by Gerri Hill
It was too late now, but she was finally getting around to having a security camera installed. She hadn’t seen the point before. Moonlight Avenue was a dead-end street. There was no traffic, no crime. It was an old office building with nothing valuable inside. But in her profession—where surveillance was key—she should have installed one the day she opened up the agency. At the very least, she should have installed one when she’d had her home security system set up.
She went around the desk, taking care not to walk where…where Sammy had been. Would she always do that? She opened up the bottom drawer of the desk. One of the few items left untouched was her father’s scotch glass. She picked it up, running a finger along the rim, then put it back down. She opened up the middle drawer and moved some papers aside, revealing the mystery key. She picked it up and twisted it between her fingers. The unknown key. She folded it up in her palm, wondering why she hung on to the damn thing. Wondering why it was the first thing she’d looked for when Dee had let her back into her office.
She heard a door slam and she looked up, listening. Simon, no doubt. She’d given him the option of breaking his lease with her. He’d jumped on it and he and his wife had begun packing immediately. She had no clue where he would go and she didn’t really care. His office space was much larger than hers. She would have it cleaned and painted, then most likely move over there.
Alone.
She’d never been here alone before. Sammy had shown up while she was still getting the office ready for her. She’d moved him upstairs before she’d even hung her sign out. She looked up at the ceiling, as if she could see into his apartment. She needed to go up there and get it cleaned out. There wasn’t much, she knew. Sammy had very few possessions. When she’d met him, the only thing he had besides the clothes on his back was an old, dirty knapsack.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
Finn tilted her head. A female voice. Pleasant. Definitely not Karen Dorsky. Simon’s wife had a rather shrill voice. Irritating. Yes, she’d be glad when they were gone.
She walked out, finding a young woman looking around the empty reception area. The woman turned to her and as their eyes met, Finn felt the breath being sucked out of her chest. At first, she felt disoriented. Was she seeing a ghost? Was there an appointment she’d forgotten? Should she acknowledge this woman as anything but a stranger? God, she hoped her expression was remaining as neutral as she willed it to be. She had lots of practice at keeping her expression even; she hoped it was working now.
The woman’s smile faltered a bit—as recognition set in? In the light of day, she was more attractive than Finn remembered. Her blond hair not quite reaching her shoulders, parted on the side, the bangs sweeping across her forehead. Eyes that weren’t quite blue—tinged with a trace of green. Eyes that she remembered being darker than they were. Eyes that had been haunting her for the last six months. What in the world was this woman doing here? As their gazes held, Finn wondered if perhaps the woman didn’t recognize her after all. Maybe not. The bar had been dark. The dance floor had been dark. Had they even turned on any lights in the motel room? Yes. A lamp. It had been the first time she’d seen clearly into her eyes…eyes that were dark with arousal.
The woman finally cleared her throat and stepped forward, holding out her hand. “I’m…I’m Rylee Moore. Is…is the owner around?”
Ah. So she didn’t recognize her after all. Or maybe she simply didn’t remember the encounter. Finn squared her shoulders a bit before answering.
“Finley Knight. Finn. What can I do for you?” she answered rather curtly.
“Oh.”
Finn raised her eyebrows. “Problem?”
“Sorry. It’s just that all the other agencies I’ve been to, it’s always men, other than the receptionist. It’s actually refreshing to find a woman.” Rylee Moore looked around. “Are you open for business?”
“Yes. Doing some…some remodeling is all.”
“Oh, okay.”
Finn crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. Did this woman…this Rylee Moore…really not recognize her? Well, it had been six months. Maybe she’d picked up numerous women at the bar since then. She probably couldn’t possibly remember them all. Her impatience grew as she stared at her. “So…what can I do for you, Ms. Moore?” she asked once more.
“It’s what I can do for you. I want to come work for you.”
Finn’s eyebrows shot up again. “Excuse me?”
“As an apprentice. I need the experience.”
Finn shook her head quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m not hiring. You should try the Hanson Agency.”
“I have. I didn’t get a good vibe. He only met with me for a second, then pushed me off on one of his underlings.”
“He’s a jerk,” Finn said without thinking.
“I was going to say an asshole, but we can go with jerk.”
Finn tried, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Steve Hanson was indeed an asshole. But her smile faded.
“I take it they didn’t want to hire you?”
“They pretty much only hire ex-cops, from what I learned. And they also pretty much only hire men.”
“True on both accounts.”
“I’ve been to all of the agencies,” Rylee said. “No one will hire me. Everyone wants experience…or the cop thing.” She threw up her hands. “I mean, how can you get experience if no one will hire you?”
Finn shrugged. She certainly wasn’t going to hire her either. “What do you do now?” she asked, more out of curiosity than anything pertaining to the non-existent job opening.
“Oh. Nothing really. I moved here recently. Well, about six months ago.” She cleared her throat a bit nervously. “Amarillo. But…well, I wanted something different.”
