Searching for Love: Behind Blue Lines Series

by Christine Zolendz

  I jumped right into my plan of action. Without another thought, I climbed into my car and typed in the address stamped on the front of the envelope I’d found into my phone’s GPS. I needed to get to the bottom of this.

  Forty minutes later, I found myself driving through an upscale neighborhood on Long Island with perfectly manicured yards and trees lining the streets. I would have bet this private investigator made a mint on lonely housewives and their cheating husbands. Uncaring, I parked the car in a “No Parking Zone,” and shoved my parking plaque against my windshield.

  I walked quickly across a small plaza area toward a tiny storefront. The front windows were blacked out and elegantly etched with the name of the investigator scrolled across the glass and somewhere, somehow, soft jazz drifted around the buildings. In the cold breeze, the scent of fresh-roasted coffee hung enticingly in the air.

  One of those annoying bells jingled when I walked through the door, giving me the sudden urge to shoot the stupid thing.

  The office was empty except for an older secretary who sat stiffly behind a desk filing her nails. She smiled kindly as I walked in, her hawk-like eyes trailing over me from head to toe. “Welcome to Dietz Investigations. How may we help you today?”

  I held my shield up over the desk and smiled back. “Detective Ryan Cage, NYPD. I was wondering if I could speak with one of the investigators here.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Yes, of course,” she coughed, nervously. She smoothed down her shirt and stood up, rushing her tiny frame toward the door behind her desk. She knocked on the door softly and poked her head in without waiting for any reply.

  Less than ten seconds later, she popped her head back through the door and chirped, “Please come in, Mr. Dietz can see you right now.”

  I nodded curtly, and pushed passed her as she held the door open for me and batted her eyelashes.

  “Brad Dietz?” I greeted, as I walked inside. I turned back toward the open door and winked at the secretary, “Thanks, hun. You can close that door now.”

  She looked away and slipped out, clicking the door softly closed. I knew she was standing on the other side, hand still wrapped around the knob, with her ear flat against the door.

  Behind his desk, Brad Dietz leaned forward, watching me with beady eyes. He was a big man, showing years of poor eating habits just from the way he was out of breath from suddenly standing up and holding out a beefy, sweat-soaked hand for me to shake.

  “Mr. Dietz, I’m Detective Ryan Cage. Thanks for giving me a chance to speak with you.” I offered the man a wave of my hand, a quick gesture to sit back down, before he suffered a massive heart attack.

  “Mr. Dietz, are you aware that somebody committed a burglary in a member of the service’s apartment, vandalized and destroyed property and left pictures that you took, at the scene?”

  “What…” he stopped and cleared his throat. “What is it your asking me detective?”

  “The police officer’s name was Brooke Fury. And someone paid you money to follow and photograph her having sex with someone else.”

  “Detective, here at Dietz Investigations we take client confidentiality very seriously—“

  “Where you ever on the job?” I asked, cutting him off abruptly. “NYPD?”

  “No, detective I—“

  “So what cereal box did you get your detective status from?” I threw my shield on his desk and pointed to it. “Wanna hold a real shield? It’s not one you get by sneaking around and chasing womanizers or adulterers or innocent woman.”

  “I’ll have you know, I hold a degree in—”

  “Wasting my time?” I grabbed up my shield and slammed my hands down menacingly onto his desk. “Tell me who hired you to follow her.”

  “I can’t, detective.” His tone was low and shaky.

  “Okay, then, I’ll be at the district attorney’s office in the morning, and I’ll file a subpoena for your bank records.” I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest.

  I looked around his room, tapping my fingers along the papers and books on his desk. “I’ll get to see all your transactions. Like, where’s your money coming from? And where’s it going out to… And your business records.”

  “You…you do that. Go ahead and try. You can’t just subpoena anyone.”

  “And I’ll subpoena your business and personal phone records too. By the way, are you married? Because when I stop by your house to question you further, and I most certainly will, I’m going to discuss your business and personal phone records, and your bank records.” I scratched at my chin and pretended to think for a moment. “Is their anything that you might not want to let your wife know about? Or your neighbors? Any infidelities you’re partaking in, any illegal transactions you don’t want people finding out about? Because when I find them…” I gave him a devilish chuckle, making his eyes narrow. “You don’t know this about me, but I have a big mouth. I also love to put handcuffs on bad people. Gets me hot.”

  “It…it was all paid in cash. I didn’t even get a name or a number, just an envelope full of cash and who to follow and what to look for,” he blurted, stammering like an idiot. “It was dropped in my mailbox. And when I took the pictures that’s where I dropped them.”

  That’s not what I wanted to hear. I wanted a name. “Do you have any copies of those pictures? You’re not jerking off to them are you?”

  Sweat poured down his temples as I took a deep, long breath, “I want the copies.”

  His hands went immediately into his desk and wrapped around a folder.”

  I staggered back in anger. “Right there? You keep them right there to look at?”

  “No. I—”

  “Shut up,” I growled, yanking the folder out of his grubby, fat fingers. “I will be back. With a subpoena.”

  “But I just told you everything you needed to know!”

