by Aidèe Jaimes
I hover over Lena, watching as they do everything possible to get her back. Someone in the room is crying, howling. Glancing at the mirror, I see a man that’s crazed, unrecognizable, with blood streaming from a gash in his temple, over his right ear, and down his neck. It takes me a moment to realize that man is me. I touch the area and when I lift my hand away, I bring some of my blood with it.
“Sir, you need to get medical attention.” The words reach me but go unheard as I see the other paramedics looking at each other in that way people do when they’re speaking with their eyes.
After a while, they’re still working on Lena, but their efforts have definitely waned. She’s lifted onto the gurney, all the while pressure is kept on her neck. One of the paramedics, a young woman, closes Lena’s eyes as they take her away. They don’t tell me anything. Instead, they go through the motions of saving her because they think I need that.
But I know.
Lena is dead.
Chapter 4
Present Time…
Where the fuck is it? I pull the chest of drawers away from the wall, thinking that perhaps I missed it last time. I left it on top, next to mine. At least, that’s what I remember. It could have easily fallen, rolled away, something. Fuck!
Carina walks toward me, dusting everything in her wake, blowing little clumps of fuzz this way and that. She regards me with irritation. “Thees house needs more than one time every other mont. Too mush dirty.”
I roll my eyes at her comment. “Just clean where you can.”
“Don’ roll jour eyes. I see that, eh? I think is time jou foun a girl. A good guooman.”
The older woman has worked with my parents for years now, and every once in a while, they force her on me. I believe she likes coming here even less than I like having her. She always arrives loaded down with cleaning supplies, a good amount of scolding, and unwanted advice. Part of me wonders if that comes from her or from my mother.
“Carina, have you seen a wedding ring somewhere? It’s just a silver band with an infinity pattern on the inside. It would have been on the dresser here. Maybe you sucked it up with your vacuum?”
Huffing at my suggestion, she shakes her head, her short auburn curls bouncing slightly. “No. Jou ask me this last tine. Remember?”
“Oh. Yes.”
My occasional housekeeper goes back to her work—dusting, straightening, opening windows. I ignore her grumbles, focusing on packing.
Justin booked me a room at the Saddler Beach Resort in Naples. It’s completely over our budget, or it would be if his buddy didn’t manage the place. It’s our home away from home when we go south.
Although I’m scheduled to be gone for the next three weeks, I’m hoping all three cases will be wrapped up in a matter of days. Including Mr. Cage’s. Specifically Mr. Cage’s.
I’ve had a few days to mull the situation over, to calm my initial reaction. Rational thought has finally prevailed. If I could, I’d quit the case, but I already gave my word.
My phone rings. It’s my mother. For two days, I’ve been ignoring her calls, which means I’m in for two days’ worth of ear ringing from getting a good talking to.
Holding my phone away from my ear just in case, I answer, “Hi, Ma.”
“Well, I see my child is living. Thought for sure you’d been dragged down into some ditch and had your eyeballs already half eaten.”
“I don’t think my eyeballs would be the first thing to go. Cheeks, maybe.”
She ignores what I say. “One of these days, mark my words, you’re going to call and I’m not going to answer.”
“Should I go searching for you in ditches if that happens?”
Snickering against her will, she replies, “Smart ass.”
“You’re the one assuming that not answering equals a ditch.”
“All I ask for is a hello. Every time I call, the voicemail floozy answers.”
My lips pull up at the edges as I try to figure out who she’s talking about. “The automated greeting?”
“Can you at least leave your own voice on there? Maybe that way I can hear my son every once in a while.”
“Okay, Ma. I’m sorry. I get it. What’s going on?”
“Well, Carina tells me the house is a mess. And that you have circles under your eyes. And that you’re—”
“A bag of bones. Yeah, Ma, this is what she says every time. I think they’re the only English words she knows. Bag of bones and advice on finding a good woman.” I look at my mother’s spy as she walks past me with a mischievous smile on her lips.
