Montgomery & Co. Private Investigations was well-known for its "don't ask, don't tell" policy. It attracted clients of all sorts, who came with all sorts of cases. Being an advanced member of the firm, I was normally assigned the difficult ones that were more complicated and risky than the others. People actually came to me personally to solve cold murder cases, or to find men who were suspected of playing with the Italian Mafia. I had my own name and reputation in the P.I. world, and I was proud of it. I hoped this 'escort' run wouldn't sully it in any way.
My stomach growled with forgotten hunger, and I peeked at the clock on the computer screen. Deciding to go out for a quick bite to eat, I stood. I stretched for the ceiling, and gasped when the pain from my side hit me in waves. The painkillers must have run out. I reached for my purse with one hand; the other was fingering the bandage. I fumbled for the little bottle of painkillers, and closed my fingers tightly over them when I finally found them. As I jiggled a couple pills out, I realized I had nothing to down them with. The wound had settled into a painful throbbing, and I didn't think I could stand it much longer. Shrugging to myself, I popped them into my mouth and forced them down.
I grabbed my purse, and walked out of my office. I slung my bag over my shoulder, and began to walk down the dim hallway. I heard a blending of two voices, one male and one female, coming from the front desk. The male voice sounded like Ayden Montgomery, and the weaker, feminine one like Ellie's.
As I turned the corner out of the hallway, the conversation became more audible.
"What did she say to you, Wyes?" Ayden said in a low growl.
"Nothing really. Just said she'd explain later," Ellie answered, sounding a bit uncertain.
"Did she say anything that seemed unusual to you?"
"No."
Ayden became aggravated, not getting the answers he wanted. "Did she look any different to you?"
"Maybe a bit pale," Ellie replied, not knowing the reason he was asking, "But that's about it. She normally is after a long night, anyways."
"Pale?" Ayden repeated incredulously. He muttered something I couldn't hear, but Ellie's subsequent shriek gave me an idea of what it was.
A muffled voice said, "Dahlia was what?"
I didn't want to hear anymore, so I continued my way quietly to the front door. Ayden must have been facing away from the receptionist's desk, because he called out in a surprise voice, "Simon?" as my hand reached out for the handle.
I slowly turned to face him. He was coming towards me, surprise and frustration on his face. Behind him, I could see Ellie staring at me with her hands covering her mouth.
"What are you still doing here?" he asked with a frown.
"I needed some time to catch up," I said simply, jiggling my foot against the door with impatience.
"I thought I told you to take today off," Ayden replied sternly.
"You did, but I really needed to finish my paperwork and make an appointment with the-" I paused, and then finished, "the client."
Ayden's expression softened, but he severely returned, "When I tell you to take the day off, take the day off, Simon."
I nodded. Ellie finally dropped her hands, but proceeded to stare at me with huge eyes. I really needed to get out of here.
"Okay," I said dismissingly, adding, "I'm meeting Mr. Knightley tomorrow at 8 in Golden Gate Park."
Impressed at the casualness of my statement, Montgomery hesitated with his mouth open before nodding back at me. He obviously expected me to bitch and moan before accepting the job. I smiled inwardly, smugly satisfied at his reaction.
I turned on my heel and went out the door without another word. The sun hit me with its brilliant light and comfortable heat. I welcomed it, tilting my face up to let it fall on my face and neck. I trotted down the steps when the door swung shut behind me.
A smile spread across my face as I crossed the street.
"So there, Montgomery."
Chapter 3
* * *
I tapped my mug in agitation, staring out the large window at the pouring rain. The sky was a dark gray, covered in storm clouds. The sun that had shone so brightly yesterday had retreated, and wasn't visible at all. The heavy drops of water splattered on the grass and the winding pathway that wound throughout the Golden Gate Park. Puddles formed quickly, taking up most of the ground in their seeping wetness. The vivid colours of umbrellas bobbed up and down as people rushed to get out of the rain. The trees that dotted the park blew back and forth in the gusts of wind. The window I was looking out of had streams of water running down it.
