Rockwell Agency: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Do you not allow British people here?” the woman asked, tilting her head and studying him with an expression that was a cross between amusement and wariness.

  “Oh, we allow them, but they usually don’t seem interested,” Ryan said, stepping back into his office and motioning for her to join him. “Excuse the mess in here. I’m reorganizing. What was your name again?”

  “I didn’t give you my name,” she said, gingerly sitting down in the seat he motioned towards.

  “Okay. Well then, what is your name?” He perched on the edge of his desk. Sitting behind it, as he normally would have done, would be pointless. There were far too many books stacked here, there, and everywhere over the wooden surface.

  The woman shook her head. “I’d prefer not to say right now, if that’s all right with you.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows lifted again. “Interesting. All right. That’s fine. You can keep your name for now. Mine is Ryan Minton, just so you know. I work here at Rockwell Agency, and we do private security and private investigation cases. But—you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” the woman said, the words sounding light and airy in her accent. “That’s why I’m here. But, as I said, I don’t think you’re currently open.”

  Ryan shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I’m not closed either. It’s not business hours, but I’m here this weekend, working in my office. No reason we can’t have a chat. What brings you to a private investigation agency?”

  “I’d rather not get into that right away,” the woman said, biting her lip. “Is that all right?”

  Ryan laughed and leaned back in his seat, studying the pretty woman more closely. “You don’t want to tell me your name or why you’re here. Okay—what do you want to talk about then?”

  “I was hoping to hire you,” she said. “I got your agency’s name on recommendation from a friend. I’d like to hire you for the weekend.”

  Ryan grew more confused and more intrigued the more the woman talked, and he crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a stern look that had absolutely no bite behind it. “And why is that?”

  “I would like you to follow me around.”

  He vaguely considered the fact that he would very much like to follow her around as well, but then quickly moved on from that thought. “Around …here?”

  The woman nodded, clearing her throat. “Yes. You see, I’m losing time. That’s all I really want to say about it for now, if it’s all the same to you. But I’m losing more than twelve hours at a time now, and I’m doing strange things. I would like to hire someone to spend the weekend with me, in case it happens again. That person’s responsibilities would involve observing me, taking notes, formulating hypotheses, and interfering with my inclinations only if I do something destructive or humiliating.”

  She had rattled off that proposition like she was making a thesis proposal to a panel of academics. Emotionless. Matter-of-fact. Scientific. But what she was saying was that she didn’t trust herself, that she’d been blacking out for long periods of time, and that she was worried about what might be wrong with her and what she might have done.

  Ryan leaned forward, cutting through the clinical approach and getting to the heart of it. “You’re scared.”

  She blinked at him, hesitating for a moment. But then she nodded. “Of course I am. Wouldn’t you be if you lost twelve hours and then were given evidence that during that time you acted in a way that was wholly unlike yourself?”

  “I would be,” Ryan said. “Who referred you to me?”

  “I’d prefer not to say.”

  He smiled slightly, and then shook his head. “That’s not really how this works. You want to hire me to observe you and offer some opinions on what I might think is wrong. That’s a very unusual approach to take. Someone in your position would likely first see a doctor. Have you done that?”

  “No,” she said, slowly. “But as you can tell, I’m not from here. I’m an exchange student, in a botany graduate program at the university. I don’t have a doctor that I’m familiar with. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “But that’s not why you didn’t pursue that first,” Ryan said, studying her carefully. “Because it would have been easy to get a recommendation for a doctor, rather than for a private investigator.”

  She shifted around in her seat, no longer looking at him directly. “I wasn’t aware that I had to justify my reasoning. You offer a service, and I want to purchase that service. I have money. You, theoretically, want money. What am I missing?”

  Ryan smiled. “The personal part. See, I’m not just any investigator. I take my job very seriously—very, very seriously. And I help a lot of people who are in a lot of trouble. But it’s very difficult for me to help people if I don’t have an inkling of what’s going on. Would you go to a therapist and ask her for solutions without explaining the entirety of what you’re experiencing or feeling?”

  The woman looked back at him, the wariness still very much present in her gaze. “I’m coming to you because I don’t want a record made of this. I’m an academic. My entire trade is based on the health and soundness of my mind. I can’t go on record and say that I’ve been losing time and acting like a lunatic.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said, leaning forward and resting his elbows against the edge of his desk. “That makes sense. I can understand that. This is the kind of place you want to come if you need something to be off the record—trust me. Most of what we do here is off the books, so to speak.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s comforting or concerning,” she said. “Off the books why?”

  “Because people bring us problems that they don’t trust other people to solve,” Ryan said, simply. “Problems that other people may not be able to solve. Problems that a lot of people don’t want to know about.”

  The woman nodded, slowly. “That’s the sort of problem I have.”

  “Then you’re in the right place,” Ryan said, “but if I’m going to help you, then you have to be up-front with me. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t work blind.”

