Reluctantly in Love

by Niecey Roy

  I opened my mouth to answer, and then closed it.

  “They like a big, luscious booty,” he repeated in my silence, in case I hadn’t heard him.

  “So . . . you’re safe then?” I asked. Richard was tall and skinny—there was nothing athletic about his body.

  “Yeah, probably.”

  I stepped into the lobby on the second floor and whispered, “You’re not serious . . . right?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. There’s a survey.”

  The lobby was full of potted plants and rich colors. The second floor was decorated in dark furniture with a heavy bookcase along the wall, thick encyclopedias lining the shelves. Across the room, a gold name plate hung on a heavy wooden door: Matthew Garrett, Garrett Properties.

  The lobby was empty. The two other offices off the lobby were also empty; everyone was out to lunch. I slipped into Matthew’s office and shut the door behind me.

  His desk was tidy—a phone, a name plate, a crystal paperweight, a computer monitor. That was disappointing. From the outside, there was nothing wrong with Matthew Garrett.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “This would be a lot easier if he had an alien costume hanging up in his office.”

  “Doesn’t really seem like the bad guy. He even brought her cat home.”

  “I know.” I scrunched up my nose and pulled open the top desk drawer. “I can’t explain it. I’m positive it’s him. I was hoping his financials would show him broke and desperate for money, but they didn’t.”

  “Being broke doesn’t mean he’s a catnapper, either.”

  “Jeez, are you on my side or what?” The drawer was full of pink message sheets, all written in cursive script using blue ink. I scooped them up to read through. Hair appointment, tenant upset about leaking pipes, costume ready for pickup.

  Wait, a costume? Alien costume, perhaps?

  After I found the footprints outside Beverly’s home, I called every costume place in town. There was only one that had an alien costume, and it was nothing like Beverly described, the colors were off, and it was tiny—made for a child. Which meant he ordered the costume online. Unless it came from this costume boutique I’ve never heard of.

  This could be my first break on the case. I snapped a picture of the pink message memo and returned it to the drawer.

  “I’m just saying sometimes people make mistakes right after high school. Like getting credit cards they don’t need. And then they rack up credit lines and don’t realize it’ll take ten years to pay them off with minimum payments. And it’s really hard to pay the monthly bill when you’re going to college full time and you’re bussing tables.”

  “Richard, I’m not talking about your financial mistakes. Or the fact that you blew all those credit cards on a bunch of electronic gadgets you didn’t need. Or that you gave your parents heartburn when you moved back home and into their basement.”

  “They like me living in their basement,” he said.

  “The last time I was there, your mom bribed me with a lifetime of homemade chocolate chip cookies if I talked you into getting your own place.”

  “She was joking. She just likes to bake.”

  I laughed. “No one likes to bake that much.”

  “She does. I swear.”

  “I have a realtor friend—she can help you find a nice apartment or a loft or something.” I thumbed through the checkbook register. “And of course he doesn’t record his transactions,” I said.

  “Isn’t he rich? Rich guys don’t have to track their money.”

  “No, rich guys do track their money if they want to stay rich.” I shut the drawer. “Maybe he still has a gambling problem.”

  Except, Mathew’s financials and background check hadn’t raised any red flags. The only thing hinting at unhealthy finances was the second mortgage he’d taken out six months ago on his house. There were no red flags here, yet I couldn’t let this feeling go. He had to be the man under the alien costume.

  I wiggled the mouse beside the keyboard and the monitor lit up. With password protection. Damn it. “I can’t get into his computer and I don’t have time to search for a password written down anywhere.”

  “I have a friend who can hack his computer.”

  My hand stilled in unzipping the bag. “Are you serious? I asked you two months ago if you could hack Meredith Jensen’s computer, and you said no.”

  “I didn’t feel right about hacking an old lady. Aaron would’ve flipped.”

