by anna snow
I tossed my toothbrush into the cup I always kept it in and then stepped into the shower.
I stood there and let the hot water run over my body, massaging my muscles and working out the kinks in my neck for I don't even know how long. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. My body hurt, and my mind was still running on overdrive. Not only was I dealing with someone trying to kill me, but I had to deal with whatever was happening between Tyler and me.
There was something about that man that put me at ease and at the same time sent my nerves scattering. He was gorgeous, successful, and it was obvious that he was into me, according to Kelly anyway. Was I attracted to Tyler? Would I welcome his attentions? Yes. What sane woman wouldn't? But what did it matter? He and I would never see eye to eye about my career, not to mention it's not like he'd made any kind of move on me. Sure, he'd called me beautiful on a couple of occasions, but those were words any man could use to try to get his way. He wanted to keep me safe, but again, he was a cop. It was his job to keep everyone safe.
I washed my hair and body then stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. I didn't have any more answers concerning Tyler and me than I did the murder case. I flipped on the blow dryer and set my hair to rights.
Mind made up, I put the idea of Tyler and me on the back burner. Whatever happened or didn't happen, I'd deal with it as it came along. For now, I had bigger fish to fry. Like how to get my purse back from the gigolo's cabin.
I still couldn't believe that I'd left my purse behind. I knew better. I was a professional for crying out loud, but here I was, acting like I hadn't been working this job for more than a few days. I wanted to kick myself. Knowing Kelly, once she heard what I'd done, she'd do the job for me.
I took a good look at myself in the mirror and cringed. The bruise that covered one side of my forehead was a dark, ugly purple/black mess. No amount of concealer and foundation would ever cover it, and I really didn't feel like putting on a full face of makeup anyway. My shoulder and chest were also a lovely shade of purple from the seat belt. But in the end, things could have been so much worse. I could totally live with a few bumps and bruises as long as I was alive.
Instead, I swiped on a coat of Flirtini lip gloss and mascara, which was generally the extent of my morning makeup routine.
Mickey had abandoned the bed and made himself at home on the floor just outside the bathroom door. I stepped over him and made my way to the closet.
I donned a pair of faded old jean shorts, a pink off the shoulder T-shirt, and slid my feet into a pair of black Converse.
I liked simple. Simple was good.
I walked to the kitchen, gave Mickey fresh food and water, and was halfway out the door before I realized that I didn't have a means of transportation.
I made a quick call to the insurance company, and they assured me that they had received my claim and that my car would be replaced, and in the meantime they would send a loaner car that would arrive within the hour. I was sure I had Tyler to thank for pushing the reports to the insurance company immediately after the accident to speed the process along. I'd find a way to thank him later. At the moment, I had more on my mind.
I settled myself at the kitchen table with the morning newspaper and called the office in hopes that Mandy would be in. Knowing her, she was already at the office.
"Jackson Investigations, this is Mandy. How may I help you?"
"It's Barb. How's everything going this morning?"
"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" she scolded me.
"I am. I'm reading the paper and drinking coffee as we speak," I said, purposely leaving out the part where I was going to be coming into the office as soon as my car arrived. I knew she meant well, but I really didn't feel like being nagged after the night I'd just had.
"Everything here is taken care of. There's nothing for you to worry about. How are you feeling?" she asked.
"I feel fine. Just a little sore," I lied. I didn't see any sense in telling Mandy that I felt as though I'd been dragged behind a truck instead of just run down with one.
"You should take it easy for a couple of days. Kelly and I can hold down the fort." I could hear the smile in her voice. She was always smiling.
"Thanks, but I need to talk to the two of you, and it's pretty important."
"Really? What?"
"I don't want to get into it too much over the phone, but I found something last night that could bust this case wide open. I'll be in as soon as my car arrives."
"Now, didn't you just say that you were going to take it easy today?" Mandy scolded me.