  Sighing, the woman chewed on her bottom lip and glanced out the window. “My name is Angela Winston. I’m a graduate student, studying botany here for two semesters. I’m from Bristol, England. And I think I’m losing my mind.”

  Chapter 4

  Angela

  Telling a stranger even that much was difficult for Angela. She was more comfortable with things that didn’t talk back to her—like plants and books. Confessing her deepest secret to a total stranger was way outside of her comfort zone.

  But she knew she didn’t have a choice. She had seen the video that her fellow students had taken of her while she was blacked out, and she knew it wasn’t normal. She knew that she had a problem that no traditional psychologist or doctor could solve. That’s why she had taken Charlotte’s suggestion that she go to the Rockwell Agency for help. Apparently Rockwell had a reputation for helping those with …questionable situations.

  The man sitting across the desk from her—Ryan—seemed nice and capable. But forcing herself to say the words he wanted to hear was more difficult than she had imagined. She desperately needed help, but asking for it was no easier than sitting around, waiting to lose time again.

  “Go on,” Ryan said, gently prodding her. “Tell me more.”

  Angela sighed, knowing that there was no going back and no alternative. “It started a few weeks ago. At first, it wasn’t really noticeable. I lost an hour here and there—even less sometimes. I’m under a lot of stress with this program. It’s fully funded by my university back home, and what I find here could serve as the basis for my entire graduate program.”

  “Tell me what exactly you study,” Ryan said, interrupting her. “In layman’s terms. How would you describe what you do?”

  “I study …life,” Angela said, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Humans have lives, obviously. So do plants. They have attributes, and personalities, and functions to serve. The Louisiana bayous have a lot
to offer—a lot that has never been discovered previously. I’m looking for new species of plants, and when I find a sampling of them, I’ll conduct experiments.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Ryan said. To her surprise, he sounded genuine. “Clearly you’re a very intelligent woman.”

  Angela smiled, slightly. “Thank you. It’s what I love to do. And if my mental capability is …damaged. Well … That’s a problem for me.”

  “So tell me more about that,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair again and waiting for her to continue.

  He wasn’t the kind of man that a woman saw every day. Dennis, though …he was a more typical man. This man, Ryan, on the other hand, he was right out of a daydream. He had thick, wavy, brown hair that fell effortlessly across his forehead. Deep green eyes sparkled out at her, set in a face that was perfectly proportioned, with dark arched brows, strong cheekbones, and full peach-colored lips. And that was just his face. The rest of him was equally impressive. He was tall, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and legs that rippled with muscles. When they had almost collided, she had immediately zeroed in on the breadth of his chest and the chiseled muscles in his calves.

  He was delicious, and if she had been the type to have cravings, she would have been drooling over him.

  But Angela found it best to steer herself away from such thoughts. She had plans, and goals, and a passion for what she did. She wasn’t against relationships or even casual flings—not at all. But she personally had no time for such things. She was a woman content with her own company, and she liked knowing that she had the independence to leave her home country for a year and go travel in what amounted to a totally different world. She couldn’t have done that if she had a boyfriend.

  It was ridiculous, sitting there thinking about boyfriends and why she had no time for one. Ryan Minton was a private investigator waiting, mostly patiently, for her to explain herself. He was not sitting there waiting for her to decide whether or not she would go out with him if he asked her on a date.

  But for the record—she definitely wouldn’t. He had to be trouble. Just looking at him told her that he had layers that went deep. Way deeper than that gorgeous appearance suggested.

  “I lost an hour here or there,” she said, again, dragging her fingers through her hair. “It started on a Tuesday night a few weeks ago. Six now, I think. Yes—six. I was sitting in my bedroom, reviewing the sample logs I had made at the lab earlier that day, and it was 8:17 when I looked at the clock. I remember thinking that there was a show I wanted to watch at 9:00, and that I should put my work away before then, pour a glass of wine, and relax. The next thing I knew, it was 9:10. I had no memory of the time lost—none at all. And when I became aware again, my computer was closed, and I was down on the street outside my student housing. I have no idea why I was there, how I got there, or what I was going to do.”

  Ryan steepled his fingers below his chin, his lips slightly pursed as he listened to her. “That must have been scary.”

  “It was,” she said, “but I explained it away. I had been working around the clock for a few days before that, collecting samples out in the bayou. Very little sleep. Maybe too much sun. I had been feeling kind of funny. I was able to convince myself that it was strange, but not so strange that I needed to worry about it.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “The next time was just a few minutes,” she said, thinking back and trying to remember each event. She hadn’t started recording them at first—not until a few weeks into the hellish experience. “I dismissed it. I dismissed the whole thing for as long as I could, but then it just got to the point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore. It often happens when I’m at work. I’ll lose a few hours here and there. But the other night, I lost more than twelve hours. And yes—now I really am scared.”

  Ryan nodded. “Understandably. So—what you want is someone to monitor you, essentially.”