“You’re not getting enough sleep, my baby?”
Putting on a pot of coffee, I ask, “Did I ever?”
Her sigh touches me through the phone, and I feel guilty for making her worry. “What are you doing to help it? You’re not taking any of those sleeping pills, right?”
I go to the end of the room farthest from Carina and turn away, hoping she can’t hear any of this conversation. “Nope. I told you that I stopped cold turkey six months ago.”
“Okay. I worry so about you. It scares me to think you might start again. Every time the phone rings, I’m afraid something’s happened to you.” A sob escapes her and I hear her long fingernails clack against the receiver as she pulls it away.
When I know she’s back, I say in the calmest, most responsible voice possible, “Ma, I told you, don’t worry. I’m all right. Besides, I like being up all night. Like a vampire. Super productive.”
“Carina is going to pack you some lunches for your trip. Justin told me you were going far away.”
“To Naples, not the Sahara. They have restaurants there. I’ll be fine.”
“Humor an old mother.”
“Show me one, and I’ll humor her.”
She giggles, having caught the compliment. “You always were quick. I miss that.”
“Well, don’t get used to it. I rather like being bitter. Keeps the bees away.”
“Would it be so bad if a bee got close?” she asks.
“They sting, Ma.”
She laughs at that, though I’m not sure it’s sincere. “I love you, my boy. Call me when you get there. Safe travels.”
Shaking my head, I go back to packing for the trip. It’s only five hours away, but driving to and from there every day would be almost impossible, if not an extreme pain in the ass.
Carina makes me five peanut butter sandwiches, just as I was warned. One for now, four for the road. Growing tired, I chew sluggishly, washing down the sticky stuff with big gulps of coffee. Happens every day around five in the afternoon—the lack of sleep from the night before starts to take its toll.
Eventually, I’ll get my second wind, but for at least thirty minutes, my body will beg to go to bed. I don’t listen anymore. Even if I did, I’d just lie there, staring at the ceiling, hearing things I want to go away. Things that torture me.
When night descends and my apartment is clean and devoid of prying eyes, I begin my ritual. First I go for a run and then I do some upper body strength exercises. When that isn’t enough to clear my mind, I work on my core and legs.
A hot shower afterward helps relax me enough that by the time I get in bed, my eyes are drooping heavily. I’m instantly asleep.
“Matthew.”
The ethereal voice wakes me, my stomach sinking at the sound of it.
The Saddler Beach Resort sounds a lot fancier than it is. Still, I won’t lie. Compared to most, this is a little piece of paradise. And we’re lucky Justin’s buddy runs it.
This Key West inspired hotel is our usual headquarters whenever we work within a fifty-mile radius. Justin has never told me what he pays for it. Frankly, I don’t a give shit as long as it’s not my money he’s using. But I do get the feeling there’s a favor being paid for somehow. Justin’s shady past certainly would allow for it.
After I get checked in, I take my map and follow it to my room. Number 305 is on the third floor of the building closest to the beach, where every room has a view of the ocean.
It’s a nice suite with a kitchenette, king-sized bed, and a large bathroom. Double doors open onto a balcony where you can sit and enjoy the view of the beautiful Gulf of Mexico.
Lena would have liked it here. I thought that the first time I came. She was an ocean girl. Loved the beach, digging her toes in the soft sand, picking up shells that would forever remain in our shed. She’d spend all day in the sun, then later complain of the freckles it always gave her. I loved her freckles. Reminded me of how young we once were.
A call comes in on my phone. It’s Justin.
“You checked in?” he asks.
“Just did.”
“Did you get a nice room?”
“Looks exactly like the one I got last month.” I shrug, gazing out the doors at the amazing view.
“Listen, I got a call from G.F. We have one more to add, but he lives in Miami.”
“Ok, that’s fine. That’s less than a two-hour drive from here.”
