by Kiki Swinson
CHAPTER 11
THE BOSS
“What the fuck do you mean he got away?” I thunder at a twitching Salazar. “I thought he was bedridden?”
Salazar shrugs his big shoulders. “I’m not sure what happened. Angel’s contractors were supposed to do the job, but he found one of them dead in an elevator. Angel caught sight of the target and he went in pursuit—however the guy commandeered a vehicle that was leaving the parking deck.
“Did he happen to catch the license plate?”
Pause.
“Fuck! I’m surrounded by incompetent idiots!”
“He got a partial plate. Don’t worry. We’ll find him. You have my word on that.”
“Careful,” I warn. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Salazar nods and then slowly backs out of the room.
I pour another brandy, toss it back and then pour another one. My baby is out there—somewhere. My one good working arm starts trembling.
My brandy spills all over the front of my shirt.
“Aargh!” I toss the glass across the room. It smashes against the wall—its crash doing nothing but elevate the rage boiling in my veins. “I’ll find her,” I swear. I just don’t know if I believe myself anymore.
CHAPTER 12
THE NURSE
I’ve listened to John Doe’s story three times. Each time he tells it, I find myself believing and trusting him more and more. But then again, I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.
“So what do we do now?” I ask.
“I appreciate that, but you’ve done enough. If I can stay here for the night, I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”
I cross my arms. “Uh huh.”
“I’m serious. I don’t want you to get any deeper in this than you already have.”
“So—fuck off. Is that what you’re telling me? What if those cops got my license plate? Have you thought of that? Face it. I’m in this shit with you.”
“You can always say that you were coerced,” he says.
“Are you kidding me? They kind of seem like the kind of cops who are only interested in shooting first and then asking questions.”
“Then what? I—I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry that I’ve dragged you into this. I’d get you out of it if I could.” He looks like he’s about to explode.
“All right. Calm down. I believe you. But you’re going to need help—like a private investigator.”
“An investigator?”
“Well in order to find out what we’re running from we first have to find out who you are—or at least who they think you are.”
“All right.” He thinks about it. “That makes sense. You know an investigator?”
“No—but there’s always the phone book.”
CHAPTER 13
THE P.I.
“Yes. The check is in the mail, I swear.” I cram my hands into my jean shorts for my office key. It’s hot as hell in here, which is why cut-off jeans, bikini top, and flip-flops have turned into my staple office uniform.
“C’mon. Cut me some slack,” I huff into the phone as I stop in front the Vega’s Private Investigations door. “I sent you one month’s payment. I’m going to need a little more time on the other two months. Things are crazy here. It’s not like I’m eating paper and shitting money. Give me another month. Business is going to pick up soon. I—” I catch a noise over my right shoulder. “Hold on, Sal.” I lower the phone. “Can I help you?”
“Uh . . .” A woman covered up from head to toe and sporting black sunglasses rushes up to me and starts looking around like she’s expecting gremlins to jump out of the hedges. I’ll be damned if this job doesn’t bring out all kinds. She steps forward and extends her hand. “Hello. I’m Malena Castillo. I’m looking for a . . .” she glances down at a business card again. “. . . an Emilio Vega? Is he around?”
Not another one. “I swear, I don’t know how many of you chicken heads Emilio had stashed around town, but the gig is up. Your sugar daddy has bit the dust. He’s gone—so go find a real job.”
The woman frowns and starts looking around so hard that she makes me itch.
The woman’s shoulders droop. “I think there’s some kind of misunderstanding. Is there any way we can go inside and talk?”
Hot damn. A client! “Yeah. Sure. C’mon in.” Excited, I place the phone back against my ear. “Sal, are you there? Hello? Damn. He hung up.” I push open the door just when the woman waves to someone inside a silver convertible.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a matching pair of black sunglasses climbs out of the car and jogs over toward us.
This should be interesting. I open the office door and welcome them inside. Whatever the hell this is about, I hope these people can pay cash up front. “Please excuse the mess.”
“It’s okay,” Malena says, looking around.
“I’m sorry but my husband Emilio passed away,” I tell them.
“Oh.” The couple shares a look. “We’re sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. The bastard had it coming.”
Shocked, they buck their eyes at me.
“I didn’t knock him off—his best friend did the honors when he caught Emilio in bed with his wife. His boy permanently terminated their relationship. Saved me a bundle on divorcing his ass.” Shit. I’m talking too much.
Awkward pause.
“Well . . . okay.” The guy smiles and backs away. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Wait.” I call after him. “If you’re looking for a private detective, you still came to the right place.” I extend my hand. “I’m Amalia Vega. I’m a licensed private investigator, too. Please. Sit down.” I gesture to two cluttered chairs and then rush to clear them off. “Sorry. The cleaning woman . . .”
“She died, too?” the man asks.
I laugh, probably too hard, and then remind myself to calm down and not look desperate.
“Look, Ms. Vega—”
“Amalia. Please call me Amalia.” I drop into my chair.