  “You could have given me a good reference.” I pulled out an electronic bug from a zippered pocket inside the bag. Leo had the hookup with a guy who made all kinds of cool gadgets—bugged pens, bugged paperweights, bugged bobble heads. For this job, I chose a flat one the size of a book of matches that I could tack to the underside of Matthew’s desk.

  “I did. I said you were hot. I just didn’t ask him to hack an old lady. He’d hack this dude, though.”

  I slipped in a SIM card to activate it then stuck double-sided adhesive to it. Pressing the bug to the underside of the desk, I said, “Good. We’ll go talk to him later.” I searched through the rest of the drawers. “Hey, check the bug to see if it’s transmitting.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  In the third drawer I found a manila file with Garrett Estate written on the tab. I pulled the file out. A color photo of the Garrett Mansion was the first paper inside the folder. It was stapled to a thick packet, a market comparison. I paged through. What did it cost to keep the mansion maintained, but with no real purpose than to act as an attraction on a historical homes tour. It couldn’t have been cheap, and yet the family continued to do so. I wondered if Matthew planned to sell it now that his dad was gone.

  Maybe selling the place would be a last dig at his dad’s memory.

  “Bug’s working.”

  “Good, I’m coming down.”

  I zipped up the bag and rounded the desk. The toe of my shoe kicked something and I almost tripped. I looked down to a pair of men’s dress shoes beside the desk, one kicked over onto its side. I knelt and picked up a shoe.

  “Damn. Size ten and a half,” I mumbled.

  “Huh?”

  “Matthew’s a size ten and a half, not size eight.” Which meant the print outside of Beverly’s house wasn’t Matthew’s. “Whose freakin’ shoe print is it?”

  I put the shoes back beside the desk then walked to the office door. While I rode the elevator down, I thought through the facts as I knew them. Still, I had more questions than answers. I could only hope the bug in his office would fill in the blanks. Matthew has to be the key.

  The elevator door slid open and the receptionist looked up. I raised the clipboard. “Everything’s checked out. Have a great day.”

  “Yes, you too.”

  “Hey, that dude’s back.”

  I pulled the door open and hurried outside. “Shit. I’m almost out.”

  “He’s walking up to the door.”

  “He’s early,” I mumbled. I stepped out of the alcove and onto the sidewalk—and walked straight into Matthew Garrett.

  He grabbed me by the arms. “Whoa, there.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I kept my head down, the bill of my cap hiding me from view. I sidestepped and kept walking.

  “Did he know it was you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m not stopping to find out.” I imagined Matthew’s eyes burning a hole right through my back. Instead of walking in the direction of the van, I said, “Meet me around the corner.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Yesterday I put a tracking device under Matthew’s sports car. Today, I bugged his office. All that was left was to catch him in the act of . . . something. Oh, and hack into his computer. Game on, Garrett.

  Richard pulled to the curb and I jumped into the passenger seat. Smacking my palm against the dash, I said, “Let’s go park down the street and listen to the audio feed from his office while I call this boutique and ask about a costume.”

  “Bad ass,” Richard sai
d. He cut the van into traffic and earned a honk and the bird from a woman in a crossover with a bike rack on the roof. “Angry broads everywhere,” he muttered.

  “Are you having girlfriend problems again?” I clicked the seatbelt into place.

  “I think I’m swearing off women until I can figure out what’s wrong with them.” He glanced over at me. “It would be so much easier if they weren’t so attracted to all of this.” He waved his hand beside his face. “I’m irresistible.”

  Laughing, I sat back into the seat. “Yeah, you’re something, all right.”

  The bell above the door to the costume boutique jangled. Richard and I stepped inside, and my heart sank. A sex shop? Of course it’s a sex shop. I rolled my eyes skyward, sucked in a breath, and told myself not to be disappointed. This could still be a lead.

  Richard whistled through his teeth, his eyes wide as he glanced around the boutique. I elbowed him in the side. He grabbed his ribs, looking wounded. “Ouch. What was that for?”

