by Eva Luxe
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.
“So am I.”
I hung up the phone, and Caden started patting my back. He went in for a hug, and I stood there wondering what the fuck had gotten in to him.
“Zach!” he said. “You gotta tell me all about that shit when you’re done tomorrow night.”
“Why the fuck are you so happy about this?” I asked.
“You smiled on the phone conversation. She makes you smile. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen anything make you smile?”
“You make me sound like a depressed asshole.”
“That’s because you are,” he said, grinning. “But not anymore.”
“You’re an idiot. And I’m going home.”
“Wait, you’re not getting a drink with me?” he asked.
“Look, I’ve got plenty of beer at my house, Clingy Betty. Why don’t you come over, and we’ll order something in and have a drink there?”
“Can we order a pizza without vegetables this time?” he asked.
“We’ll get one for each of us so you can be a greasy hog,” I said.
“Good, because I don’t do vegetables.”
“Which is why you’ll die by the time you’re forty.”
“Just because I—”
Caden’s eyes were behind me again, and I whipped my head around. That fucking white car was back, and this time, I was determined to figure out what the hell was going on. I took off toward it at a full sprint, getting right up to the car just as the female driver sped off.
I was focused on the backseat, trying to figure out what the hell was back there. Did she have signs for a picket? Or a bag of shit to handcuff herself to a tree? Did she have shit for bomb-making materials, like maybe she was going to blow up a tractor just to make a point?
I caught a glimpse of what was in the backseat as the woman sped away, and my heart hammered in my chest.
“Did you catch anything?” Caden asked, panting.
“Yeah,” I said. “I saw what she had in the backseat.”
“Is it anything dangerous? Should we tell the boss man about it?”
“No, nothing dangerous,” I said.
“Then what did she have, dude? I can’t run like you.”
“Because you don’t eat your vegetables,” I said mindlessly.
“Caden. What was in the backseat?”
“A baby,” I said as I turned my head toward him. “There was a baby in the backseat.”
Chapter 14- Paige
I was about to start getting ready for my date when Mr. Kent called me. I had called him after my date with Zach at the seafood restaurant, but I had to leave a message with this secretary. He had been busy with some meeting, and she told me he’d call me back as soon as he could.
Now it was time to talk.
“Mr. Kent, thank you so much for getting in touch with me,” I said.
“Thank you for calling. I’m sorry I was unavailable. So, something tells me you have information for me.”
“I do. I have found the man in question. Zachary Harte lives in Brookings, Oregon and works for the local lumber company.”
“I already knew that, Miss Conwell. Do you have any information for me that I do not already know?”
“Well, you wanted me to call you after every surveillance, so that’s what I’m doing. The past that I can pull up on him is very basic. He keeps to himself and lives in a cabin that’s near the falls.”
“So, he’s isolated?” he asked.
“Yeah, for sure. He went out of his way to live in a secluded area. He doesn’t seem to get out and about much. I’ve seen him at the grocery store and riding around on his motorcycle, but I haven’t seen him interact with anyone other than myself.”
“So, you’ve talked with him.”
“Yes. Because information about his past is so limited, I’ve had to turn this into an undercover operation of sorts. We had dinner the night I called you.”
“Did you find out anything pertinent over this… dinner?” he asked.
I could hear the tone of his voice change, and I knew this would happen. Men in my field who went undercover were being professional, but women like myself who went undercover were simply being closeted whores. I felt my heart rate increase, and I drew in a deep breath, trying to keep my cards as close to my chest as I could.
“There’s nothing in his background that suggests he’s a criminal, nor is there anything in his attitude. His mother’s dead, but his father’s still alive, although I get the feeling he resents his father quite a bit.”
“And why is that?” he asked.
“It was the tone of his voice when he mentioned his father. He was more willing to talk about the death of his mother— even though I could tell it hurt him— than he was his father. That might be a connection I’ll explore later.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “His family hardly has anything to do with him stealing money from me.”
“You’d be surprised how those types of connections—”
“The family angle isn’t important.”
I heard Mr. Kent draw in a deep breath on the other end of the line. His tone of voice had been so harsh that it sent shivers down my spine. I was finally penetrating that nice little facade he had going for the people around him, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I could sink my teeth a little deeper into him.
“I made arrangements with Mr. Harte for a second outing this evening,” I said.
“Ah, good. You’re seeing him again. I take it I should expect a phone call?”
“Yes, you should. There was a bet that took place over dinner that I lost.”
“A bet?” he asked.
“Yes. Mr. Harte seems to have a competitive streak. Anyway, the bet was that if we saw each other a second time, he had to answer one personal question I asked him, fully and completely.”
“What are you going to ask him, Miss Conwell?”