“How can I help you two?”
“Uh . . . Amalia,” he starts. “I don’t know if this is going to work out.”
“Why not?”
He stammers for a second and then looks to Malena for help.
“This is a delicate matter,” Malena says.
“I can be discreet,” I assure them.
“No. I mean . . . see. This man is a former patient over at the hospital. He’s currently suffering from . . . memory loss. He doesn’t remember who he is or where he’s from.”
“For real? Like . . . amnesia?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says.
“Oh. Wait. I think I read about you in the paper.” I rack my brain. “They found you on a beach, right?”
“So I’m told.”
“Ooooh. I’d loooove to work on a case like yours.”
“There’s more.” He removes his sunglasses and reveals an intense pair of black eyes. “Some people are trying to kill me. I have no idea why.”
“That’s where we’d like you to come in,” Malena jumps in and then looks me up and down. “Excuse me, but how long have you been an investigator?”
“Well. Let’s see. Emilio passed away almost two weeks ago soo. . . . about two weeks—officially.”
Their eyes buck again.
“But I worked alongside Emilio for ten years. I just always kept putting off getting my license until . . . well . . . it was too late.” I laugh awkwardly.
“Well . . .” he stalls, still inching toward the door.
“I’m flexible—and I can do the job.”
They exchange looks again.
“Look. You need a P.I. and I reeeaally need a job. Let’s make a deal.”
He hedges. “How much?”
“Usually, there’s a five-thousand-dollar retainer. Fifty-five dollars an hour, plus expenses.”
“That much?” Malena says.
“I can lower it to say . . . three
thousand?”
“That’s still too high,” she haggles.
I lean back in my chair. “Okay. I’m cheap—not free. A girl still has to make a living.”
“All right,” she says. “I can pull it out of savings.”
“I’ll pay you back,” he promises her.
I watch the exchange, wondering what the deal was between these two. Friends? Lovers? Sugar Momma? “Do we have a deal?” I ask.
He nods. “Deal.”
We shake hands.
“Great.” I pull out a notepad and pen from my top drawer. “Let’s go over what you do know. First things first: What’s your contact information?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where are you staying?”
“You can take my number,” Malena interjects. “He’s staying at my place.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh?”
“It’s temporary,” he says.
My gaze shifts to Malena in time to catch her annoyed expression before it vanishes behind a plastic smile.
“Sooo you two are just friends?”
Malena’s hands fall to her sides. “Of course.”
“Uh huh.” I return to my notepad. “And your contact info?”
Malena rattles off her phone numbers and her address.
“And . . . what do I call you?” I ask him.
“Call me?”
“A name. I have to call you something.”
“Oh. They were calling me John Doe at the hospital,” he says, shrugging. “So . . . John, I guess.”
“Humph. They’re not too creative over there, are they?” I cock my head and evaluate him. “You don’t look like a John, though. You think he looks like a John?” I ask Malena.
“Nooo. Not really,” she agrees.
“I don’t?” he asks, frowning.
“No.” I tap my chin with the pen, thinking.
“How about Nicholas,” Malena suggests.
“Nicholas is nice, but he looks more like a Ramon, or a Tomas . . . or . . . Julian.”
He jerks as if I’d punched him in the gut.
Malena frowns. “What it is?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, “—but that name . . .”
“What? Julian?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I think . . . it might be my real name.”
CHAPTER 14
THE LOVER
Three months later . . .
“Fuck me, Julian! Fuck me,” Malena begs while moonlight bathes her dark, satin skin.
I lift up her baby-oiled body and jam her up against the bedroom wall. She wraps her long legs around my hips and I slide effortlessly into her tight pussy.
“God, you feel so good,” I growl into the crook of her neck.
It’s the only truth I’ve told lately.
Shit got real complicated the second I moved into her place. Friends became friends with benefits within a matter of days. My sex-starved body now ravishes her nightly. Malena loves it, even though she complains that I’m insatiable. That is probably true, too—at least as long as she wears her jasmine-scented perfume. That shit drives me wild.
“Oh. Oooh. Oooh.” Malena rakes her nails down my back.
I hiss because they course the same tender path every night. Still, the shit doesn’t stop my dick game. Hell, I can’t stop. A blinding lust that I don’t understand takes over my body—but it has nothing to do with Malena personally. Yes, the sex is good, but no matter how hard or long I fuck her she never fills the hole inside of me.
The longing.
“That’s it, baby. Ah. I’m coming!” Malena’s legs lock around my waist as her pussy squeezes my cock.
I close my eyes and allow a cloud of jasmine to take me away where a shadowy woman teases my mind and body. Who is she?
“Oh. Fuuuck,” I roar, thrusting my hips harder, deeper, and faster.
“Julian,” the other woman whispers in my head.
“Awwww.” As I rock my head back my entire body quakes before I blast off inside of her.