He begins typing, hitting the keys hard. “I’m sending you the information now. Can you start on that tomorrow? They’re expecting a quick turnaround on this one. I think he’s costing them a lot of legal time.”
“I thought we were going to work the Cage case first.”
“Leave that till next week. This week I want you to take care of this.”
Frowning, I ask, “Is Mr. Cage okay with that?”
“He’s the one who suggested it. I spoke with him this morning. He’ll be out of town all next week for some kitchen and bath convention, so he believes that if she’s up to anything, it would certainly happen while he’s away.”
“Right. I’ll get on this tomorrow,” I tell him.
“How’d you sleep?”
I yawn loudly, stretching. “Like a baby.”
“Babies don’t sleep.”
“You would know better than me.”
He grumbles something I can’t make out and hangs up without a goodbye like he usually does. Learned that from our father, I suppose.
So the Cage case has been moved to next week. Shit. I didn’t want to do it before, but all I can think about now is getting it over and done with.
Room service brings me a cheese pizza. As I eat at the white desk under a window that also faces the ocean, I pull out the Cage file and look through the pictures I’ve avoided since the other night.
And just like that, whatever lie I told myself about this woman and her likeness to Lena goes out the window. Once again, I’m captivated by her hauntingly beautiful eyes. Their almost unnatural glow, beautiful in a way that frightens me, draws me in.
Fuck me. Shaking my head, I slap the picture down.
A shower does nothing to dispel the thought of Mrs. Cage or the need to see her in real life. Out of habit, I dress in slacks and button-up shirt. I check the SIG, pulling back on the slide slightly to make sure it’s loaded should I need to use it. Holstering it to my chest, I get into my coat.
Without thought, I hop into my Charger, driving almost automatically, following the directions Siri gives me. I don’t stop until I’m on Vaspaa Court, parking at the curb a distance away from the Cages’ home.
There’s no car in the drive, but a light in the front room is on, filtering faintly through the closed blinds.
I wonder if she’s in there. It’s a Monday evening, so according to her husband, she’d be home with their two sons. He should be there too, if not now, then soon.
Suddenly, light spills from the entryway when someone opens the front door. Then a large dog comes trotting out, attached to a long leash. And at the other end of the leash is a female. The twilight makes it hard to see her clearly, but I know it’s Eva.
Setting my camera on the lower part of the dash, I take photos of her.
Her hair is carelessly piled high on her head, half of it falling out of its confines. A loose gray shirt hangs from her slim shoulders provocatively, though I’m not sure that’s the intent. Black yoga pants cling to her legs, and even from here, I can see she’s in very good shape.
Nevertheless, it’s easy to tell she’s done for the day, looking tired and weary as she follows the German shepherd around, waiting for it to find the best place to take a shit.
It reminds me of Titus. How he’d go around in circles, driving me insane. “You shit there every day!” I’d tell him. “It’s just shit!”
Finally, it appears that the beast has found the perfect spot. He curls his body in that way dogs do when they poop. Mrs. Cage gazes around, anywhere but at her dog, giving him privacy. I take more pictures, making sure to add a few good ones of the shepherd’s dump for Justin.
Suddenly, she turns toward me. All the blood drains from my face, not because I can see her so clearly through the camera—she might as well be sitting in here with me. It’s because I’m positive she can’t see me, not at this distance and not in this light, but somehow, she does.
Through the screen, her eyes lock on mine. I feel them on me, searching, questioning. Does she know what I’m doing? Can she see me watching her? I drive this car for a reason. It blends in. It’s black with no flashy rims or anything to call attention to it. But that doesn’t mean it always goes unseen.
I’m hardly breathing, a prisoner to her gaze. Then, just as suddenly, she releases her hold on me. She scoops her dog’s waste into a bag and goes into the house, not once looking back, leaving me to wonder if she really saw or if it was all in my head.
Chapter 5
Miami is one of my least favorite cities to do surveillance in. Most guys would love the nightlife, the beautiful women, the food. It would be an excuse to party on the company’s dime. Not me.
