Читать книгу Reunited With The P.i. - Anna J. Stewart - Страница 13

Chapter 4

“Thanks for meeting me, Kyla.” Simone slipped into the chair across from her assistant at Monroe’s and offered her a small smile. The fifteen-minute drive from Vince’s bar to the coffee shop had given her enough time to think. And question. And have second thoughts. Then third...

Vince had been right about one thing: she really wished she’d had Allie and Eden to talk to if for no other reason than to convince her she was wrong about where she and the case were headed. Maybe she was overreacting to something and letting fear get the best of her. Simone might have been able to cling to that belief if Vince hadn’t voiced his own similar suspicions. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Like a date?” Kyla flipped the multicolored scarf behind her narrow shoulders and sent her ebony curls bouncing. “Well, I was deeply involved with this ten-inch-thick textbook on property and tax law. Do you want coffee?”

She’d already had enough to ensure she wouldn’t blink for weeks. “No, thanks.” Simone shook her head and waved the waitress away. “Were you able to get the information I asked for?”

“I boxed up all your files and left them underneath the desk in your office.” Kyla cringed. “Glad you reminded me about the new email monitoring program. Printing the hard copies didn’t take me as long as I thought it would and I would have brought it all with me, but there was no way to be sneaky about it.”

“Not to worry.” Simone added an early morning stop to the office to her mental agenda.

“I also added the background information on Mara and everyone else that’s involved, however peripherally, in the case. I’m surprised the copy machine didn’t short out.”

“What would I do without you?” Simone couldn’t wait to start combing through everything from top to bottom. “I appreciate you covering for me today.”

“Felt like I was in a spy movie. Nice break from studying for the bar.” Kyla folded her hands on the table. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or is this some roundabout method of giving me more ‘tests’ for homework?”

“I wish that was the case. What did you hear around the office?”

Kyla shrugged, her gaze shifting to the table. “Not much.”

“Kyla Bertrand.” Simone pursed her lips. “You’re a beacon for gossip in that place. Spill.”

“Okay, I might have heard that your main witness went missing, and you somehow managed to get a delay from a judge notorious for sticking to his calendar. Your colleagues started a pool on how long you’ll have a job.”

“What odds are they giving?” Maybe she should place a bet and get a jump start on her unemployment.

“I didn’t ask,” Kyla said with a hint of defense in her voice. “I never bet against my boss and I plan on you sitting in the big chair this time next year.”

“I appreciate your faith,” Simone said, even as her own began to fracture. If she blew this case, the career she’d always wanted, had worked so hard for, would be over. And Paul Denton and his coconspirators—whoever they may be—would avoid justice. Something Simone refused to abide. “I wanted to keep you in the loop so you know what not to tell people.”

“By people you mean DA Lawson?”

“I mean any people.” Simone didn’t want to tell Kyla about her growing suspicions of Cal Hobard or her concern others in the DA’s office were involved. The farther away she stayed from everyone at her place of work, the better. At least until she got more information herself. “I’ve hired an outside investigator to hopefully track down Mara. I’m keeping it under wraps. I don’t suppose anyone would believe if I called in sick tomorrow?”

Kyla’s expression confirmed her thought. “They’ll believe you’re working on a new angle for the case.”

“That works.” Keeping people on edge gave her an advantage.

“Come to think of it,” Kyla said. “You’ve never been sick in all the years I’ve known you. Must be all those plants you eat.”

“What is it with people and how I eat?” To be contrary, she reached across the table and snapped off half the chocolate chip cookie Kyla had been nibbling on. “First Vince, now you—”

Kyla slapped her hand on Simone’s arm as her mouth dropped open. “Vince, as in the ex-husband you never talk about Vince? Now it’s your turn to spill.”

“He’s a private investigator, and I needed someone outside the office I could trust.”

“You can trust your ex-husband?” Kyla’s confusion mirrored Simone’s. “Is that even possible?”

“When it comes to something like this, yes, it is.” Describing Vince to someone who had never met him was a bit like trying to describe the Easter Bunny to a newborn. There wasn’t any point. They’d never understand. “I’m going to give him your cell number in case there’s more information he needs, information I can’t get to. Does that work for you?”

“I’m your assistant.” Kyla’s defiant brown eyes sparked in that way that had convinced Simone to hire her. “You tell me what you want me to do, I do it. No questions asked.”

