Autumn's Eyes (Storm Season Book 1)

by J. L. Sutton

  “Evening Benjamin, I haven’t heard from you in a while,” Oliver Parker answered after the third ring. I trained with Oliver at the academy, one of the few officers I still knew well enough to call a friend. We didn’t see each other much anymore, but maintaining contacts was the backbone of the industry. He did me favors I couldn’t manage alone, and I helped off the books with anything his hands were tied on. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Busy, but good. You?”

  “Can’t complain really.” He laughed lightly, pausing for a moment. “I take it from the time this isn’t a social call?”

  “Sadly no, and to make things worse I need a favor.”

  2. Idle

  Four days later I received an early call from Natalie asking if she could meet up with me. After a late breakfast I hopped in my car and took the short drive to the small building in the downtown business district that housed my office. Nothing particularly grand, but it was affordable and out here I had little in the way of competition.

  As I unlocked the steel framed door my hands brushed against the thick glass panels that made up the outer walls of all the offices in the building. The words “Benjamin Hadley, Professional Investigator” were neatly emblazoned across the surface. Even after almost three years I couldn’t help chuckling at how ridiculous it sounded in my head—twenty four seemed far too young to have my own title. The room had a stifling, clinical feel to it that always reminded me more of a solitary office cubical—right down to the back wall lined with a row of filing cabinets that seemed so out of place in the twenty first century. Flitting around the room I turned on the black and silver coffee maker next to my peace fern in the far corner, starting a fresh pot of coffee while waiting for the email program to open on my brand new laptop.

  Skimming quickly past the junk mail and miscellaneous messages, I just opened my first work related document when a knock at the door caught my attention.

  “Miss White, what brings you to my side of town?” I asked as I opened the door for her, hardly believing how much younger she looked without the rings under her eyes.

  “Natalie, please. And I just came to personally hand you dad’s check,” she said. “Well, I also wanted to say thank you for your help, that friend of yours really came through for me.”

  “So I heard. Oliver mentioned after receiving the restraining order Trent ran into a spot of trouble.” I grinned. A spot of trouble was a very vague way of saying we may have manipulated a few variables to ensure there was a violation.

  “Not much trouble admittedly, and I have no idea how you guys did it, but after everything he put me through it still feels like a win. I can’t stay for long. I just wanted you to know what you did for me made me realize I have to take control. I need to make a clean break, so I’m transferring over to Phoenix next week to finish out my semester.”

  “Glad we could be of service.” I nodded, following behind her as she walked towards the door. “You take care of yourself now.”

  “Will do,” Natalie said, lingering by the doorway. “If you’re ever in Phoenix and need a favor . . . call me up, okay?”

  I chuckled. “It’s unlikely, but I’ll definitely remember that.”

  Once back at my desk I took a sip of my coffee, internally congratulating myself for actually doing something useful for once. It was far too often I had to give bad news, and the job I was working on right now was a pretty cut and dry suspicious spouse gig, so it would probably be a while before I got a chance to make someone smile again.

  I planned to pay a visit to the hotel of said cheating spouse after I closed up the office in a few hours, and with nothing else to do until then I busied myself with paperwork to kill time. I tried to keep my workspace in impeccable order, never knowing when I might need to revisit old cases or when curiosity called. Fully engrossed in the set of photos I was poring over, the loud knock at my door caught me by surprise. For a second I thought it was Natalie again, but setting the file aside I waved a familiar looking man into my office.

  "Good afternoon," I greeted him politely, struggling to place where I had seen him before. The man was just shorter than my six foot, early forties and well dressed, short salt and pepper hair and a streak of grey running down the middle of his close-cropped beard.

  He shook my hand briefly while his dark brown eyes gave me a cursory glance, and I wasn’t quite sure why but something about this man made me instantly dislike him. "So you’re Hadley."

  "That’s me," I said, gesturing for him to take a seat at my desk. "Can I offer you some coffee, Mr.—"

  "—Hyde, and no coffee."