“That’s quite a change from Amarillo to Corpus.”
“I know. My mother hasn’t gotten over it yet.”
Finn nodded and offered a small smile. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not hiring.”
Rylee’s confident smile faltered a bit. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t expect much. I’m just trying to get my feet wet, so to speak.”
“Want to open up your own agency?”
“Someday, yes.”
“Good luck, then. But I’m a small shop. I do all the work.” She motioned to the empty room. “I don’t even have a receptionist.”
“You don’t have anyone working for you?”
“No. And I manage fine.”
A disappointed face—eyes—looked back at her and Finn very nearly gave in to her. There was something haunting in those blue eyes. A desperation, perhaps. She hadn’t noticed that before. Maybe six months of no employment would do that do you.
“Okay. Well, if you could at least think about it. Please?” From the purse that was hanging on her shoulder, she took out a piece of paper and handed it to Finn. “That’s my number. If you change your mind.”
Finn glanced at the paper where Rylee had previously written down her name and number. She wondered how many times she’d handed a paper like this out to someone who wasn’t hiring.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Knight. Thanks for your time.”
“It’s Finn. And good luck.”
Finn stared at the door long after Rylee Moore had walked out of it, aware that her heart was beating just a little too fast in her chest.
Rylee Moore. The woman from the bar. She looked even younger than Finn remembered. Of course, it stung a bit that Rylee didn’t remember her.
Okay…so it stung a lot. The woman had been drifting in and out of Finn’s mind for months now. Apparently the blonde hadn’t had the same problem.
Chapter Nineteen
Rylee stood beside her Jeep, finally able to breathe normally. Was it her? Really? Was it? Most certainly it was. The hair was a little longer. But those dark eyes…she’d recognize them anywhere. Finley Knight. Finn. Either the woman had an extremely good poker face or she didn’t remember that night. At all. And maybe she didn’t. For all she knew, the woman picke
d up strangers at bars all the time. That was probably it. Why on earth would Finley Knight remember her?
She blew out a frustrated breath. God…what were the chances she’d run into her again? She hadn’t even been back to the bar since that night. She’d been too embarrassed to go back. She never—ever—did anything like that. She’d only been in Corpus a few weeks. She was trying to meet people. That had been her first time to go to the bar. First and last.
Because she’d gone to a motel with a stranger. She’d had sex—a lot of sex—with a stranger. She closed her eyes briefly, her mind flashing back to that night. God…it had been…well, mind-blowing was an understatement. And as she’d untangled from the woman’s arms early that morning, she’d freaked out. Totally. She’d snatched up her clothes and run.
And now here she was, begging for a job from that same woman, a woman who didn’t remember having sex with her.
She finally opened the door to her Jeep and got inside. Now what? Now what should she do? How could it possibly be this hard to get a job? Oh, she could always find a job as a security guard. She had eight years’ experience and surely her father would give her a recommendation. Surely he would. That would be a last resort, though. She had little desire to go back to patrolling empty businesses at night. And really, she had little desire to beg her father for a recommendation.
She’d moved to Corpus Christi in early June, planning on an extended vacation before trying to find work. After her encounter at the bar that night, she’d tried to do more normal things. She’d been practically a beach bum while she settled into her new city, draining her savings at a rather rapid—and alarming—pace. But she’d had a fun summer, although she’d spent most of it alone. She’d met a couple of people and had even gone on a date or two. Corpus was certainly different than Amarillo in that regard. Even though she’d not been closeted there, she’d still been rather quiet when it came to her sexuality. Of course, when she and Kat had broken up, it was all the talk in the office. Especially when Kat had refused to even speak to her for months afterward. The hardest part had been explaining the situation to her father. While he’d never been crazy about the gay thing—to put it mildly—he was quite fond of Kat. She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t hurt when he’d obviously sided with Kat after the breakup.
That wasn’t the sole reason she’d left Amarillo, but it was the deciding factor. She needed a change. She was years past needing a change. Working for her father had its perks—her salary and her option to veto jobs—but it couldn’t make up for the chasm between them. She’d graduated from college with a criminal justice degree, intending to work as a game warden. She thought it would be perfect. She loved the outdoors, loved being in nature. It would be ideal. Only she couldn’t find a job locally and she hadn’t been prepared to leave Amarillo. At least not when she was twenty-one. So she went to work for her father’s company—Amarillo Security and Patrol—intending to save a little money, then make her escape. But in the blink of an eye, eight years had passed. During those eight years, she’d come out to her parents, moved out of their house—been forced out was more like it—and drifted farther and farther away from them. Emotionally, at least. Her mother tried. She really did. But having a gay daughter…well, that was never in the cards. One night, while nursing a pitcher of margaritas—alone—she had vowed she would not still be living in Amarillo and working for her father when she turned thirty.