“Keep that in mind because as we move forward, no matter what, this will all be over Monday morning.” Simone picked up her bag and got to her feet. “Keep your head down, okay, Kyla? Let me know if you hear anything else about the case.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. But I have this odd feeling my world is about to crack open. I don’t want you getting swallowed by it.”

“Then maybe it’s me who should be telling you to keep your head down. Hey, before you go, answer one thing for me.” Kyla waggled her eyebrows. “Any chance in all of this that you’ll introduce me to your ex-husband?”

Simone couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Something tells me I won’t have a choice.”

* * *

Vince cleaned the last glass, turned off the neon open sign and locked the front door to the bar. The clock had hit 2:00 a.m. or, as he planned to call it from here on out, the hour of regret.

He’d heard of hitting a grand slam before, but how he’d managed to sit through dinner with his ex-wife, agree to work with her and dive into what was probably another hopeless missing person’s case could easily be added to the record books.

He never should have congratulated himself on knowing what buttons to push to unsettle her. Karma had caught up to him with Simone’s offer to reexamine his brother’s conviction. When was he ever going to learn?

Vince flicked off the lights, picked up Jason’s file and headed down the narrow hallway, passed the bathrooms, to the stairs that led to his apartment. He bypassed the second floor that, until a little over a year ago, had served as the office for Sutton Investigations.

The calm that normally descended when he closed out the rest of the world didn’t manifest as he shut his apartment door. Instead, the restlessness he’d brought back from Afghanistan rattled through him, prodding him toward the thin edge of control.

He tossed the file onto the cluttered stainless-steel island. If he cooked, he did so downstairs. If he worked, it was downstairs. His life was...downstairs. The one-bedroom apartment, with its simple king-size bed and matching dresser, the no-frills throwback leather sofa, and a flat-screen TV he used more for background noise than anything, did little than give him a place to sleep.

On the occasions sleep wasn’t possible, there was a window to stare out at the Sacramento skyline. Some nights, glancing at the tip-top of the golden Tower Bridge, standing sentry over the city, was all he needed. Other nights?

He grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, dropped onto the sofa and clicked on the digital music station on the TV. The muted strains of Bach drifted from the speakers and eased the tension that had cocooned him the instant Simone walked into the bar. His heavy metal music days had disappeared in the desert, replaced by the meditation-inducing melodies of the classical masters. He might not be an educated man, but he was smart enough to recognize genius and artistry.

Vince’s gaze landed on the table beside him. He opened the drawer and pulled out the framed wedding photo. Gut-tightening regret coiled as it always did whenever he looked at his and Simone’s smiling faces. He didn’t recognize that man in the photo, couldn’t relate to the happiness and joy that now seemed as lost as a dream. Was that the last time he’d worn his uniform? He could remember the teasing glint in Simone’s eye as she’d walked down that short brick pathway in Napa overlooking a blooming vineyard. Her gorgeous, figure-hugging lace gown that sparkled in the sunshine had nearly undone him. When she’d reached out her hand for his, she’d leaned in and, in barely a whisper, told him the plans she had for him and his uniform in the hours to come. The years to come.

Years that came to a screeching halt months later.

Vince stared into Simone’s radiant blue eyes. He could almost smell that perfume of hers that he’d been convinced was part love spell. The ugliness that had followed him most of his life had vanished the day he’d realized he’d fallen in love with her.

And yet he’d left without a fight.

Vince set the frame face down on the table and shook his head to clear the past. Marrying her hadn’t been the worst mistake he’d ever made. Leaving her? Yeah, that might be up there with his thirteen-year-old self throwing lighted firecrackers at a patrol car.

And yet, today proved she was still cagey and still knew how to work the angles. There was also her smile, always a weakness of his. He wouldn’t kid himself though, her career always came first. It was her trial, her job on the line. She was using his brother as a means to an end and while the idea of that didn’t sit well, he certainly understood her reasons for it. That she knew how easy it was to manipulate him should worry him more. Aside from Simone, Jason was the only person he’d ever valued. Thanks to his ex-wife, there was a chance he could get his brother home. So if that meant diving headfirst into his own personal nightmare, so be it.

All he needed to do was stay in control, not like on the Walker case. Somehow he’d have to remain detached, unemotional and see the search out to its end. Whatever that end might be.

Leaving the TV on, he headed into the next room, stripped and dropped naked onto the unmade bed, begging the past to leave him alone long enough for sleep to consume him. His prayers were answered, but only after one last thought shot through his head like a bullet: starting tomorrow, everything was going to change.