  I walked backward to the door, shrugging. “You’re lucky I’m not taking you in right now for stalking and harassment.” I turned around, shaking my head, and flung open the door. I was right the secretary was right there, stumbling forward, still trying to eavesdrop.

  Frustration evident, I launched myself out of the office, trying to be as professional as I could. I was taking it all too personally. I wanted Brooke safe. I needed her safe. Everything else would fall into place if I could just get a handle on why she was being followed and photographed. What was in it for Anderson? Did it have anything to do with the cadet’s homicides last month? There were absolutely no leads on the murders. Could they be somehow tied to Brooke? How about the dentist? Was it jealously on Anderson’s part? That was blatant, but what lengths would he actually go to keep her as his dirty little secret? My head spun dizzily with theories and what ifs.

  Once back inside my car, I sat with the engine idling, and typed out a quick text for Dean.

  Me: Are you home? I need to talk. Important.

  Dean: Yeah, sure. We just got in. Come over.

  He wasn’t going to be happy with what was going on, but I needed his eyes on the case, his point of view. And he needed to know what was happening with his sister.

  I drove back like a maniac, thoughts needling into a headache at the back of my eyes. There was some part missing, none of it made any sense.

  “Cage? What’s up?” Dean asked immediately as he opened the door. There was a small flicker of alarm in his tone.

  I nodded a quick hello to him and shoved my way into his house and up to his apartment.

  He sighed loudly, as he always did when he was losing patience with me, and bit out a sarcastic, “Well come on in, then.”

  I did, not caring one damn bit who I was pissing off or annoying.

  At the top of the stairs, Liv stood with a worried expression draining her eyes. “Ryan? Is everything okay?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.

  Instead of answering out loud, I walked past her into their apartment, shook my head and slumped down heavily onto a kitchen chair. Dean took his time coming up the stairs,
but I waited for the self-centered idiot to join us before I started to rant.

  “How much do you know about what’s going on with Brooke?” I asked, looking back and forth between the pair of them.

  They both stared at me frozen. I guess this wasn’t what they expected me to be talking about.

  “What’s going on with my sister?” Dean’s head jerked back, and his eyes blinked rapidly. “Did you get her in trouble? Did you do something to—”

  “You’re an idiot,” I said, raking my hands over my head. I turned my attention directly to Liv. Maybe she’d understand. She and Brooke were best friends. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. “Did you know who she was dating?”

  “No,” Liv answered low. “But,” she looked at Dean concerned, “I think something bad—really bad, happened between them.”

  “She was in a relationship with Captain Anderson,” I said, looking back at Dean.

  He laughed.

  I stared straight at him and waited.

  “No way,” he said, waving a hand at me.

  I continued to stare at him and wait.

  His smile faded, and his eyes caught fire. “Explain.”

  “There was some sort of Halloween party. She says that’s when it started. They hid their relationship for three months.” I cleared my throat and gave him a knowing look. “He would have her drive him around and take her to secret places. Kept her hidden. In my opinion, he preyed upon her.”

  “But—” Dean’s mouth snapped shut.

  “When she asked for a more serious commitment from him—her hit her. He’s been harassing her ever since. I think he’s the one who had the pictures taken. I think he’s the one who broke into the dentist’s office and spray-painted the walls. And I think he had something to do with the cadets.”

  “The captain?” Dean questioned.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  His eyes narrowed. He was a good detective. He’d help me figure out the rest. “Why are you involved?”

  “You know why,” I said.

  “You slept with my sister.”

  “Get over it. You could either fight with me over it or help me fight for her. She deserves some good guys on her side. And I’m planning on being one of them. I think she’s in real trouble Dean, and she’s lost.”

  Liv stood next to him smiling at me.

  “And I’m supposed to believe you’re one of the good guys? That’s my sister.”

  “I get what you’re thinking, but—”

  “That’s my sister,” he repeated, his tone rising.

  I started to pace, but kept my eyes fixed on his. “Bro, I get she’s your sister.”

  “So why? Why the hell would you think it would be okay with me? It’s my sister!”

  “Yeah, and I’m kind of in love with her,” I said, smiling to myself.

  The room got quiet and Dean’s eyes burned holes into mine.

  Liv placed a hand on his shoulder. “She said she got hit when someone was resisting arrest, that’s when he hit her, wasn’t it?”

  “I believe so,” I answered, honestly. “I only know what she’s told me, and it’s not really much. But it’s enough to get my hackles up.”

  Dean stood frozen, staring at me blankly, until Liv slid her hand down his arm and wrapped her fingers around his. “Dean?” she whispered up to him. “It’s not your choice, but we need to make sure she’s okay.”

  “She needs to file a complaint with—” Dean began.

  I nodded my head, and cut him off. “She did, this morning. And he was at her house by this afternoon, trying to get her thinking she’d only look bad if she pursued any kind of formal action against him.” I leaned back against the wall, exhausted. “She thinks she’ll lose her job for this.”

  “She might,” Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Not if we help her.”

  His gaze dropped from mine. “You know, last year, Callie mentioned Anderson came on to her, maybe I could ask around and see if other women have had some run-ins with his brand of romance.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “If we build up a bunch of inappropriate situations, maybe she’d have a fighting chance.”