Malena screams out my name as she explodes and coats my dick with her body’s thick honey. Spent, we remain entwined up against the wall, panting and struggling to get our breath.
Hot and sweaty, we tumble into bed.
I’m the first to come back down to earth and when I stare into Malena’s moon-glow face, I’m disturbed by how little I feel for the woman who’s taken me into her home, who feeds, clothes and even fucks me on a nightly basis. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I feel something for her?
As usual, Malena curls into a spoon.
I hate this shit, but I force myself to endure it because I owe her. Everything I have I owe to this woman. This shit is frustrating. So far, my ace detective hasn’t been able to find jack shit. Something has to happen. I don’t know how much longer I can fake it.
“What are you thinking about?”
The question comes out of left field and jars me.
When I don’t answer, she glances over her shoulder and peers up at me through the silvery moonlight. “Julian?”
“Nothing . . . everything.”
“You’ve been so distant lately.”
Huffing out a long breath, I roll out of our spooning position and let my mask slip. “Don’t start this shit again.”
“What?” Malena gasps and sits up straight. “I just want to talk to you.”
I toss the silk sheets off and sit on the side of the bed. “Talk about what? We keep talking about the same shit over and over again.” I try to reel in my anger but her needling has gotten under my skin. All she does is yap, yap, yap. I could fucking strangle her some fucking times. I’ve actually dreamed about it.
“Is it something that I’ve done?” she asks.
“I don’t know why you can’t understand that I’m frustrated about this whole situation. Not everything is about you.”
“Ouch.”
“You asked.” I climb out of bed and pace.
“Sorry. I was—”
“You were what?” I snap. “Can’t we ever just fuck and go to sleep? Do you really have to know what the hell I’m thinking about every damn second of the day?”
“You know what? Fuck you!” She hops out of bed and storms to the adjoining bathroom.
Slam!
I glare at the closed door. “I got to get the fuck out of here.” And go where? Pissed, I pace like a caged animal. Finally, I stomp out of the bedroom to the kitchen where I down two beers in two minutes. It’s also where Malena finds me.
Irritated, I’m not ready for another round of ‘talks’. “I’m going to move out,” I tell her.
“What? No. Why? Is it something I did? I can change. I can fix it.”
“The last thing I want to do is to overstay my welcome. I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
“No. I’ve never said that.”
“But it’s time for me to face the real possibility that I may never get my memory back. I have to start building a life.”
“Without me?”
I stop pacing. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you’ve been thinking about it.”
Tell her the truth. “You deserve much better than . . . damaged goods.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not damaged goods—even if you never get your memory back. You have so much to offer.”
I shoot her a dubious look, which compels her to continue. “Look. You’re good-looking, intelligent, strong. Even if you have to start over, you can do anything that you set your mind to. My brother Diego says you’re doing great over at the club, right?”
“Diego. Humph.” I roll my eyes. I hate that job, but there was no point in bringing that up. We can go around and around on that shit all night.
Malena reaches out and grabs my hands. “Come back to bed,” she coos. “I’m not ready to go to sleep yet.”
I let her lead me forward and she peppers kisses along my neck. I close my eyes as jasmine floods my senses and seduces me.
CHAPTER 15
THE LOVER
Club Fuego
It’s another Saturday night at Playa del Carmen’s hottest club. It’s wall to wall with scantily-dressed women and testosterone-charged men. The hard-driving beats from the DJ’s turntable have everyone turned up. Guarding the door, I’m amused at how the bougie transforms into the rachet within five seconds of walking through the door.
Multicolored strobe lights splash over the crowd while a thick, potent cloud of ganja, soured cologne, and funk pollutes the air. After three months of this shit, I’m bored with it all. However, it’s a job that pays under the table and is tiding me over so that I don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of my living situation.
“Yo, man. Are you all right?”
“What?”
Kaleef, another bouncer shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. “Damn, man. You’re really zoned out, huh?”
“Nah. Nah. I’m cool. What’s up?”
Kaleef jets his thumb over his beefy shoulder toward the closest bar. “You got some chick asking for you.”
“Me? Are you sure?”
“Yep. She asked for Julian. You’re the only one that works here.”
My gaze sweeps to the bar where I spot Amalia, a bona fide knockout in a gold, shimmering number that showcases her chiseled abs.
“Hope you don’t mind my saying that your new baby girl is thick as hell,” Kaleef jokes, pounding me on the back. “Better not let wifey find out that you’re dipping your dick in random chicks.”
I frown. “Thanks, but she’s not my girl—and Malena isn’t wifey.”
“Uh-huh.” Kaleef says. “Well, boost a nigga up and send baby girl my way when you’re through talking to her. You know how I do.”
I smirk and share a fist bump with the brothah, but when I walk away I roll my eyes and toss Kaleef’s request out of my mind. “Hey, you,” I greet Amalia. “I thought that you only remembered me on paydays.”
“Not likely.” She meets my gaze. “You’re kind of a hard man to forget.”