  “Yes,” Angela said, biting her bottom lip again. “I can’t study this on my own, because I’m not mentally present for the events that transpire. I need someone else to take notes for me. And …if I go into a state, I need someone to record me or stop me from doing whatever I’m about to do. I understand that’s a lot to ask. And that it’s a weekend. And that it’s short notice. And that it might not be within your realm of normal services. I’m willing to pay whatever fee you think is reasonable.”

  He smiled at her, his green eyes holding her gaze easily. “Actually, in my line of work, it’s not that unusual a request. Our cases tend to be rather all-encompassing. We have standard fees. That’ll do here. But I don’t really work with the money. We’ll handle that later. What I’m more concerned with is the logistics.”

  Angela couldn’t believe he was actually agreeing so easily. She had walked in, almost hoping that no one would be around to talk with her, so that she would have an excuse to try to ignore the situation. But, deep down, she had thought that even if someone was there to talk with her, there was no way they were going to agree to just drop everything and shadow her for a weekend, no matter what she offered to pay. Now, suddenly, she was in the very real position of getting what she had asked for, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  “For instance,” Ryan continued, apparently unaware of her mild panic. “I have two female colleagues. Maybe you’d prefer one of them? It might make you more comfortable if you’re talking about twenty-four seven surveillance.”

  Angela blinked, pulling herself out of her own thoughts and trying to focus on what he was saying. A female would make a great deal of sense, but she was strangely resistant to the idea. She was nervous about this, and as much as she didn’t know Ryan Minton from Adam, she had, in the past fifteen minutes, developed some kind of familiarity with him. He seemed easygoing. Laid-back. Calm, cool, and collected. She was none of those things, and she liked the idea of having someone around who would be good at settling her nerves.

  And he was gorgeous—there was definitely that part. He would be lovely to look at while she waited to see if her mind was going to leave her body again.

  “No,” Angela said, clearing her throat somewhat awkwardly. “No, there’s no need for that. I don’t want to pull anyone else in and inconvenience them. If you’re willing to do it, then I’ll work with you.”

  “So you don’t mind inconveniencing me?”

  Angela glanced up at him, but he was smiling affably. She smiled back, laughing slightly. “That will teach you to hang about the office on a Saturday, I guess.”

  Ryan laughed. “I guess so.” He got up and rounded the desk to stand in front of her. He offered her his hand, and she placed hers in his. He shook her hand firmly. “Welcome to the Rockwell Agency, Ms. Winston. Consider me at your service.”

  “Thank you,” Angela said, standing up, too. The motion brought her very close to Ryan, and she felt her heart flutter slightly at the light in his eyes and sheer mass of his body as he stood over her. She had known that he was tall, but when he stood so close, towering over her, it was even more obvious. “I appreciate your discretion,” she said, searching for something to say that would be appropriate in the situation. “And your understanding. And your flexibility. And …”

  Ryan laughed, cutting off her words. “Don’t worry. You’re not putting me out nearly as much as you think. I had planned to spend the whole day here, rearranging my office. You’re not forcing me to cancel any big, exciting weekend plans.”

  The sound of his laugh shivered straight down her spine, and Angela stepped back to give herself some breathing room. “Oh …Then you’re just as boring as me.”

  “What might two boring people be doing this weekend?” Ryan asked, leaning back to perch on his desk. “Will I be shadowing you during any botanist work?”

  Angela flushed. “Well, really, on the weekends, I mainly stay in my housing unit. I live in a glorified dorm, I guess. Student housing.”

  Ryan raised his eyebrows, folding his arms over his chest as he studied her.
“So, you and me, in a dorm room for a weekend.”

  “Yes…”

  “How about this?” Ryan said. “In exchange for my help, you let me pick what we do tonight.”

  “What we do— “Angela said, frowning slightly. “What we do is determine whether or not I am losing my mind. I have this theory that the stiller and calmer I am, the less likely I am to trigger an episode.”

  Ryan shook his head, pushing himself off his desk and walking around to the other side of it to push his chair in, as he began to gather his things. “No deal. Besides, isn’t the point of me shadowing you to figure out what’s happening to you? How can I do that if we don’t risk triggering an episode?”

  That was very difficult logic to argue with, no matter how much Angela wished she could. “But, I really don’t think it’s smart to just …hand my night over that way. I don’t know you, or what you might plan.”

  “I’ll give you a hint,” Ryan said, slinging a backpack over his shoulder and slipping his phone into the pocket of his fitted jeans. “It’ll be here, in town, and it’ll be a good time. Did you drive here? Where’s your car?”

  “It’s in the parking lot,” Angela said, stumbling slightly over the words, as she tried to wrap her head around what she was agreeing to. “Listen—I’m not what you would call a typical college student, okay?”

  “I should hope not. I’m too old to party with a college student.”

  “I don’t …party,” Angela said, trying and probably failing to sound firm. “That’s not my personality, and I learned a long time ago not to try to fake it. It never goes well.”

  Ryan placed his hand lightly on her shoulder and steered her towards the door. “You know, Angela, if we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to learn to trust me.”