  "Alright, so what can I do for you?"

  "Some time ago you did some work for my wife, Susan." That’s when it hit me. He wasn’t an acquaintance or even a client—a few months ago he was a job, your basic adultery package. This was quickly shaping up to be an interesting day.

  "I trust she's well?" I asked, keeping my expression level. Susan Hyde hired me almost five months ago to catch her philandering husband, a job I completed to her satisfaction.

  "Quite well, I'm sure. She's filed for divorce." His voice was measured, almost as if he rehearsed the response, but his eyes failed to hide the less than pleased emotions swimming behind them.

  "I'm sorry to hear that." In a way, it was partly true. I was sorry a lovely woman like Susan ended up with the likes of him. "So, how can I help?"

  "My lawyer tells me you're the one who collected all of Susan's evidence against me. I understand you'll be presenting what you've found in court."

  "Correct." I nodded, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading.

  "I'm a business man, Mr. Hadley, and I've done quite well for myself. I married Susan long before my various businesses took off, while she stayed home and did the gardening. Now she’s trying to take all my hard work away from me. So I'm sure you can understand I’m a little . . . frustrated." His face remained impassive, slipping only at the mention of his wife. Good liar this one, probably been going behind her back for years.

  "Divorce is messy business," I agreed, keeping up my innocent act. The simple truth was I couldn’t care less what his situation was. It’s not like anyone forced him into it.

  "So it seems," he said coolly, "but it doesn't always have to be that way. I’ve heard facts can get . . . lost along the way."

  Don’t smile. "I don't believe I follow you?"

  "Let’s cut the bullshit shall we? How much is it going to cost me to make this go away?"

  "Not how we do business here." I finally smiled, no longer able to hide my amusement at his lack of guile. What was he expecting me to do anyway, lie under oath in front of a judge?

  Your Honor, I'm terribly sorry but I did not take these photographs. My client is clearly delusional. Yeah, no.

  "Everyone has a number son. I'm sure I can make it worth your while."

  "I'm not for sale."

  Hyde shot up from his chair, his face becoming flustered as his calm façade melted away. "You're making a big mistake here.”

  "It wouldn't be the first time," I kept my tone neutral, not moving from my seat, "and it sure as hell won’t be the last. Now, if there isn't anything else you need—get out of my office."

  He held my gaze for a long moment, his face flipping through shades of red before he dropped his shoulders. Reaching into his pocket he threw a business card on my desk.

  "In case you change your mind," he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

  I sat dumbfounded for a moment before shaking my head in disbelief. You meet all kinds in this business. Running my tongue slowly across the back of my teeth I turned back to my work. As tempting as the offer may have been, it wasn’t something I would ever consider. I saw too many people go down that road in my time on the force. Okay sure, I did some questionable things since I became an investigator—some of which were not exactly legal. Part of the reason I found myself in this line of work was my discontent with the way things were handled by
the book. So I played by my modified version of the rules, but to me they were ironclad.

  After a quick meal at my favorite diner, a great little mom and pop joint on Wilson Street I frequented with my family since I was a kid, I set my sights on the Wicker Hotel. It was still early evening when I pulled up in front of the tall tan and beige building on the corner of Main and Third. If I waited a little longer the odds of my mark being in her room were higher, potentially saving me another trip, so keeping my eye on the clock I passed the time watching the sunset with my sketchpad on my lap.

  I never thought of myself as particularly talented, or even an artist at all. Claire had always encouraged me so I pushed myself to keep practicing, though it wasn't until very recently I decided to pick up the hobby again. It felt good to lose myself in something other than work for once. I ran the stubby piece of charcoal delicately back and forth, gradually adding shading to the street that was forming across the page. I left the outlines of the buildings on the horizon hazy and indistinct, creating the illusion of movement as my hand danced around the paper.