“Depending on how the questions roll tonight, a range of things. It has to fit in with the conversation so he doesn’t suspect anything from me, but it has to be personal enough to give me answers I can’t find doing my own research.”
“I like this. You getting close to him. Keep up the good work. Figure out what makes this guy tick.”
“That’s the plan, Mr. Kent.”
“Enjoy your little outing this evening. I will stay by my phone.”
“Talk with you soon,” I said.
What I failed to tell Mr. Kent was that I’d gotten a look at Zach’s phone. When we exchanged numbers at the restaurant, I had him give me his phone so I could put in the number myself. Which gave me a few seconds to poke around his phone while he entered his number into mine. From what I found and the few things I could open, he didn’t have any suspicious programs running on his phone. In fact, he didn’t have much at all on his phone. Zach had the basics. The preloaded applications that came with the phone and a couple of games meant to keep him occupied. He had a couple of social media applications, but by the looks of what I opened, he didn’t utilize them much at all.
He didn’t even have one full-screen page of applications, much less some computer hacking software running in the background.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I decided to call Kami. I knew she’d want to know about what was going on with Zach and me. In the back of my mind, I knew this wasn’t a real date.
I was surveilling this guy and trying to figure out what his connection was with my client. But it had been such a long time since I’d been on a genuine date with anyone, and I was getting nervous about it as the clock ticked by.
I had two hours before Zach was going to be here, and my stomach was in knots.
Kami answered immediately. “Hello, hello, beautiful. What has you calling at this hour?”
“At this hour? It’s only five thirty.”
She laughed. “I didn’t sleep last night. I wasn’t sure what time it was, so I just threw something out there
.”
“That’s bad. You need sleep. Otherwise, your ‘welcome home’ cake will have missing letters.”
“How did you know I had one of those cakes due?” Kami asked.
“I’m just that good,” I said.
“You took a wild guess, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Wild as hell.”
“So? How are things in Oregon?”
“Well, I’m meeting Zach again tonight for dinner,” I said.
“Wait a second. That statement has an ‘again’ attached to it?”
“Yes,” I said. “We went out a few nights ago to this place called Dick’s Crabs. And it was phenomenal.”
“Say that name again one more time.”
“You heard me right the first time. I promise. But yeah, the food was phenomenal, and he was not what I was expecting.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “He didn’t act like a sleazy, disgusting thief?”
“He didn’t act like any of the criminals and sleaze-buckets I’ve surveilled and come into contact with. Like, at all.”
“Paige, you need to be careful. You don’t know this guy or what he’s capable of.”
“I know, I know.”
“And if he finds out who you are and what you’re doing, you could be in danger, whether he’s a criminal or not. I’m sure he wouldn’t like knowing the woman he’s taking out on dates is actually a private investigator hired to dig up dirt on him.”
“And to think I called you to help me settle my nerves,” I said.
“Sorry. Okay. What are you guys doing tonight?”
“Dinner again. But at a place that’s a little quieter.”
“The first place wasn’t quiet?” she asked.
“We went to a rowdy seafood joint where we ended up in a seafood-eating contest while the entire restaurant cheered us on. No, it was not quiet.”
“It sounds unique and interesting, though. I take it the quiet dinner was your idea.”
“Why is that such a bad thing?” I asked.
“Because for a loud and outgoing girl like yourself, it’s so weird that you like the quiet dates.”
“Look, I’m not always rowdy and loud and bombastic. I can appreciate the quiet moments.”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” she said.
“I will. I’m shocked you don’t want more detail, though.”
“I’m laying in bed, about to go to sleep after being up for twenty-nine hours. Catch me in a couple days when my life slows down, and we’ll gossip.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Be careful, Paige. I’m serious.”
“I will, Kami. I promise.”
I hung up the phone and took a look at the clock. I had an hour and thirty minutes to get ready and swallow my nerves before Zach rolled up on his motorcycle to take me out. I sighed and started rifling through my clothes, trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to wear.
Then, it was just a matter of waiting.
Chapter 15- Zach
I was ready for my date with Paige. As I rode through town on my bike, I kept thinking about that one question she was going to ask. I knew what I was going to ask her, but there were a ton of questions she could throw out there that I didn’t want to answer. Like what happened with my mother, or why I moved to Brookings. She could ask more about my father or ask me what sort of plans I had for the future.
Those types of questions opened up cans of worms I didn’t want to deal with, and in any other scenario, I would just lie. For some reason, it didn’t feel right to lie to Paige like that. Deep down, I didn’t want to.
I rode into the hotel parking lot and pulled out my phone. I wanted to let her know I was here while still keeping boundaries. If she switched hotels just because I followed her to one, then it meant she was taking precautions to keep herself safe. That meant she was definitely in this city alone, and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel as if she had any reason to fear me.
After all, I was hoping she’d come home with me tonight.