Maybe it’s that I’m forty-three and all the glitz and pretty lights don’t do it for me anymore. Or maybe it’s that I grew up in Florida, and Miami was a big part of the wild years I’d rather forget. Could also be that this is where I found Justin in a bad way on more than one occasion and it tainted the place.
Whatever the case, I don’t like it. I don’t like the traffic, the loud music, or the crowded streets at night.
Yet this is where I find myself now, trailing Everard Hunt and his sleazy girlfriend.
First I followed him to the gym, where I had to sign up for a membership in order to go in. A little flirting with the young woman who gave me the tour got me in without having to give credit card information. I took advantage of a good workout while I kept an eye on the forty-seven-year-old man through the mirror.
While he spent the majority of his time working his cell phone, he did press what looked like seventy pounds from my vantage point. Being that his claim is that he can’t lift anything beyond ten pounds because of a torn rotator cuff, this is problematic for him.
After the gym, I followed him to the apartment building of one Cynthia Carlson, an employee at G.F that’s a direct report to him. Another problem.
Now I sit in my smelly gym clothes at the end of a crowded bar with large breasts pressed against my back, watching as he pounds shot after shot with the woman. Problem number three—the medications he’s supposedly on would prohibit drinking.
Having taken nearly fifty photographs of proof with no one questioning it, I leave. Job done. Now for the two-hour trip back to Naples.
Only, I don’t go directly to the resort. Inexplicably, or so I tell myself, I end up on Vaspaa Court again, this time daring to pull up closer.
It’s midnight and most of the homes on the street are dark, everyone asleep. But not the Cage house. The lights in the front room are on and I half expect either her or Mr. Cage to come out. Though, for some reason, I can’t envision him being there.
It’s strange that they’d be up at this late hour, especially with children who will be going to school tomorrow.
A shadow passes over the blinds, letting me know someone inside is definitely awake. Pacing.
I observe the house in silence for over an hour. Sometime around one thirty a.m., the pacing ceases, but the light doesn’t switch off. I’m not sure why,
but when I leave, I’m disappointed she never came out. However, why would she?
I drive away, glancing back once before turning down the street.
What was she thinking? What exactly was passing through her mind when the photographer snapped that picture?
Sad eyes watch me from the photo on the nightstand as I lie there staring back at them. I lower my lids, but almost as soon as I do, they call to me. “Look at me,” they say. “See me.”
So I do. I stare into their depths, into eyes that say there’s so much more to her than her pretty face, more to her than a mere resemblance to a dead woman, wishing I could open her soul to me and learn her secrets.
All week it’s been the same as I’ve waited not so patiently for Monday, when I can officially start the case.
Every day I go to work and pretend she’s not slowly invading every crevice of my mind. Then before I head back to the hotel, I go to her house and watch the shadow that passes her window for hours. Back and forth it goes, reminding me of my long evenings burning holes through my own floor.
Not everyone paces all night. Only those of us with unsettled business that keeps us awake and anxiety that makes our legs incapable of standing still. So we move, walking as far as we can without going anywhere.
Thing is, I don’t know if it’s Mr. or Mrs. Cage that’s restless, not really. But something about the way her eyes plead in her photographs, even through her smile, makes me think it’s her I see.
Yes, I obsess about her all day and all fucking night.
Tomorrow will be different. Now that I’ve closed the G.F. cases, having found evidence against two of the employees, I can move on to the one I need to get out of my head.
Chapter 6
“Day one of the Eva Jean Cage case started at”—I stop recording to look at my notes—“zero seven hundred, we’ll say. Followed her to the Graceleigh Elementary School. Had to wait beyond the gate…”
From my position on her street, I had a good view of the house. Just as Mr. Cage said, the garage door opened at seven fifteen. The red Honda Accord backed out, and the garage door closed. Although it was hard to see her very well through the darkly tinted windows, I knew it was her.