  When the light became too dim to see the paper clearly I tossed the half-finished drawing on the backseat and left my car, the cold air battering me as I crossed the double lane street. If everything went according to plan all I would need was the right room number and a bit of luck.

  I had been in this hotel before, not the biggest in the city but it had a good reputation. The dark wood paneled burgundy walls reminded me of a little hotel I visited on vacation with my father and little sister many years ago. A woman sat behind a large carved wooden desk delicately lined with light marble strips. She nodded politely as I walked past her to the elevators. I rocked back and forth on my heels as I rode the elevator to the second floor, and I was almost halfway down the corridor to my mark’s room when my phone rang. I couldn’t help smiling as I answered.

  "Jen, bad timing as always."

  "How are you Benjamin?" I knew I was in trouble when she didn't call me Ben. Jennifer was my best friend, and I practically considered her extended family since high school.

  "I’m actually a little busy right now," I replied quickly, lowering my voice as an elderly couple walked past me.

  "I'll make this quick then. Your presence has been missed, and that’s getting to be very annoying. You can’t keep dodging me forever—I know where you live.”

  "I know it’s been a while. Work’s been keeping me really busy these days."

  "No excuses," she chided, mustering her best authoritative voice.

  "Alright, alright, I’ll make it up to you. Drinks, this Saturday? I’ll invite Eric too."

  "Don't be late again."

  "Yes ma'am!" Ten minutes late one time, and she never forgets.

  Keeping my phone in my hand I walked down the hall to the room my client’s credit card was paying for, and took a deep breath before knocking. Show time. I heard faint footsteps behind the door, followed by the click of a lock as the door swung open. A tall thirty something woman stood beside the doorway, her black pixie cut a stark contrast against her pale skin.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Good evening. Is Mr. Tanner here yet?" I lied smoothly, feigning mild surprise at her presence. Playing the role of someone else was definitely one of the highlights of the job.

  "Tanner?" She frowned. "I think you have the wrong room."

  “Who is it?” A man’s voice called from inside a second before he came to stand beside the woman, freshly showered and wearing a bathrobe.

  I frowned too, swiveling my head around to look at the door number. "My apologies, it seems I have the wrong room. Please enjoy the rest of your evening."

  "No problem." She shrugged, closing the door behind me as I turned to leave.

  After all the time spent looking for Natalie this felt almost too easy. Walking down the corridor at a leisurely pace I stepped into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before checking the photos of the happy couple I stealthily took on my phone.

  I spent most of Saturday finishing up all the paperwork I neglected during the week. My stash of chocolate marshmallows was running dangerously low, a guilty pleasure I picked up from my sister, so on my way home I picked up a few things from the convenience store across from my office. My apartment was on the outskirts of the business district, directly under the shadow of the Brampton tower. The family home was gifted to me by my father after he left my sister and me to make the permanent move to Mexico with his new wife. It was something he longed to do all his life. Other than the holidays we only spoke briefly a few times a year.

  To call the home I grew up in small would be grossly overselling the humble two bedroom apartment that despite my best efforts I had come to cherish. It felt like weeks since I left this morning, and the off-white walls I had been meaning to repaint seemed oddly comforting after my long day. The front door opened into a rectangular room, taken up equally by my tiny kitchen and the loose grouping of pale green couches, rickety wooden coffee table and TV I called the lounge. Unframed charcoal drawings I created in high school hung between the eclectic mix of paintings Claire masterminded when she still lived here. My favorite hung next to the door, a small bright acrylic of a young smiling woman streaming ribbons behind her as she danced across a dim subway station.

  The rest of my apartment was split between the modest master bedroom, the spare bedroom I converted into a makeshift office and the closet sized bathroom between them. Apart from the thumb sized mouse that took up residence a few years ago I had lived alone for the past three years. After I made the mistake of leaving a cracker out one night he gradually grew tame, and seeing as how he never seemed to make a mess I named him Hansel and considered him a free roaming pet.

