was my first 'done me wrong' story and Timir was my 'wrong-place-wrong-time story', then Mike was my 'what the ever loving hell were you thinking' story.
Every woman had at least one.
And no one ever wanted to discuss them. Least of all to a man they had made out with and had at least a begrudging respect for.
Because no one wanted to admit they were stupid enough to make such a huge, epic mistake.
I had.
Mike was the mistake of a lifetime.
The worst part of it was the fact that I hadn't been eighteen and stupid. I hadn't been drunk. I hadn't been duped or coerced into it. I had, quite frankly, known exactly what I was getting into and I went ahead and dove in anyway.
And I had been the ripe old age of twenty-seven at the time.
"So I had no fucking idea if you like sushi, but I ordered enough for two, including some veg rolls in case fish isn't your thing."
"Fish is good," I said, going to the kitchen as Sawyer reached in the bag and pulled out tray after tray of rolls and one container of seaweed salad.
"Dig in," he suggested, handing me the chopsticks that I pulled apart and used to mix some wasabi into my soy sauce. "Alright," he said, having eaten his first bit while my mouth was still full. "Tell me about him, Riya." I chewed and shook my head, looking down at the counter.
He paused for long enough for me to think he was going to let it go.
"When I was fresh out of the military, the first time I had stepped on American soil in more years than I care to admit and I fell into bed after bed, trying to make up for lost time or trying to find some softness after so many years of hard. Fuck if I know which. Anyway. I grew up with this kid, Matt. He went into the service with me and Brock, but he went home a lot sooner, started his life over. One drunken night at a bar, I hit on his baby sister. I brought her back to my place. We had a one night thing. Neither of us wanted more than that. Her, because she knew that I wasn't in a settling down phase. Me, because once I sobered up, I knew what an epic fuck up the whole thing was. Matt found out. To this day, he still won't speak to me."
367 Days Page 8