"No. I said I was taking it easy right at this moment. I never said it was going to last all day." I grinned and disconnected the call before she could further state her objections.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and unfolded the newspaper. I'd covered all of my bases as far as questioning suspects. Robert Hatchett, as far as I was concerned, was still as innocent as the day was long.
I hadn't been run off the road until I'd visited Trinity Grove, and that was what had my mind in a whirl. I'd spoken to Melba, the night manager of the motel, Melvin Harris, the man who had sold Lydia the cabin, and much to my surprise, a gigolo, or stud as I'd dubbed him, who worked for Lydia.
I now had a real list of suspects.
My stomach churned at the thought of how close I'd actually come to being killed. If whoever the culprit was who forced me off the road had taken the time to get out of the truck and see if I was actually dead, I most likely would be. I shoved the unwelcome thought to the back of my mind.
I hopped up and set my Keurig. A few minutes later I grabbed my cup of coffee and retook my seat at the kitchen table. I skimmed the newspaper to see if I'd missed anything pertaining to the case in the media but found nothing.
Lydia's case was now two weeks old, and the "new" had apparently worn off, as there wasn't a single mention of her murder.
Two cups of coffee later I was getting antsy and made my way to the living room.
I peeked out the living room window and watched as two cars pulled up alongside the curb in front of my house.
I sent a silent prayer to The Man Upstairs that the first car that had pulled up wasn't my rental car.
I opened the door and stepped out on the front porch. A tall man with the most beautiful caramel-colored skin I'd ever seen in my entire life and pale green eyes approached me.
"Good morning, ma'am. Are you Barbara Jackson?" he asked.
"Um…" I peered at the hideous monstrosity he'd hopped out of and then back at him, unsure I should tell the truth. "Yes," I said, but it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.
He smiled a brilliant white smile and handed me a digital box and plastic pen.
"Just sign here, and she's all yours."
I seriously hoped he was talking about the black Cadillac that had pulled up behind the car he'd just vacated, but I had a sinking feeling that he wasn't. My luck hadn't been the best as of late.
I signed my name and handed the box back to him. He tossed me the keys.
"Have a great day." He turned and hurried down to the car. To the black Cadillac.
I watched as it sped away then glared at the vehicle he'd left behind.
It was green, and I'm not talking about a glittery emerald green. No, it was a pea green, as big as a boat Lincoln sedan like my grandmother used to drive.
Would it have killed the insurance agency to send a car that was a little newer? Perhaps one from this century? I wasn't asking for anything fancy like an Audi or a Corvette. I drove a bright red Volkswagen Beetle for crying out loud but this? This was ridiculous.
I closed the door to my house and locked it behind me.
I didn't have time to complain about the atrocity of the car I was stuck driving for the next two weeks. I had an investigation to wrap up. Not that I'd be very inconspicuous in the pea-soup wagon. I'd stick out like a sore thumb everywhere I went in that thing, but at the moment I
didn't have a choice.
I opened the door and slid into the driver seat. The interior wasn't much more attractive than the exterior. The seats were a pale ivory vinyl, and the dashboard was a horrible faux wood-grain panel. I started the car, cringed at a squealing belt beneath the hood, and pulled away from the curb. I flicked on the air conditioner, but all I got in return was a loud squeal and rattle, and then a burst of dust exploded from the vents. I coughed and sputtered as I tried to navigate the car down the street and wave the dust out of my face at the same time.
Great. I was cruising around in a pea-green sedan with vinyl seats. It was inching upward of ninety degrees, and the air conditioner didn't work. I could feel the heat of the hot vinyl seat through my jeans.
After this case was over, I was seriously considering taking Kelly's advice and going on a long-overdue vacation.
In the last forty-eight hours I'd questioned a widower, a lying, cheating ex-boyfriend, a shifty motel manager, a construction worker, and a gigolo. I'd been run off the road and left for dead, not to mention I was dealing with a hunky detective who sort of acted like he might possibly have a little attraction to me.