I sat there and waited on my bike as I pulled out a second helmet. When she came outside, I had to take in a deep breath. The jeans she wore fit her curves in all the right ways, but it was her top that took me by surprise. It was form-fitting this time, showing off her voluptuous tits and her slim waist. Her hair was piled high on her head, and she had earrings dangling from her ears that accentuated her neck.
I wanted to sink my teeth into her neck.
She looked radiant, and my cock was already growing to life against my bike as she approached.
“It really is a nice bike,” she said.
“She’s treated me well, so I treat her well.”
“She?”
“I call her Onyx,” I said.
“You named your bike?” she asked as she took the helmet from me.
“I did,” I said, grinning.
“Well, that’s a first, too. I’ve never been on a bike, and I’ve never known someone to name their bike.”
“Then you haven’t met someone who treats their bike with any amount of respect,” I said.
She slipped the helmet onto her head, and I helped her onto the back of the bike. I was waiting for her to slip her hands around my waist so we could take off, but instead, I only felt her shifting around.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Isn’t there something I should hang on to so, you know, I don’t go flying off the bike?”
I chuckled. “You really haven’t ever ridden on a motorcycle before, have you?”
“Nope.”
I smirked as I turned my head around to look at her puzzled expression. “You hang onto me.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
“Yep. You slip your arms around my waist and hang onto me.”
“There’s gotta be handlebars somewhere,” she said.
“You can risk flying off, or you can hold onto me. Your choice.”
“Now I see why you wanted to pick me up on this thing.”
“It has its perks,” I said. “You ready?”
Her arms slipped around my waist, and my leg jumped against my bike. Her short arms held me close as her chest pressed into my back. I could feel her tits through my jacket as she scooted toward me just an inch.
The feeling of her body next to mine had my mind whirling with images of her, our clothes discarded next to my bed, her sounds filling the corners of my cabin, her body writhing against mine as I pounded her slick, juicy pussy.
“Aren’t we going to go to dinner?” Paige asked.
“Yep. Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. I’m clinging to a stranger on the back of a motorcycle, but I’m good.”
“You’re safe with me, I promise.”
I flipped up the kickstand and eased us onto the road. Her grip tightened around me automatically. I stayed in the right hand lane and took it slow. I made sure to take the long way to the restaurant so she could really get a feel for the bike. If she turned down my invitation to go back to my place, I had another idea in mind.
But it required her feeling safe on the bike.
We pulled up to the restaurant just shy of eight o’clock. She unraveled from me and took off the bike helmet. Somehow, she seemed more beautiful than when I’d picked her up. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with something like excitement. I stored the helmets away before I offered her my hand, and she slipped her small one into mine easily before we made our way into the restaurant.
The feeling of her skin against mine prickled the hairs on my arm.
We sat down at our table, and Paige ordered a glass of wine. I decided to get myself a beer. Then the two of us settled into our seats. We looked at each other for a little while, just staring and smiling. The silence that hung between us was comfortable. It was unlike any other silence I’d ever experienced with someone.
“How was work today?” Paige asked.
“It was what it was. I g
ot off a bit early today, which was nice. They’ve been working us hard.”
“An uptick in business?” she asked.
“Yep. More housing for Brookings means more clearing of trees.”
“I’m sure the environmental activists love that.”
“Are you one of them?” I asked.
“Nah. My passions are elsewhere.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Is that your question?”
I hooked my eyes onto hers as my thoughts swirled in my brain at a thousand miles a second. I was hoping she’d forgotten about that agreement, but clearly, she had not.
“No, it’s not,” I said.
“I enjoy painting every now and then,” Paige said.
“You’re a painter.”
“No, I enjoy painting. Calling myself a painter suggests that it’s what I do for a living.”
“What do you do for a living?” I watched that same look of apprehension rise in her eyes, and I decided I would make this my question. “That is my question for the evening. What do you do for a living?”
It took her a long time to respond, and the longer the silence elongated, the more curious I became as to what her profession was.
“I research people,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
Our drinks were set in front of us on the table, and Paige quickly put in an order for an appetizer. I wasn’t paying attention to the food any longer. I was paying attention to her story.
“I was an art history major in college,” she said. “When I graduated, I quickly found that an art history major was essentially pointless unless I wanted to teach. Which I wasn’t about to do.”
“So how did you fall into researching people?” I asked.
“I was offered a job helping a company keep tabs on people. Basic profiles. It’s what debt collecting agencies do. They have people who gather information on those who owe others money.”
“So, you work for a debt collection agency?” I asked.
“I do, but I’m not the person that calls you on the phone telling you that you have a bill that’s been sent to collections. I’m the person holed up in an office tracking down basic information on you to pass on so those people on the phone can get in contact with you.”