  The woman arranging lacy panties on a display table looked up with a smile.

  “Shh,” I hissed.

  “Can I help you find anything?” She held up red lace—crotchless. “All the panties on this table are buy one get one free.”

  Richard blushed. “Those are nice.”

  “They are very nice. I think we’ll just look around a little bit.” I linked my arm through Richard’s and flashed the clerk a wide smile. “We’ve got . . . eccentric tastes.”

  “Ah, I see.” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Toys are along the back wall. If you’re looking for oils and stimulants, we have excellent options along that wall.” She gestured to the glass rack near the door lined with bottles and tubes. “Or is there something else you and your gentlemen friend would like me to help you find?”

  I glanced over at Richard. “Oh, this isn’t—”

  “I’m her man candy. We’re into the sex.” Richard nodded and socked me in the shoulder. “Right sexy-hooker?”

  My mouth dropped, and the clerk turned her head, her brows arched in question.

  “Well, you needn’t be embarrassed here.” She gave a smile of encouragement, patting the pile of panties she’d made on the display table. “We get all kinds in here. If you have questions, please feel free to ask me anything.”

  I laid a hand on Richard’s arm and gave a heavy sigh. Laughing, I said, “That’s a relief. I mean, because we’re into some really strange stuff.”

  “We sure are,” Richard chuckled, a-hu-a-hu-a-hu.

  “Eccentric stuff.” I glanced around the boutique, looking for costumes.

  “Yeah. Like thongs.” Richard draped his arm around my shoulders. “Like the kind you’d see on an alien.”

  She opened her mouth. She looked as if she were struggling with a reply. Then she said, “I’m not sure what kind of a thong an alien might wear.”

  “So what you’re saying is you do not have alien thongs?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Alien costumes?” I asked hopefully.

  “No, nothing like that. We don’t deal in extraterrestrial thongs.”

  “Shit, that’s a disappointment.” Every time I thought for sure I’d found a lead—boom—gone.

  “We do have a nice selection of costumes behind the curtain there, if you’d like something other than . . . aliens.” She gestured to a black curtain hanging over a doorway at the back of the boutique. “It’s our most risqué collection.”

  “Thank you, that’s perfect.” I took Richard by the wrist and tugged him toward the back of the room.

  “What are we doing?” Richard asked after I nudged him through the curtain.

  I stepped in behind him. A mannequin wearing a black pleather body suit with cut out boob cups was a harsh contrast to the romantic ambiance of dimmed lights and the scent of cherry blossoms.

  “We’re going to look through every single freakin’ costume back here.” I started with the first costume beside the door. The rack hugged the wall around the small rectangular room. “She might not know her inventory as well as she thinks.”

  “She seemed like she knew it pretty well.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him and raised my brows.

  “Okay, okay. Every single costume. Got it.” Richard started going through the costumes on the opposite wall. “But I have practice in a couple of hours.”

  “Those video games are going to rot your brain.” I pushed aside a naughty cowgirl costume. There were a lot of crotchless and boobless outfits leaning more on the sleazy than sexy side.

  “We’re so going to kick some ass at MLG this year.”

  “I don’t even know what language you’re speaking right now.”

  “I thought you broads were coming with me to Vegas. Cheerleader skirts, remember?”

  “We’re not wearing skirts.”

  “That sucks. The guys’ll be disappointed. You bringing the doctor dude?

  “I’m not with him anymore. We’re just friends.” Even as I said it, my chest tightened. I didn’t know if Chase and I could ever be just friends. Maybe eventually, but not right now. I was probably the last person he wanted to see.

  Richard must have sensed it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, and we both went back to looking through the costumes. Turned out the clerk was right—there was nothing alien back here. Another dead end.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I’d been listening to the recordings from his office for days. I now knew more about his golf game than I cared to, and the graphic phone sex sessions with one of his girlfriends was worse than plucking out my own eyelashes, one by one. I fast-forwarded through those parts until they got to actual conversation with words, not grunts. Gag.