  Chapter 19

  Brooke

  Cameron sat in my car, quietly humming something. His eyes stared blankly at a small circular paper he held in his hands—some sort of art project he created—watercolors blending and bleeding into each other in great swirling strokes. His teacher said he had a difficult day. He seemed restless and agitated, more fidgety than usual.

  Even I found myself staring vacantly through the windshield, barely able to remember driving back from the school. The clusterfuck of stop and go traffic, the disjointed noise of different car radios overlapping songs with each other, all mixed and blurred through my senses. The shadows of the buildings slanted strangely across the streets, making the world take on a surreal effect to it.

  “Are you hungry, Cameron?” I asked softly, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

  He shook his head violently, side-to-side, and moaned in frustration.

  The streets were slick with the last remnants of melted slush and snow, and the last streams of sunlight danced through the icy crystals that dripped from trees’ branches as we drove under them.

  Ryan’s car wasn’t parked in his normal spot in front of his place. I scanned the street quickly, hoping it was parked somewhere further down, but it wasn’t there at all.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight. I wanted to get home and talk to Dean—or maybe my father—about what was happening. I wanted them to tell me what to do next, not wait here for Ryan to get home, so he could watch Cameron. Who knew how late he’d get back?

  As I parked the car, Cameron’s noises and annoyed tones increased to an ear-splitting level. “You want to run ahead, Cam?” Maybe he needed to get out of the car. “You could run ahead.” I handed him Ryan’s house key and smiled.

  He didn’t hesitate, thudding open the car door and slamming it shut hard. He was agitated and tight, and I knew I was in for a long night if I didn’t get him in a better mood.

  I ran after him, not wanting him to get more frustrated if he couldn’t get the lock quick enough.

  As I stomped up the steps, I heard him mumbling, “Take shoes off.”

  “I will,” I answered him, closing the door and tossing my car keys onto the counter in the kitchen. I really didn’t want to take my shoes off—or even my coat. I wanted to jump right back in my car and go home. My mind was filled with overwhelming emotions, all of them leading to one thing; Ryan Cage. I was scared. Too scared of what happened with Harris to be able to jump in with both feet.

  What if Ryan didn’t feel the same way about me? What if I lost my job? What if I didn’t and had to stay in an office where everyone knew I slept with the captain—and then a detective? What would Ryan have to hear?

  I needed to talk to Dean. I needed to get advice from my dad. Both of them would know what to do, even if the shame of asking them and telling them what happened might kill me.

  “Take shoes off,” Cameron demanded of me again.

  I hung my head in my hands and took a deep breath, how did he even know I still had them on? I was in a different room. “I will; I promise.”

  Cameron grunted loudly in response.

  I slid my coat off my arms and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

  And that’s when I heard the slap, slap, slap, making the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Cameron? Cameron, what’s wrong?” My voice came out more panicky than I wanted it to, but I just couldn’t understand why he’d start slapping himself just because I hadn’t take off my shoes yet. Maybe he thought I was going to leave. I was, though, wasn’t I? He probably knew. I was probably projecting my own anxiety, frustrations, and fears out on him, and he thought I would leave him here alone.

  I rushed to the living room, to the sounds of more frustrated grunting. It was dim inside the r
oom—the blinds were pulled closed over the windows and only a small amount of sun seeped in.

  Long, dark shadows crawled up the walls, making everything feel oddly sinister, like something wasn’t quite right.

  I tilted my head slowly, peering into the corner.

  There in one of the shadows stood a woman standing so still that I almost didn’t notice her. Cameron was between us, agitated and pacing, gesturing toward the woman’s feet. “Take off shoes.” His voice was becoming high-pitched and hysterical.

  She stared at me for a long moment without a word. Then, slowly her straight-lipped expression curled up until she was baring her teeth.

  Unease and surprise twisted through my stomach so strongly that I literally bent forward at the waist from the pain. Another woman had the keys to his apartment. How was it this possible for me to be so gullible when it came to men? What the hell did I do in my life to deserve meeting only liars, cheaters, and assholes?

  Maybe this was his older sister? I dismissed the theory quickly. The woman looked to be in her forties—too old to be the sister who lived in California.

  “Hello,” I smiled tightly. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  She walked toward me, lips rising higher, as her eyes trailed over my frame from head to toe. Of course, she was measuring up the competition, wasn’t she? Well, she could have Ryan Cage then. I didn’t want any more liars or cheats. I had my fill of them. I cleared my throat, “Are you a friend of Ryan’s?”

  Cameron tossed himself on the couch and began slamming his back up against the cushions, rumbling sounds under his breath.

  “Ryan?” Her voice was high and raspy. “Is that the new guy you’re fucking?” She stepped closer and stood a few feet away from me, arms folded across her chest, watching me curiously. Disdain and pure hatred etched into every facet of her expression. Her face was much older than I first thought, closer to fifty I’d guess, covered carefully with layers of foundation and makeup, penciled on lip stain and eyebrows. She wore a pale gray, long-sleeved blouse, and dark slacks. She stood out as non-descriptive. Someone you’d pass on the sidewalk and not think twice about.