I took a deep breath and pressed my foot down on the accelerator, then rolled down all of the windows in an attempt to let the dust dissipate. I steered the car toward the office. What I wouldn't give to have my little car back, I thought as the wind blew a stray hair that had come loose from my ponytail into my mouth, and I struggled to spit it out.
This day couldn't possibly get any worse…could it?
CHAPTER NINE
"She was a freaking pimp? Like a real-life, selling-some-man-booty pimp?"
"I think the correct term is madam," Mandy corrected.
"No, that can't be right. I thought a madam only applied if you were pimping women?"
"I don't think so. I think it works both ways." Mandy scrunched her nose. "I'm not sure. Isn't a pimp a man?"
I shook my head and immediately regretted the action as my brain pounded against my skull in protest. I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out an individual packet of Ibuprofen. While Kelly and Mandy debated what Lydia's proper title should be, I popped the pills into my mouth and chased them down with another much-needed coffee.
"As amusing as all of that is, it's beside the point." I held up a hand. "How in the hell could I have left my purse at that house? What am I? Some kind of amateur? What if one of those guys was the one who tried to kill me? What if one of them killed Lydia? Now they know where this office is and where I live. The killer could come after all of us."
I hung my head in my hands. What in the hell had I been thinking? The truth was, I hadn't been. I'd been so shocked by my little stud-farm discovery that I'd done the one thing I knew better than to ever do. I lost my cool.
"You don't need to worry about any of that. We won't hurt you…or I won't anyway. You didn't have to lie about who you really are though."
We all three looked up and spotted Silas standing just inside my office doorway looking every inch a sex god.
"I can explain." I stood and made my way around the desk.
"No need," he said. Then he approached me. He practically pressed his chest against mine as he leaned forward and set my purse gently atop the desk. His scent was a heady blend of spice and vanilla, and for a moment I wanted to lean in and inhale deeply. He must've known what I was thinking because he smiled down at me mischievously and then stepped back slowly.
"Now that I know who and what you are and why you left the house so quickly, I think I know exactly what you were doing at the house in the first place. I want to help."
He wanted to help? At this point I'd take any help I could get, even if that help came in the form of a six-foot-tall gigolo. I wasn't into objectifying men, but even if he couldn't give us any information that would help the case, he would at least serve as an excellent piece of eye candy.
"In that case, have a seat." I motioned to the chairs situated before my desk then to the girls. "This is Kelly and Mandy, my associates. Ladies, this is Silas…"
"Thorne." He smiled. "Silas Thorne."
Mandy and Kelly sat still in their chairs, their mouths gaping open, and if I wasn't mistaken, a little drool came from the corners of their lips.
"Can we get you anything, Mr. Thorne?" I asked as I retook my seat.
He grinned that devastating grin of his. "I think after what we shared back at the cabin we can dispense with the formalities, don't you? You can call me Silas."
I felt a hot blush stain my cheeks at his words. Kelly and Mandy moved their gawking expressions to me. They didn't help matters any, and I felt my cheeks growing redder. Sometimes I wondered how on Earth I even pretended to be professional.
"What exactly happened between the two of you at the cabin?"
I jerked my gaze to the doorway and to my horror found Tyler staring at me with a look so demanding I felt myself shiver under its scrutiny.
"Didn't I teach either of you two to lock the freaking door?" I snapped, but the girls just shrugged and grinned at my distress. I pressed the palm of my hand to my forehead, careful to avoid the knot and bruise still residing there.
"What happened at the cabin?" Tyler asked again, the growl more evident in his voice this time around.
If I hadn't known any better, I would have mistaken his reaction as one born of jealousy. But that couldn't be what I was hearing. Tyler and I hadn't even shared, well, anything even remotely intimate in my estimation. We barely knew each other.
"Nothing happened between us at the cabin, not that it's any of anyone's business." I reached into my top desk drawer, pulled out a piece of gum, and popped it into my mouth.