  I sat in a surveillance van down the street from Matthew’s office. I’d grown bored with all the uninteresting information and began writing down notes for a new story idea. I almost missed the first suspicious nugget of information sandwiched between all the sex talk and pet names. I’d had a mouthful of burrito when the conversation changed.

  “I need to get rodent food and then I’ll come pick you up . . . I know, sweet cheeks . . . It’ll all be over soon . . . Tonight. We’ll finish it tonight . . . Yes, then we’ll go to Maldives . . . I promised, remember? . . . Yes, I’ll take you to the club . . . It’ll only take thirty minutes . . . Promise, sweet cheeks . . . I’ll make it up to you . . . Nine-thirty. Promise . . . Yeah, wear that red slinky one . . .”

  Double gag.

  But I wasn’t interested in his girlfriend’s red slinky anything. It wasn’t the rodent food part that caught my attention. The guy was a jerk—it didn’t surprise me that he called his pet a rodent. It was the it’ll all be over soon that had my attention. I had no clue what that meant, but I wanted to find out. And if afterward he planned to take his girlfriend to Maldives, then whatever it was had to be big. Maybe extraterrestrial proportions kind of big.

  I jumped from my seat at the console and hurried to the front.

  Plopping down in the driver’s seat, I hit the speed dial on my phone. “Come on, come on, answer.”

  I turned the van onto P Street and floored it through a yellow light.

  “Yo, ’sup.”

  “Richard! Why aren’t you answering your phone?” I wove through traffic like a madwoman. I was driving erratically and eased my foot off the pedal. “Do you have any idea what is happening right now?”

  I glanced at the tablet mounted on the dash. The flashing red light on the 3D map showed Matthew’s sports car still parked at his office.

  “Uh, is this a trick question?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

  “Matthew and his girlfriend—I think it’s the blonde—are up to something. And it’s happening tonight.”

  He laughed, a-hu-a-hu-a-hu. “I bet they’re up to something tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s no time for this. We need to prep. We have to be ready when he goes on the move. He’s picking the girlfr
iend up at nine-thirty, but he’s doing something first—feeding a rodent—and then they’re going to finish it tonight. Whatever it is. So, you’re coming with me. Gen’s out of town with Matt, and Lexie has that thing in Omaha.”

  “What thing?”

  I gaped at the windshield. “Richard, that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re it. You’re my wingman.”

  “All right.”

  “Okay, so get ready. I’ll swing by your parents’ with the van to pick you up. I’m going to need you to operate the video camera. If this guy does something incriminating, I want him on tape.”

  “Camouflage?”

  I considered it. Camouflage was always nice. I had no clue what we’d be doing, and camouflage might not be the best blending-in outfit at the Bring Down Garrett party.

  I shook my head. “No. Just dress normal.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  I hung up with my lips enveloped in a wide smile. Things were about to get serious, I could feel it.

  “What’s he doing in a discount store?” I wondered out loud.

  The store was on the opposite side of town from Matthew’s office, thirty minutes from his home—it made no sense. And a dollar store? Why was a millionaire shopping at a dollar store?

  “Maybe he needed a snack.” Richard snickered at something he read off his cell phone display. “That’s tight.”

  I snapped my finger near his ear. “Richard, I need you to go inside. He doesn’t know who you are. Go follow him around.”

  He perked up. “Really?”

  “Yes, but don’t follow too closely.” He put his hand on the door handle. “But not so far away that you can’t see what he’s doing.”

  He opened the door, and I grabbed him by the sleeve. “But don’t be weird about it!”

  “Jeez, okay. I get it. Covert.” He brushed my hand off his sleeve. “I play video games professionally, I can handle this.”

  “Well, technically, you’re not a professional video gamer. You’re just going to a videogame tournament.” I gave him a wide smile. “Remember? You told me.”

  “Our team has T-shirts. That’s serious.”