Shivering, I tugged my turtleneck closer to my skin. I was sitting next to the window in a cozy little place called "Rose Bud Café". Mr. Knightley hadn't shown up yet, and I wondered if I had gotten the wrong time. I pulled up my sleeve to glance at my utilitarian digital watch. It said it was 8:39.
Someone opened the front door with a tinkle of a bell, and in the process, let a torrent of wind and rain blow in. I was two tables away from the door, and I felt rain splatter against my arm. I tugged my sleeve back down, almost covering my entire hand.
The café was small, but snug. It was located in the middle of the Golden Gate Park, ideal for morning joggers who wanted their early morning caffeine fix, or an old couple craving a sandwich in the middle of the day. It was also an excellent place to meet clients; not too casual, but not too much like a stuffy office. The smell of coffee beans had instantly found its way to my sensitive nose when I had walked in forty minutes ago. Straight away, I had sat down next to the window and ordered a steaming cup of chamomile tea.
I brought the tea closer to my body. It radiated heat, and I took an appreciative sip. Still staring out of the window, I set it back on the table. A man in a yellow raincoat jogged past, a soaking wet dog trailing behind him.
"So much for being on time," I thought bitterly to myself. I had raced out of my apartment at 7:45, desperate not to be late. I had almost forgotten to lock my door I was in such a hurry. And look where that got me. Sitting here, alone, in a café, freezing to death.
The bell hanging over the door rung again, and a current of cold air whipped at me. That was it. I reached behind me for my shoulder bag, and dug out my worn cell phone. With my chin and one hand, I flipped it open. I scrolled down the contact list until I found the name Knightley.
The line buzzed three times before the static hit my ear. I cringed, and said tightly, "May I speak to Mr. Knightley?"
It was the brusque woman who answered me, "Mr. Knightley is unavailable. Who am I speaking to?"
"This is Dahlia Simon from Montgomery Private Investigations. Mr. Knightley's appointment to meet me was at 8, and he hasn't shown up yet," I said, turning my gaze back out the window.
A quiet mumbling sound met my ear, another conversation going on.
The woman's tone sounded apologetic when she replied, "Yes. Mr. Knightley's scheduled to meet you at 8 o'clock. At night."
"At night?" I repeated incredulously.
"Yes. I have it down; 8 p.m. at the Rose Bud Café," she said, her voice laced with guilt. It was like she had forgotten 8 o'clock at night was an unusual time for a business meeting.
"Oh. Alright. I'll see him at 8 tonight, then."
The line went dead, and I snapped my cell phone shut. I set it on the little glass table next to my mug. That woman had no scruples about hanging up without a goodbye.
Mentally rearranging my day, I gulped down the last of the chamomile tea and gathered my things. I decided I would come back near eight to meet Mr. Knightley. I was accustomed to abnormal hours, but an eight o'clock meeting at night was unheard of. All the P.I. work after seven usually regarded surveillance or busting people's chops. A standard set-up appointment at that time was strange.
Taking a quick look at the bill, I pulled three crumpled dollars out of my wallet and slipped them under the empty tea cup. It only cost $1, but the waiter had been kind as I sat there for forty minutes. He stood at a table across the room, in the middle o
f taking an order. He saw the bills, gave me a grin, and saluted me with his pen. I smiled back as I pulled my rain jacket on, pulling up the hood and zipping it up all the way.
Wet drops of rain splattered on my rain jacket the moment I set foot outside. They slid off quickly, falling to the ground one by one. The sky was still a dreary gray, the clouds swarming angrily, threatening a thunderstorm. As much as I adored the sun, I loved these days. Preferably, though, I was inside and smothered with warmth, gazing out of a window at the building storm. Though the wet and the cold were a major drawback, I didn't mind it one bit.
My boots splashed through puddles of all shapes and sizes as I followed the path back to the main road. Chilly water soaked through to my socks. The further I went, the number my feet became. I silently cursed the mix-up of times, no matter whose fault it was. If I had understood the first time, I could have saved myself the trouble of getting up early and hurrying out the door with the fear of being late.