She gave a weary sigh, then started the red Jeep, finally pulling out of the tiny parking lot. She’d purchased the vehicle only weeks before moving down here. She had envisioned herself driving on the beach, the Jeep open and topless. A smile lit her face as she remembered the first trip she’d taken from Mustang Island, following the forty-something miles of beach down to the Padre Island National Seashore. She’d been in heaven. She’d even bought a tent and camped out on the beach a few times. But summer had ended and fall had come and now November was quickly disappearing. She still had no job. Her savings were disappearing as well.
“You’re coming home for Thanksgiving, aren’t you?” Her mother’s voice was still echoing in her ear from their conversation the day before.
Truth was, she’d been surprised by the adamant tone of her mother. She never once thought they’d actually miss her for the holidays. But no, she wasn’t planning on making the trip to Amarillo next week. She was planning on getting a job. And if Finley Knight—Finn—didn’t reconsider, then her chances of becoming a private investigator were slim to none. She’d gone back to her original plan—game warden. But she was twenty-nine years old competing with twenty-one-year-olds fresh out of college. So she changed directions. Private investigator. It was something she’d toyed with in Amarillo, although she’d done little more than research it. She’d already hit up every agency in the Corpus area, surprised that there were nearly twenty to choose from. Some specialized only in background checks. Some specialized in missing persons—that’d be kinda interesting. Some specialized in surveillance. Hanson didn’t specialize. He took on any and every client, she’d learned. And judging by Moonlight Avenue Investigation’s rather plain website, Finley Knight also was versatile. And she didn’t have anybody working for her, not even a receptionist. Surely she could use some help.
Or maybe she didn’t have enough business to warrant hiring another person. Maybe that’s why she didn’t bother with a receptionist; she didn’t have enough clients.
“God, do I really want to work for a woman I slept with? A woman who doesn’t even remember me?” Well, maybe that was a good thing. If she didn’t remember her, then…
How could she not remember? That night was etched in her brain for eternity, it seemed. Images popped into her mind more often than not.
But if it was something Finn did a lot…then yes, maybe she really didn’t remember that night. And maybe that was for the best.
So yeah. She’d give her a week. If Finn didn’t call, then Rylee would simply pop back over and talk to her in person.
She might even resort to begging. Something told her this was going to be her one and only chance to land a job in this profession.
As she drove down the street, she wondered if Finley Knight had been watching her from a window as she’d sat there traipsing down memory lane. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t even considered that she might have been watched. She looked at the nearly deserted street. A couple of old, closed-up buildings were across from the agency and farther up the street were two houses, both of which looked lived in and both of which had seen better days. A handful of aging, ragged palm trees lined the street. She wondered why Finn had chosen this area for her agency. She imagined at night, the street—Moonlight Avenue—would be downright creepy.
Chapter Twenty
Finn turned away from the window when the young woman finally drove off. She’d thought at first the woman was on her phone, taking her sweet time leaving. But no. She appeared to be lost in thought, almost unaware of her surroundings. Was she remembering that night? Going back in time? Or had she walked in, seen her, and had only a flicker of recognition…like Finn was someone she’d met before but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it? She glanced at the paper in her hand one more time—Rylee Moore…Rylee—then wadded it up. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to hire her. But there was no trash can to drop it into; even that had been removed. Instead, she tossed it onto her desk, making a mental note to add a trash can to her list of things to buy.
She was about to go see how Simon was doing with his packing when her office phone rang. She very nearly ignored it but snatched it up at the last minute. Despite everything that had happened, she still had a business to run.
“Moonlight Avenue Investigations.”
“Finley Knight?”
“Speaking,” she said a bit impatiently. It was a man’s voice with just a hint of an accent that she couldn’t place. She frowned. The same voice she’d heard the other week when a caller had been looking for Daniel Frazier? A calle
r who had hung up on her.
“Give me what Frazier gave you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sure you don’t want any more trouble there, Ms. Knight. Hand it over and I’ll leave you alone.”
She gripped the phone tighter. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. But if it was you who killed Sammy, I’ll put a bullet in you myself,” she said between gritted teeth.
There was a long pause and she swore she heard him chuckle. “Was that the old man’s name?”
“You son of a bitch,” she snarled.
“I need you to hand over what Frazier gave you. I don’t have a beef with you. Hand it over and we’ll call it good.”
“Go to hell!”
She had the pleasure of slamming the phone down. It was only then she realized that her hands were shaking. She stood up, going to the window, half expecting to see a car screeching to a halt outside and several men running toward her.
The sunshine from that morning had disappeared. The clouds were heavy now, threatening rain. Dusk was but an hour away.
She went down the hallway to the door that separated her office suite from Simon’s. She opened the door, seeing boxes in various stages of packing. There was no sign of Simon or his wife. Perhaps they had already moved a load out. She would call him, tell him not to come back tonight, tell him not to come until morning—and daylight. But first, she needed to call Dee Woodard.
* * *
“I told you, Daniel Frazier didn’t give me anything,” she said again, her voice louder now. “Quit trying to turn this into something it’s not.”