Nervous habit. Had I been close to the coffeepot I'd have been drinking straight from the carafe.
"Just a kiss," Silas said with a smile. "Her lips are so full, the kind that always seem to be begging for a kiss. Wouldn't you agree?"
Silas was a charming, flirtatious man, but I guessed one would have to be in his line of work. Nothing seemed to bother him, as evidenced by the way he continued to grin at me even though Tyler looked fit to kill.
"A kiss?" Tyler growled and strode to the edge of my desk. He balled up his fists and leaned onto his knuckles against the desktop. He glared at me.
Kelly and Mandy were obviously still enjoying the show. They wore matching grins as they glanced between the two men and me. I was surprised they hadn't made popcorn and settled in for the show.
Tickets to watch Barb's distress: $5.99.
I couldn't figure out why Tyler was getting all fired up over me having been kissed by another man? It wasn't like he'd called dibs on me or anything.
I shook my head and closed my eyes.
"It was a misunderstanding." I defended myself. Even though there was absolutely zero reason for me to do so, I still felt the need to explain.
"Is there something you wanted, Tyler? I'm with a client."
"I can wait," he grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.
His alpha-male attitude just wasn't doing it for me at the moment. I'd had a long night, and the morning wasn't shaping up to be much better, so I pointed toward the door. "Then wait outside."
His glare intensified, but after a moment he relented and took a step away from the desk. He snarled down at Silas, where the moron sat still grinning like an idiot, then turned toward my office door.
Mandy and Kelly stood up with much less vigor than usual and escorted Tyler from the room. Apparently they didn't like the idea of missing the show but had a job to do.
Once the girls and Tyler had left the room and closed the door firmly behind them, I addressed Silas.
"Thank you for returning my purse."
"You're most welcome." He frowned and leaned forward. "What happened to you? Where'd you get that bruise?" he motioned to the purple knot on my forehead.
When I'd touched my forehead earlier, I must've moved my hair enough to expose the bruise.
"I had a li
ttle car accident on my way home from your place last night." I watched his expression for any change in his reaction to my revelation. Anything that might convey that he wasn't shocked by the news. He appeared genuinely surprised and a bit concerned.
Call me crazy, but I had a feeling that Silas wasn't the person who'd run me off the road.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Just a little headache. Thanks for asking."
He leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers together. "I don't like to see women hurt. I'm glad you're all right."
"Thank you. Really." I smiled at his kindness.
"Other than my returning your purse, I bet you're wondering exactly why I'm here," he said.
"I am," I admitted and leaned back in my chair. "You said you wanted to help. What exactly do you think it is that I need help with?"
"You're looking for Lydia's killer."
I wasn't surprised that he knew why I'd stopped by the cabin. He worked for Lydia, knew she'd been murdered, so it made sense that when a private investigator paid a visit, it would have to do with Lydia's demise.
I nodded. "Go on."
He rubbed his fingertip across his chin. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I said honestly. "How about you start with how you came to be a gigolo under Lydia's management?" I wasn't about to tell the cheeky man that I'd dubbed them studs. I could only imagine the fun he'd have at my expense over that one.
"It just kind of happened, really." He shrugged. "I filled in for a friend as a waiter at one of Lydia's charity events one night. She slipped her number into my jacket pocket and told me to call her, that she had a job opportunity I might be interested in. Of course I called her. I'm in art school, and waiting tables and working parties doesn't pay the bills or tuition."
"And she just offered you the position of gigolo, and you went along with it? Just like that? Hey, how'd you like to sell your body for money?"
I had a hard time believing she just popped the offer out there right off the bat, but what did I know? This was my first run-in with the sex trade.
"No." He laughed. "She sat me down and eased me into it. She explained the offer to me in detail. Basically, I run the show and get paid for it. She explained what the job entailed, that I could choose clients, what my hard limits were, what I could charge, that I could choose the hours I wanted to work and so on, and I'd be making more money in a week than in an entire month as a waiter."