  My room was in the same disarray I left it in this morning. Clothes were strewn across the floor, mirroring the tangled mass of royal blue sheets on my unmade bed. I dragged my laundry basket into the room and dutifully started my daily hunt for stray clothing. The rest of the room was occupied by the nightstand next to the bed, a modest antique wooden dresser and a wall cupboard with one door that refused to close all the way.

  When Claire was taken from me three years ago I moved all the personal effects that her mother left me into two boxes in my office cupboard. Still, there were a few things of hers I kept around the apartment. Like the porcelain reading lamp by my bedside she gave me for my birthday and her grandmother’s pear-inlaid music box that lay silent on the dresser.

  Once the room vaguely resembled something livable I pulled a set of weights out the cupboard and cycled through my brisk workout. Part maintenance, part ritual, the sessions were the perfect way to unwind after a long day. I felt the tension roll slowly off my body with every exertion of my muscles, and before long I was covered in a fresh sheen of sweat. Pausing only to peel off my shirt and toss it in along with the rest of the laundry I shuffled off to my tiny bathroom. My shower’s pipes groaned softly as the water coursed through them, taking far too long to warm for my liking.

  After brushing my teeth I peered into the mirror above my basin, idly contemplating whether the man in the mirror needed a shave. Short stubble ran across his strong jawline, a shade darker than his dirty-blond hair. Even wet the fringe refused to fall flat, stubbornly holding its naturally disordered peak. Brilliant emerald green eyes stared mischievously back at me, the flecks of gold strewn across them easily visible in the dim light. His sharp nose was just noticeably crooked when I turned my head from side to side—a football injury that never healed correctly. My hand glided roughly across my jaw from ear to ear before I shrugged and closed the door behind me to change. Digging through my cupboard I produced a white T-shirt, comfortable jeans and my favorite pair of black leather shoes, my work persona slipping off effortlessly as I dressed.

  Not wanting to prove Jennifer right I left for the bar a few minutes early. Mandy's was a popular spot on this side of town, and my friends and I came here on the weekends since it opened a few years back. The par
king lot was just beginning to fill when I arrived, and as I walked through the large wooden double doors on my way to our regular booth I was reminded why I liked Mandy's so much. There seemed to be no consistent theme to the dive, a quality that perfectly reflected its patrons. Any mix of college kids, bikers, middle aged couples, and anyone in between could come inside and feel welcome here.

  "Ben!" Jennifer squealed before I could reach the table, grasping me in a bear hug. She was practically bouncing with excitement, her warm caramel hair tied back in a sloppy pony tail that along with her glasses gave her the appearance of a spunky librarian.

  I rolled my eyes, returning her hug warmly. Her bubbling enthusiasm was infectious. "It’s good to see you too, Jen."

  "Hey Eric," I said, shaking his hand when Jennifer finally released me. "How you been?"

  "Good, good," he said absently, his hazel eyes glued to the pretty blond that entered the bar behind me. Eric was dark haired, always overdressed and a year older than Jennifer and I, though from his usual behavior sometimes it felt like he was still in high school.

  "So what's new?" I asked after ordering a beer.

  Jennifer smirked, her distinctly Boston accent coming through in her excitement. "My boss just got canned."

  Eric chuckled. "Got one too many harassment complaints?"

  "Oh, I have some theories. But who cares really, he’s gone."

  "Gunning for the job Jen?" I asked curiously.

  "That little tart Paige will get it. I have no doubt about it." She pouted. "What about you Ben?"

  "Just work, the usual," I said.

  "Anything juicy?" Eric asked, his attention shifting back to me. After the initial shock my friends had when they heard about my career change Jennifer took on the supportive role, while Eric thought it was the coolest thing to ever happen to our group. I think in Eric’s mind a PI was somehow more debonair than pulling the graveyard shift at the precinct. It really wasn’t.

  "Nothing scandalous," I remarked, knowing Eric wouldn’t buy it. "It's been a pretty dull month all in all."