By the time I stood on the edge of the sidewalk on the main road, I was drenched through and through. The red rain coat I had bought two years ago apparently had holes, or it just wasn't very resistant to the rain. My clothes were sticking to me uncomfortably, and I longed for my flannel pajamas.
I stuck out my hand in the road to hail a taxi. A traditional yellow one squelched to a halt in front of me, almost running over my toes. I yanked the door open, threw my shoulder bag in, got in myself and then slammed it shut. The cabbie twisted in his seat, looking enviably warm and dry, to look at me.
"Where to, miss?" he asked in a hoarse voice. My eyes quickly darted to the ashtray, where cigarette butts lay askew.
Snuggling into the seat, I said, "Montgomery Private Investigations, please."
* * *
"Ms. Simon?"
My fingers stopped their drumming on the glass table. I slowly turned in my seat to greet the man behind me. The first thing I saw were his eyes. They hit me with a flash of green. With bottomless depths and the colour of emeralds, the mix was beyond any kind of beauty I had ever seen.
Regaining myself, I stood, and replied, "Yes. You're Mr. Knightley, I presume?"
"I am. This is Zdenik and Liam," he gestured to the two men flanking his sides. I hadn't even noticed them.
Zdenik tilted his head in acknowledgment, and Liam leered at me. My eyes returned to Mr. Knightley after I each looked them in the eye. I didn't want them to have the common misconception that I was a girl, and therefore inadequate at my job.
I fell back in my seat as Mr. Knightley gracefully sat in the chair across from me. His two bodyguards remained standing, hands clasped in front of them, eyes roving around the dimly lit café.
I was situated at the exact same table I had been at eleven hours ago. Past the café's window was the night sky. The gray had been replaced with black, and the clouds still loomed over the park, invisible in the dark. The rain was sprinkling down, falling gently now. Joggers had ceased running hours ago, and dogs no longer trotted next to their owners. All was calm and quiet.
The Rose Bud Café patrons were scattered here and there, nighttime not being the peak of business. Curious looks were thrown in our direction. I didn't blame them. It must have looked strange; a striking man with two bodyguards meeting a female in the middle of a tiny café.
"So, Mr. Knightley, what can I do for you?" I asked, glancing warily at Zdenik and Liam as they shifted around, changing their position to focus on me.
Mr. Knightley's eyes fixed on me as well. My breath caught in my throat as I stared into them. They were filled with sadness so powerful that it made my heart break.
"I'm in need of your services," he said with a hint of an English accent.
I nodded, and encouraged him to continue with a wave of the hand. My charm bracelet jingled as the individual charms swung and hit each other in the movement. I clapped a hand over it to silence the tinkering sounds.
"There is a political function next Friday, and I need a companion to accompany me," he leaned forward on his elbows, "I need a companion to be on the lookout. Someone who knows what they are doing, and someone who does it well."
Liam grunted, his lips pursing in offense.
"It seems like you have a staff qualified to do that," I said.
Mr. Knightley leaned closer. "I want someone who cannot be recognized by people who know me."
Understanding his need for a discreet bodyguard, I said, "Next Friday, you said?"
"Yes, at 7 o'clock," Mr. Knightley confirmed, and then added in a lowered voice, "I need you to understand that this is not going to be a simple job. There are people all over California who want to hurt me, Ms. Simon. When not in the presence of my own personal security, the danger and likelihood of such an attempt is increased significantly."
My eyebrows rose a bit higher, but I replied, "I understand."
Mr. Knightley drew away, and searched in his pocket for something. His hand emerged holding a small, white business card. He slid it towards me and I picked it up. It had a different contact number than the one on the Montgomery Private Investigation form.
A waitress shuffled up to the table the moment I opened my mouth to say something. I shut my mouth, and smiled up at the young woman. She was in awe of Mr. Knightley, and looked only at him as she took our order.
"What would you like, sir?" she breathed, holding a notepad in one hand and smoothing her hair down with the other.
