“It’s Patton.”
“Patton? Why didn’t you call from your phone?” Nathan and I had been friends since being stationed together a couple years ago. It really hadn’t been that long, but it was long enough for us to recognize that we were cut from the same cloth. Nathan and I shared the same experiences, the same hobbies, the same Marine Corps mentality that many of the men we worked with displayed.
The instant alert was clear in his tone, the instant urge to rush into action when he felt something wasn’t right. We read each other well. It was that coupled with everything else that made us tight. Hell, it made us honorary brothers.
“It’s a long story,” I explained, not wanting to get into everything out here in the open. “I’m in NYC, family stuff. Can you hold the job for me until I can get down to North Carolina?”
Nathan pulled the phone down so his voice was slightly muffled. “Patton wants me to hold his job,” he said with a hint of humor in his tone.
I couldn’t help but smile. Honor, Nathan’s wife came onto the line. “Patton have you gotten yourself in trouble already?”
“You know it.”
She laughed, but then her voice turned serious. “Call if you need him.”
By him, I knew she meant Nathan. A guy would think after everything she had been through, she wouldn’t want Nathan involved in anything dangerous. It just goes to show how tough Honor really was.
“Thanks,” I replied, and I meant it.
Seconds later, Nathan was back on the line. “What can I do?” he said, his tone serious.
“I got it handled.”
“I have no doubt, man,” he said. “You know you got a place here. I’ll just sweet talk Honor out from behind that computer and she can help me with the first couple cases.”
I heard Honor’s giggle in the background and rolled my eyes. Those two were enough to give a guy cavities. Everyone knew I liked women, but settling down with just one? Wasn’t going to happen.
“We got work already?” I said, surprise and pride swelling in me. When Nathan first invited me down to Jacksonville to be part of a private investigation firm, I knew it was something I wanted to do. I just hoped we could make it work.
“Yep. We got some contracts with the Corps already.”
“Sweet.” A pang of regret hit me because I wanted to be there. But this was important. This was for my brother.
“You’re sure you’re all good?” Nathan asked, reading me again, even from over the phone. Sometimes that guy was so perceptive it was creepy.
“All good.”
“Call me if that changes.”
After I agreed, we both hung up and I pushed the phone back into my pocket and stared down at the new keys to my new apartment.
The apartment I now shared with my brother’s girlfriend.
6
Charlotte
The hot water slid over my bare skin, leaving a trail of tingles along my flesh and causing a deep moan to vibrate my throat.
There wasn’t anything quite like a steaming hot shower to release the tension that always seemed to find its way into my muscles during the day. Massages were good too, but who had time for that?
Stepping backward under the spray, water cascaded over my head, weighing my hair down and pressing the silky strands against my back. I pushed the remaining conditioner through the ends of my hair and as the product made its way down to the drain, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
How I wished I could slip into a pair of satin pajamas and curl up on the end of the couch, maybe with some movie from my high school days that we all used to giggle over in the theater while eating gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids.
There would be no silly movie, candy, or even lounging in pajamas for me tonight. I had to work. The only reason I was home was because I wanted to change before meeting a client for dinner at one of the cafés near Times Square.
It was a new case, a new client, and I got the “privilege” of making sure they signed with Keller, Krane, and Associates. As I stood under the cooling spray, lingering in the quiet of the shower, I reminded myself this dinner, this meeting was just one more way I could improve my standing at the firm. It was one more way I could prove my worth to the partners and solidify my position.
I’d been working toward this for as long as I could remember. Being a success was my dream, my life’s work.
So why did I feel so tired?
I shut off the water and grabbed the white towel hanging over the shower curtain bar. After half drying I stepped out onto the white rug in front of the mirror and swiped my hand across the fogged-up glass. My hand mark was just enough to see my reflection in the mirror.
After smoothing some leave-in conditioner in the tangled mess that was unfortunately my hair, I began working out the tangles with a wide-tooth comb.
Maybe my exhaustion was just because I barely slept last night. Waking up to a piercing alarm and a creepy man in my apartment, who then proceeded to try and kidnap me, was enough to make anyone tired.
Not to mention I spent my entire day reliving what happened and going over every detail in my head, over and over again. Several times I found myself reaching for the phone to call the officer I spoke to down in the lobby, but every time I changed my mind.
It wasn’t as if I thought I misunderstood what happened to me; it was quite the opposite. I understood quite clearly that those “break-ins” on the lower floor and the fire alarm had merely been a distraction. A distraction to get to what they really wanted.
Me.
What I didn’t understand was why.
And being the analytical, goal-oriented person that I was, I knew I couldn’t just call the police and tell them my suspicions without something more. I was curious by nature.
Curiosity killed the cat. The thought echoed through my head like some childhood nursery rhyme.
Good thing I wasn’t a cat.
I laid down the comb and reached for a jar of moisturizer when a sound had my movements freezing. I stood there completely still while my heartbeat jack hammered beneath my ribcage. Images from last night flashed behind my eyes. A man creeping through the dark. A sweaty palm grabbing me. The absolute feeling of panic clawing its way up my windpipe.
I locked the door when I came home.
Hadn’t I?
I glanced on the counter for my cell phone. Screw not calling the cops. But my cell wasn’t in the bathroom. It was lying useless in the bottom of my purse out in the kitchen.
I wondered what was worse: having your dead body discovered wearing granny panties or no panties at all…?