I took the distraction as an opportunity to take in all that was Mr. Knightley. He was easily the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes upon. He had angular, defined features, prominent cheekbones, and of course, those eyes. In the low lights of the room, I couldn't see the exact colour of his complexion, but it looked pale. It wasn't a sickly pale, but hardly any colour touched his face and hands. The nose was narrow, straight, and perfect. The lips were full, distinct in shape, and perfect. His entire face contained no flaws, simply perfect.
Mr. Knightley's voice suddenly broke through my thoughts.
"Nothing for me, thank you," he said, turning his head to look at me, "What about you, Ms. Simon?"
I blinked, and said without much thought, "I'll have some Earl Grey tea, thanks."
The waitress swiveled to glance at me, jotted the order down on the pad, and walked away. I could see her chattering with the other waiters while she waited for the hot water to boil. She pointed repeated over to our table, eyes wide when she saw me looking at her. She flushed and showed me her back.
"Now, where were we?" Mr. Knightley said, bringing his attention back to the previous conversation. The way the shadows played on his face seemed vaguely familiar. I pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate.
"I'm willing to pay you half the payment in advance, for whatever necessities you will need," he was saying, searching in his pocket again.
This time he pulled out a check folded in half. His fingers brushed against mine as he handed it to me. A shock electrified my entire body, and I gasped in surprise, then in pain when the current burned my side. My hand went to the wound, pressing on it with agonizing pressure. Mr. Knightley had frozen, hand hovering an inch from mine, face creasing with sudden worry.
"Are you all right?" he asked, apprehensive.
I made myself let go of my side, and smiled tightly at him. "Yeah, I'm okay. I got--well, I got injured last week."
In a blur of motion, he was leaning back in his chair, arms folded in a carefree look. His facial expression belied the carefully calm posture. I was confused why he was more worried than I about the pain I felt.
"Come to my house," he said, startling me, "I'll have my people look at the injury."
Both Liam and Zdenik made sounds of protest. Mr. Knightley held up a hand to silence them, but Liam spoke anyway.
"Master. You can't-" he stopped when his boss interrupted him.
Mr. Knightley, still looking directly at me said calmly, "What I choose to do is of no concern to you, Liam."
The way he spoke was almost lyri
cal. It soothed my senses just like the scent of Earl Grey tea did. Even at its quietest, it spoke volumes. I wouldn't dare defy him if he had spoken to me like that, and Liam seemed to think so, too. He snapped his mouth shut, and moved out of the way for the waitress to come through.
The tea was set down a foot away from me, closer to Mr. Knightley than to me. The waitress didn't even acknowledge my presence as she said, "Can I get you anything else, sir?"
I grimaced, and pulled the mug to me, ignoring the sharp stab in my side at the action. Mr. Knightley noticed, and stopped me from sliding the tea any closer with one hand on the cup.
"Come to my house," he repeated. It was neither a demand nor a suggestion. I didn't know what to say.
The waitress raised an eyebrow, and began jiggling her foot with annoyance. Tearing my gaze from Mr. Knightley with difficulty, I looked up her. It appeared she didn't like someone else being the centre of attention. I jerked my head toward the bar to tell her to leave us. She threw me a nasty look, but looked from Zdenik to Liam, and then at Mr. Knightley. He wasn't even aware of her presence. She shrugged and strode away.
I tried to tug the steaming mug towards me, but Mr. Knightley was gripping it, preventing me from moving it.
"What do you say?" he asked, looking at me intently.
I hesitated before saying, "I already had a doctor look at it. She gave me pills and everything."
He released my tea, careful of not touching my hand again. I gratefully took a sip. The warmth settled deep inside of me, and I took another mouthful. I noticed Mr. Knightley had settled into his crossed-arm position. I fingered the check lying on the table, opening it up. I saw the figure and closed my eyes.
"This is twice the amount for the entire job," I mumbled.
"Hmm," was all the reply I received.
I felt numb. With this much money, I could pay an entire six months of rent, or purchase a whole new wardrobe. Oh, what wouldn't I give to have a brand-new winter coat. But I mustn't get carried away. Fifteen percent of the payment would go to Montgomery's bank account, even though he didn't have to do squat.
Death of Night Page 4